The Bad Ones (22 page)

Don't say it. Not yet. Not till you know for sure.

“
I love you,
” he was fighting for breath. “I love you so goddamn much, I would tear apart this whole world for you.”

Dulcie opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.

“I know, Constantine. I know.”

“Sometimes, I feel like colors are too bright. I can't look at them, they hurt my eyes. That's why I used to only draw, only paint, in black. It's the only safe color. When I was in high school, it was my favorite color. Something I could hide behind. Later it was red. Still is. Crimson, scarlet, burgundy, maroon, all of them. So beautiful on paper. So lovely on my fingertips.

“For years, I felt like I wanted to scream. That's it. Just stand and scream. And scream and scream and scream. If I could've just screamed all day, every day, maybe I could scream all the crazy out. I never cared, you know. About where I came from, about the trailer park, about my mom, about Matt. None of it ever bothered me because I could just hide in my blacks and reds and block it all out. No, what bothered me was the fucked up thoughts I would have.

“Crazy people have it easy – they don't know they're crazy. Being fully aware of how fucked up you are? That's the worst. Looking at your mom and wondering if you were strong enough to drag her dead body under the trailer, so you could leave her to rot, and
knowing
that's not normal,
that's the worst
. Knowing something is wrong with you, but not wanting to change even then. I spent hours wondering what was wrong with me. So many moments outside the counselor's office, trying to talk myself into going inside.

“But self-preservation is strong, and my brand of crazy has it in spades. I was holding out for something better, anyway. For
greatness
. If I just bided my time and drew my pictures and held my tongue, it would all pay off. I just had to believe, I had to have
faith
.

“And god delivered unto me a beautiful boy. With big blues eyes and pearly white teeth, and a body so fucking fantastic, I still can't believe I get to touch it. Talk about a reward for enduring a shitty childhood. How could this be for real?
The
Constantine Masters, the belle of the ball, the toast of the town, and he was made just for me! Oh yes, I fucking believe in the power of prayer, you don't even know the half of it.

“Before then, I thought you were bad. And not like 'oh, look at that
bad boy
over there, he's so
hot
', but like
bad
. Like more fucked up than two of me put together. Like maybe if god was really good, you'd be worse than me, and then my crazy would pale in comparison. It was easy to pretend for so long. Till now. Your shoulders are so big and broad, so tough and strong. You could carry that burden, I figured. You could be the bad one.

“I gotta hand it to you, though, you actually are as smart as everyone says you are. You saw right through me, even before I could see myself. You saw through the blacks and the reds and you saw this beautiful horror, these terrifying dreams, and you just loved them. You
knew
me. You pinned me down and you ripped me open and you showed me things inside me that I didn't even know were there. Whole new levels of sex and love and depravity, the likes of which the waking world isn't ready for. And you held them up in front of my face, yet I still refused to look. I've had my eyes closed for so long. Why did it take me so long to open them?”

The silence lasted long enough that Dulcie finally glanced over her shoulder. Con was sitting on the floor, looking up at her. He had a beer in one hand and he sipped at it. He was only wearing a pair of pants, no shirt, and his arms were filthy, coated in dirt clear up to his elbows. He had his knees bent and his feet flat on the floor. They were covered in mud, too.

“That it?” he asked, then took another drink. She turned away from him again.

“I guess so.”

“So many words, Dulcie,” he sighed. “All because you can't say three little ones.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep ripping things out, keep showing them to me,” she whispered, then she lifted her paint brush and pushed it in a broad stroke across the wall. Thick, black paint followed in its wake. Left over paint from when Mr. Masters had his shed painted. Dulcie had found it in the garage.

“Is it done?” Con asked, when she stepped back to look over her work.

“It'll never be done,” she replied, tilting her head to the side. There was only one light in the room. She'd ripped the shade off it, but it hadn't helped much. Since they'd tossed all the room's furniture out back, she'd had to set the lamp on the floor. She could only clearly see her artwork from one angle.

“Is it done
for now?
” he corrected his question, and she listened as he climbed to his feet.

“For now,” she sighed, dropping the paint brush. He moved behind her and she shivered. She was only wearing his t-shirt.

“Fucking fantastic body, huh?” he grunted, his breath hot on her ear.

“Glad you paid attention to the pertinent parts of my confession,” she laughed.

“I paid attention to the whole thing. Don't worry, I love you, too,” he assured her. She leaned back then, trusting him to take her weight. When she made contact with his chest, she let out a sigh.

“That's why it can't ever be done.”

She couldn't say the words because she didn't trust him enough yet; didn't trust
herself
. But she could give him this – a moment in time they'd always remember. A beating heart that would only ever belong to him. It was all in black, and her memory of anatomy was shaky at best, but one entire wall was covered in a heart. A
real
heart, with arteries and ventricles and blood. So much blood.

“I love it. It's perfect,” he whispered as he kissed her temple.

“It is, isn't it?” she agreed. His arm wrapped around her waist.

“It really is. Pity it won't be here for long. C'mon, we have a lot of work to do.”

“Dulcie!”

