Satan's Revenge (15 page)

“Oh, um, I’m just not feeling so great,” I murmur, not about to admit that I’m dealing with a wicked hangover.

“You sure? You’ve seemed a little…something…the past few weeks.”

I clear my throat uncomfortably. I hadn’t realized that I’d been letting my frustrations about Marcus show at work.

“Oh, sorry about that. It’s nothing.” I move toward the bed, trying to indicate that I want to go on with my work, but he doesn’t budge.

“Everything OK with your boyfriend?” he asks.

My eyes snap over to his. It’s not like him to bring up the fact that I have a boyfriend—usually he tries to avoid the subject at all costs.

“Everything’s fine,” I reply, though even I can hear the tension in my voice. He scooches over on the bed so that he’s sitting directly in front of me.

“I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. I think you’re really…special, Violet,” he murmurs, and reaches out to touch one of my hands, tucking his palm into mine.

“Dr. Green…”

“Adam,” he whispers, and gently pulls my hand toward him as he leans in.

My hangover-addled brain realizes he’s trying to kiss me when I’m about an inch from his face. I smell his coffee breath as he closes in.

“The fuck is this?” I hear from the doorway. I pull away quickly as I recognize Drifter’s voice, hoarse as it is. Oh, shit.

“Drifter, Drifter,” I say, trying to get his attention as he fixates on Dr. Green’s face. I toss the flat sheet onto the bed and get between him and the doctor, who I can see standing up nervously in my periphery.

“You must be…” I hear him begin, as Drifter grips me on either arm and lifts me up and out of his way. A half second later Dr. Green is toppling over the bed backward from the force of Drifter’s punch.

Drifter is quickly rounding the foot of the bed to get to him as he falls off the other side. I jump on his back and do the only thing I can think of, which is to cover his eyes with my hands. Drifter stops and tries to shake me off, then reaches up and pulls my hands down, but I have my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Over his shoulder, I can see Dr. Green cowering on the floor, his hand held up to edge of his mouth.

“Get off me!” Drifter yells.

“No! Would you listen to me for one fucking second?” I yell into his ear as he moves his hand to pull one of my legs from around his waist and I cover his eyes again. I guess they didn’t teach him how to fend off this move in the Marines. “Nothing happened! He just took me by surprise!
Nothing happened!”

He keeps trying to unhook my legs.

“I’m not the one who’s been lying,” I say more quietly. He stills, and I wait to make sure he’s done fighting before I slide off his back. He turns around to glare at me, then stalks out of the room. I turn to see Abby standing in the doorway with a couple other nurses grouped behind her. She raises her eyebrows at me as Drifter storms past, then shoos the other nurses away from the scene.

I walk around the bed the rest of the way to Dr. Green, and pull him up by the arm. A little blood is trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Sit,” I tell him, and he obediently takes a seat on the bed. “Pull your lips back.” I can see blood around his gums. “Any of your teeth feel loose?”

He reaches his hands up and gently presses his fingers against his teeth, then shakes his head.

“You’re lucky,” I say, as I pull on a pair of gloves and grab some gauze and peroxide. “That must have been one of his weakest punches.”

I dab at the cut on the corner of his mouth with the damp gauze as he winces from the burn of the peroxide.

“You’ll be fine. But if you ever try anything like that again, I’ll punch you myself, got it?”

He nods, looking like a repentant schoolboy. “Got it.”

“Good,” I say, as I toss the gauze and gloves in the trash and walk out.

I change quickly in the locker room and am in my car on my way back to the house minutes later. I profoundly hope that Drifter is home. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to talk. It’s time I gave him a piece of my mind.

His bike is in the driveway, blocking the garage, so I park just behind it, my tail end sticking out into the street a little. I slam my car door behind me and hustle up the front steps. I hear the dogs at the front door before I open it, and shoo them away as I walk into the front hallway, looking for Drifter. I spot the back of his head above the back of the couch in the living room, and I march in as he raises a beer to his lips.

“Where do you get off?” I ask him, planting my hands on my hips as I stare down at him angrily. He opens his mouth to respond. “No, no, shut up. Just shut the fuck up. You walk into my work and punch a fucking doctor? What the fuck is wrong with you? What if he brings charges? You really want to go to jail for something stupid like that?”

“Well it looked like…” he spits out.

“Really? You’ve been going out with Marcus every night, you never tell me where you’re going…I have to hear sweet butts talking about you…” A knot begins to rise in my throat, threatening tears, but I keep going. “And I’ve never questioned your faithfulness. Though maybe I should have. Maybe I’m an idiot to have trusted you.”

“I’ve never been unfaithful,” he says, standing up.

“Why should I trust you? You lied to me about even having a brother and then won’t tell my why. Fine, OK. But now you’re acting… I don’t know. I don’t know who this person is that I’m talking to.”

“What do you want?” he yells back at me, his face twisting.

“I want you to tell me why! Why you can’t fucking see Marcus for the person he is! He’s a liar, Drifter! And a thief. And probably a compulsive fucking gambler if you haven’t noticed!”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that! He’s just a kid!”

“Just a kid?!” I pause for a moment, speechless. “Drifter, he’s older than me! What the fuck happened between you two?”

“You promised not to ask me that.”

“You’re right,” I admit. “You’re right. I thought I could trust you. But maybe I can’t.”

“You don’t trust me?” he asks, a little quieter now.

“No.” The response is out before I can think about it, and tears begin to flow down my cheeks as I recognize its truth. A look of pain crosses Drifter’s face. “How can I? You have no idea what it’s been like for me since he moved in here. You know he stole my mother’s engagement ring?”