She turned at the sound of her name. Jared was waving as he jogged towards her. She smiled and stood up.

“Hey, thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” she said, then leaned in to hug him when he got close enough.

“No problem, I was glad you called.”

She winced when she took in his bruised cheek. Con hadn't held back.

“I just wanted to say thank you, for helping me yesterday,” she got right down to it as she took her seat again. They were in the middle of the park and he sat down next to her.

“God, don't thank me. I would hope anyone would do that if they'd seen what I saw,” he told her.

“Yeah, I know. But still, it was nice. And I also wanted to say sorry, for Con,” she continued. He nodded.

“It's okay. We talked for a while. That guy really has a thing for you.”

“He's got something, that's for sure.”

“Y'know,” Jared spoke slowly. “He told me a lot of stuff, about Matt … your brother.”

“
Half
-
brother,” she was quick to correct him.

“He said stuff like that's been going on for a while,” he kept talking.

“Yeah. Yeah, it has. It's gotten worse since I moved into the big house. It's driving Con crazy,” she explained.

“I can imagine.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Like
really
crazy. We got into this huge fight last night, he was hitting himself, he broke a bunch of dishes. He's … he's going to do something.”

She stared at Jared with wide eyes. She knew she didn't look very good; she hadn't put on a stitch of makeup before leaving the house, and she'd been up all night. No sleep had left her with bags under her eyes and less than glowing skin.

“What's he going to do?” Jared asked. She sighed and shoved her messy hair behind her ears.

“Something bad. I don't know. I shouldn't have said anything,” she mumbled, tapping her fingers against her lips. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“No, you should. You have to talk to someone. If he's acting this way, Dulcie, you need to get away from him,” he insisted, holding her hand close to his chest. She shook her head.

“No. It's not like that, he wouldn't hurt me,” she said, but her voice was shaking.

“It doesn't matter. You're scared, and that's bad enough. Please, Dulcie. I know … I know things got weird between us. But we're friends, at the end of the day. At least, I think of you as a friend.
Let me help you,
” he insisted.

“After everything I said to you,” her voice lowered to a whisper. “You'd still help me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Dulcie frowned and looked away from him, but didn't pull her hand free. He was squeezing her fingers, almost massaging them. She realized he was trying to warm them up; she was ice cold.

Silly man, that's room temperature for me. Careful, you might get frostbite.

“I shouldn't have come here,” she stood up abruptly. He held fast to her hand.

“
You should've.
I'm glad you did. You're seriously freaking me out.”

“I have to go. If Con finds out I talked to you about this, he'll ...”

“He'll what? I'm not scared of him,” Jared sneered. She finally looked down at him.

“You should be.”

Then she yanked free of his grasp and jogged to her car. By the time he was even halfway to her, she was already driving away. She let out a deep breath and glanced in her rear view mirror. Barely recognized the eyes looking back at her. The amber was being swallowed by black. She shook her head and looked forward.

One down. One more to go. Just keep moving.

*

Dulcie rarely saw her mother anymore. Since she'd moved out, she'd never once been back to the trailer. Never had a reason to, as far as she was concerned. It was just a box on wheels. A holding pen for the not-quite-dead.

She didn't bother knocking when she went inside. Her step-dad was passed out on the couch, snoring loudly while the TV hissed, full of static and snow. There was some muffled noises from the back of the trailer, a distinct squeaking sound. Like mattress springs.

“
Momma!
” Dulcie shouted, then she pounded on a wall. The snoring on the couch continued, but the mattress springs stopped squeaking. A couple minutes later, her mother came out from a back bedroom, pulling a tank top into place.

“That you, baby girl? Lord, it's been ages!” she called out, enveloping Dulcie in a hug when she reached her.

“It has. I just wanted to stop by, see how you were doing,” she replied, cringing and trying not to breathe through her nose.

“How sweet! Want some tea?”

Dulcie said yes, and they sat down at a tiny table in the front of the trailer. While her mother searched for some clean cups, a man came out of the back, loudly clearing his throat while he did up his pants. When he finally dislodged whatever it was that was bothering him, he spit it onto the floor, then nodded at the women in the kitchen.

“Ladies,” he said, then winked at Dulcie before heading out the front door.

If I pulled the stove out of the wall, it would rip open the propane hose. One spark, and this place wouldn't exist anymore. Did I bring any matches?

Her mom poured them both glasses of sweet tea. Then they chit chatted about brainless stuff. Her mother prattled on and on about a new Walmart that had just opened, how she was thinking of getting a job, how she hoped Matt would get a job.

Dulcie talked less and less, letting her mother fill in the gaps. She stared at the older woman, wondering what had happened in their lives to turn them into the people they were in that moment. Tessa Bottle was a shell of a human being, only half-alive at best. She sucked dick for crack, fucked strangers for meth, and she didn't even hardly do the drugs herself – almost all of it went to her husband.

Why was she such a shadow of a person? Dulcie didn't have one single memory of her mother being decent. Being full. Maybe she'd given it all to her children, maybe they'd sucked the life from her. Sometimes, Dulcie felt like she was overflowing with life. Like she was so full of energy and ether and dark matter, she might explode at any moment.