“He didn’t…”

“Yes,” I cut him off. “Yes, Drifter, he did. You don’t have to explain your past to me, but you do have to choose.” I take a deep breath. I didn’t know I was going to say this until just now, but I realize I’ve been thinking about it for a while. “Either Marcus leaves, or I do.”

“That’s not fair,” Drifter whispers.

“I don’t know about fair or not fair. All I know is I can’t live here any longer with him. Or with the person you are when he’s around. I’ll give you some time to think it over.”

I walk down the hallway to our bedroom, and manage not to completely dissolve into tears until I shut the door behind me. I sink back against it and bite my lip to keep my sobs quiet. I strip off my clothes and cross into the bathroom, yanking the shower handles and stepping into the water before it’s even had a chance to heat up.

I perch on the bench at the end of the shower as the water warms, and then I pull my legs up to my chest and finally let myself go, hoping the sound of the water will cover my cries.

When I finally dry off and wrap a towel around myself, Drifter is gone.

Chapter Sixteen

Drifter

15 years ago

After several months of hard work, I’ve packed on ten pounds of muscle. When I started trying to gain weight, I had no idea it would take that long, but Mr. Laurits said that it’s a good number. I also looked up the physical fitness requirements for the Marine Corps, basically what you have to be able to do before you’re allowed to go to basic training: two pull-ups, 44 sit-ups in two minutes, and run 1.5 miles in 13 minutes and thirty seconds.

I jump down from the pull-up bar in the school workout room and shake out my arms. I can currently do 18 pull-ups, 100 sit-ups, and the first time I tried to run a mile and a half it took me just under ten minutes. I read in Men’s Fitness not to do too much cardio because it slows down muscle gain.

Flint and Mr. Laurits were in the Army, but after I researched all three branches online, and went to the recruiting station downtown, I decided on the Marines. They take the fewest people, and their physical requirements are the toughest. When the recruiter asked me about my fitness now, and I told him my numbers, he said he thought I could do well in the Corps.

I’ve never felt so focused before. Maybe because I’ve never had a real goal. I know I’ve already gone well over the requirements for basic training, but I love seeing my numbers get better and better. There is so little I’ve been able to control in my life, from my parents’ death, to being moved away from my brother, to how people see me in a new school…it feels good to be able to work hard and to see the work result in something tangible.

I fill my protein shake with water from the water fountain in the corner and grab my backpack, as I shake the container until the powder dissolves into the water. It’s almost five, and the school is empty except for the sports teams that are still practicing, but they’re out on the field or in the gym.

I take the stairs down two at a time and walk down the hallway to the front entrance of the school. A small kid, must be a freshman, is huddled on the side of the steps. I frown at the back of his head; he looks a little familiar. I walk down the stone steps past him, headed back toward the Ralstons’ house. It’s always the Ralstons’ house. Never home.

“Scott!” I hear behind me, and whip around, my eyes wide. I know that voice. Marcus is running toward me joyfully, his arms stretched out. I bend to receive his hug, feeling him wrap his arms around my neck. God, when was the last time someone hugged me?

“Marcus, what are you doing here?” I ask, looking around for his foster family.

“I came to see you,” he says with a shrug.

“Alone?”

He answers me only with another shrug. I stare at him, frowning. Not out of anger, but confusion.

“OK…well, um, why don’t you come back with me to the Ralstons,” I say, not sure what else to do. He nods, and starts walking next to me. “You’re taller,” I observe glancing over at him. I’ve still got several inches on him, but he’s certainly grown since the last time I saw him, which was almost a year ago.

We walk in silence for a while on the side of the road. I try to glance at him without him noticing. He’s got a backpack with him, but his coat looks pretty thin for February, though mine’s not much better. He looks calm, almost happy, and is bouncing on his feet as he walks.

“Garter snake,” I point out, as a movement in the brush on the side of the road catches my attention. Marcus nods happily. Our dad used to take us camping, and he’d always point out the wildlife on the trail. A few minutes pass in silence.

“Meadowlark,” he says, as a white and yellow flash breaks across the treetops.

We walk back to the house slowly, pointing out various animals to each other. I pause on the road just before the Ralstons’ house is visible and walk over to a felled tree and take a seat. Marcus follows me over.

“Your foster family know you’re here?” I finally ask.

“Nope,” Marcus replies with a smile. I sigh. I understand the desire to run, and I did it plenty of times myself, but in the end, you always have to go back.

“How’d you get here by yourself?”

“Bought a bus ticket, and then asked where the high school was and walked from town. I thought maybe people would bother me about being a kid by myself, but no one did.”

I snort. Of course they didn’t. Most people just don’t want to get involved.

“Marcus, that’s really dangerous. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Because Alan, my foster dad, he’s always listening on the phone now. Why…you don’t want me here?” he asks, frowning.

“No, Marcus, it’s not that, but…”

“What? Hey, do you have anything to eat?”

“There might be some in the house, but I don’t want the Ralstons to see you. Here, drink this. It doesn’t taste good, but it’ll fill you up.”

I hand him my protein shake and he takes a cautious sip. He makes a face at the lumpy texture, but keeps drinking.

“Not too fast. It’ll give you a stomachache if you drink it too fast,” I advise him. “So is Alan…how is he? And Marcia?”

“They suck. I hate them,” he says, kicking a piece of bark off the tree. “It’s too loud there.”

“Is that it?” I ask. For a foster situation, loudness is not really something to complain about.

“They’re nicer to their own kids. They never get yelled at about anything. But Marcia is so mean to me! It isn’t fair!”

“So that’s why you’re here?”

“Well, yeah. Because you’re sixteen now. October 28
^th
. I would have been here earlier but I had to get the money.”

“Wait, what? I don’t understand.”