“... proud of you, being with a boy like him,” her mom's voice cut into her thoughts.

“I'm sorry, what?” Dulcie shook her head, dragging herself into the present.

“I heard you were seeing the Masters boy.
My
daughter, with the mayor's son! I can't believe it. I always told you that you were pretty, didn't I? Just need to do somethin' with your hair once and a while, but other than that, so pretty,” her mother sighed, then reached out to fiddle with the end of Dulcie's braid. She slapped her hand away.

“Thank you, I'll be sure to remember that next time we go out on a date,” she joked.

“Does he … does he have a lot of money?”

Ah, there it was. Dulcie had wondered how long it would take. The conversation had been way too normal up until that point. She looked around, then leaned close and smiled conspiratorially.

“He does. I moved into that big house of theirs. Momma, it's
gorgeous
. So many bedrooms, we don't even know what to do with them all. He buys me presents and takes me places, it's … it's like a dream,” she sighed.

Or a nightmare. Hard to tell.

“That's wonderful, darling. You know, things have been awful rough around here. Your step-daddy hurt his back, y'know, and hasn't been able to work at the factory, and Matt, well, he's just so sick, baby. We could really use your help,” she told her. Dulcie frowned and nodded.

“Of course, Momma. All you had to do was say something, I feel awful.”

She dug into her messenger bag and pulled out her wallet. Con had given her five hundred dollars that morning. She was supposed to be saving it in case of an emergency, but she knew it would serve a better purpose right in that moment. She took out the bundle of twenties and slid it across the table. Her mother's eye almost bugged out of her head.

“Oh my lord, baby, thank you! Thank you so much! Tell that man thank you,” she gushed as she grabbed at the money. There was a creak from behind them and when Dulcie looked over her shoulder, it was to see her step-father on his feet, watching the whole transaction.

“Yer boyfriend is awful generous,” he said, his voice full of suspicion.

“He is,” Dulcie agreed, then she stood up. “I have to go now.”

Her mother made a big production of saying goodbye, all without looking up from the money. Dulcie finally just walked out, mid-sentence. When she stepped outside, it was to find Matt standing next to her car. He was smoking a cigarette and dropping the ashes onto her hood. She sighed and walked towards him. She'd hoped to run into him, but would've preferred it to be inside. She could only hope he'd ask her mother what the visit had been about; hope he'd investigate a little.

“Visiting Mommy and Daddy?” he asked. She came to a stop in front of him.

“Look,” she started. “I left them a lot of money. There's more to come, if you leave me alone.”

“Nah, that wasn't part of the deal, remember? I never said anything about giving Mom money,” he chuckled, then blew a stream of smoke in her face.

“Matt, you don't understand. I can't … I can't do what you want,” she hissed.

“You'll do whatever I say, or I'm gonna run right to the fucking cops,” he threatened.

“I can't! Matt … he'll …
he'll kill you,
” she whispered.

He suddenly grabbed her by the throat and swung her around, pinning her against the vehicle. She held her breath as he leaned in close.

“Who,
rich boy!?
He ain't got the balls,” he growled. She shook her head.

“He does. He told me so. He found out what happened, he has it all planned out,” she choked out the words.

“What fucking plans?”

“Please, Matt, just believe me. Just take the money, and no one will get hurt.”

He slammed her back again, then raised the lit cigarette to her face. She stared as it got closer and closer, her eyelashes almost brushing the ash that was threatening to spill onto her cheek.

“You fucking tell me what rich boy has planned, or someone will get hurt
right now,
” he assured her. She gasped for air.

“He said he's gonna find you and make you pay. Gonna bulldoze this whole place to the ground, with you in it. Then he's going to bury you out by the train tracks,” she wheezed.

He backed away and she bent in half, loudly sucking in air.

“Fucker thinks he can kill me? Thinks a fucking rich boy could kill me!? That motherfucker. Thinks he can fucking buy me off with his money, thinks he can threaten my home,” Matt was growling as he paced back and forth. Dulcie finally stood upright, rubbing at her throat.

“I'm serious, Matt. He's dangerous. He'll hurt you, he'll hurt
them,
” she insisted as she nodded her head at the trailer.

“Fuck that. You go tell that asshole I'm gonna come to
his
house and fuck
him up
. How would he like that? Maybe I'll fuck his little princess girlfriend, right in front of him,” he suggested, moving close to her again. She slid down the side of the car.

“Just take the money. I left five hundred dollars inside,” she told him.

“Five hundred!?”

“Yeah, he gave it to me this morning, I -”

“That motherfucker just
gave you
five hundred dollars?”

“Well, yeah. His parents, they're well off. I thought … I thought maybe if you had it, you would calm down,” she suggested. A wicked smile spread across his face.

“Oh, I'm calm. I'm real fuckin' calm.”

“
Please,
Matt. He's crazy. I'm really
scared,
” her voice dropped into whisper. He finally looked her in the eye.

“Good. You should be. Now go tell that asshole that
he
should be scared.”