The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) (7 page)

“Wear it. You are shaking like a Chihuahua,” Trenton chortles.

I pull it on and zip it up. I’m still shaking so he rolls up the windows.

“Who else is going?” I ask.

“Ashten and Holden, and who knows, Alana might randomly show up too.”

“Sorry about that. She’s a pest. She won’t be coming, we aren’t friends anymore,” I say.

“That was quick.” He blinks, surprised.

“It’s a long story,” I say, not wanting to explain.

“Is that why you were crying over the phone?” he asks.

“No,” I say, slipping up.

“Oh, so you were crying then?” he says smugly. “I knew it.”

I wrap the ends of his hoodie sleeves around my hands in a nervous gesture. “My Mom is drunk and I think she took acid,” I say looking out the window.

“Your Mom is a druggie
and
an alcoholic? Nasty combination,” Trenton says. “That’s it?”

“No, she invited a guy over,” I say. “His name is
Saint
.”

“That’s funny. Was he nice to you and your Mom?” he says, pressing me.

“No, he wanted to punch me in the face. I pulled a knife out on him and made him leave,” I say with trepidation.

“Wow,” he breathes. “All by yourself? And you can’t stand up to Miemah?”

Miemah is different
.

“So he didn’t hit you?” Trenton asks.

“Does my face look all bashed up to you?” I say.

“Your eyes are red. Did you take some acid too?” he says lightly.

My blood simmers.

“No! I was crying. There I admit it. I’m a stupid, scared little girl, and I was crying because that man almost beat me.”

“You are not stupid and even I would’ve been scared. You are very brave, Bailey. Alana was wrong about you. You are no coward,” Trenton says to console me.

I bury my eyes in the sleeve of the hoodie.

We are at a red light. His hands are cool to the touch when they pull my face out of the darkness of the sleeve. He makes me look him in the eyes and I am ashamed that he can see the tears forming in mine.

“You are so strong. Listen to me,” he says, when I try to bury my head again. He pulls my face back up gently. “It’s okay to be frightened; no one deserves what you went through just now. Especially not a fifteen-year-old kid. Don’t be embarrassed by your tears. That’s what I’m here for, to wipe them away.”

He lets my face go, and my heart warms. It pumps the warmth throughout my body, like sinking into a hot bath. My tears recede. In Trenton I find solace that not even my mother could supply.

It is nearing six o’clock, and the traffic to Fort Myers beach is in full force. As soon as we get moving again, we must stop. Our conversation follows suit, pausing and playing at these intervals.

The sun drops behind the palm trees, and the moon and stars takes its place. The air grows colder and Trenton puts the heat on high.

“Do you model?” he asks during a stop in the stunted flow of traffic.

“Nope. I dance and I can run fast as hell,” I say, taking pride in my talents.

“I heard. Ashten told me you are a mad dancer,” Trenton says.

“What about you?” I ask.

“I used to do baseball. I was good at it, but I only did it because my dad liked it so much. When I was eight he signed me up. He never got to see me play though because he was killed shortly after,” he says somberly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and we both clam up.

“Where is your dad?” he asks.

I am too humiliated to admit that he is in prison, so I fib. “He died too.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. The silence returns. The traffic-jam begins to thin out and I can see the beach from where we are. Trenton pulls into the parking lot and feeds quarters into the parking meter.

“Let’s go start that fire, if Holden hasn’t already. And then we can drown our sorrows with some alcohol,” he says. The offer is tantalizing but sickeningly ironic considering Mom is rolling in the stuff.

Trenton holds my hand in his, which is warm from gripping the steering wheel. We trudge through the shells and sand together, finding Holden and Ashten sitting with one another in folding chairs. There is a pile of rocks and driftwood that will soon become the bonfire.

“Glad you could make it Sykes,” Ashten says, handing me a beer.

With his teeth, Trenton pops open two for himself, then opens one for me. We are at a secluded area, far from the occasional couples walking along the edge of the waves.

I take a sip and cough. It is my first drink. The beer has the bubbliness of soda, but is sour and bitter. I drink it down fast to get it over with. Ashten, Trenton, and Holden, are looking at me quizzically with their beers only half finished. I toss the empty bottle in the sand.

“I didn’t think you were the drinking type,” Holden says.

I glare at him, the anger from earlier in the day rising back in my chest, threatening to escape through my mouth in the form of vile words.

“She’s whatever type she wants to be,” Trenton says, and hands me another beer. I drink it faster, chug it down, to show Holden I’m no stereotypical good girl. Ashten tosses me another one and Trenton catches it before it reaches me.

“She’s a lightweight. Two is enough for now,” he says.

Chapter 11

I have drunk three beers, and am starting to feel light. My head has stopped swimming, and the earlier incident of Saint and Mom becomes a distant memory. Holden is playing music from his boom box; he and Ashten are dancing. Trenton is leaning in for a second try at a kiss.

His lips brush against mine and he presses closer. Our bodies link together, and I grab the back of his head for support, there is no way I’m going to fall this time. One of his hands is on the small of my back, and the other is entangled in my hair.

I can’t say how long we make out for, only that afterwards, Holden and Ashten are grinning like bobcats, having stopped dancing. There is a smile on my lips, and I’m floating in ecstasy.

“You are much prettier when you smile,” Trenton says, his own smile lighting up his face, and dancing in his blue eyes.

The fire throws a beautiful glow on Ashten and Holden, and they look like a drunken king and queen seated on their foldable thrones.

“You two make a cute couple,” Ashten says.

I sink like a brick in water, my body and mind no longer levitating.
We can’t be a cute couple
, I think,
how would Clad feel? Betrayed? Angry?
It would not go over well with him.

“It’s getting late,” Trenton says, checking the time on his cell phone. “One o’ clock.”

We all agree to spend the night on the beach because it isn’t safe for any of us to be driving, and we are all dog-tired.

Trenton finds a shell-free spot in the sand and lies underneath the inky sky. He sighs contently and his breath comes out as wispy clear mist. I scuttle over to him and lay down beside him, but not too close, I don’t want to encroach on his territory. He snakes an arm beneath my back and tugs me closer to him, so close that I am nearly on top of him.

“Lay your head on my chest, I will keep you warm,” he says. I do as he says, and feel his heart beating in time with the crashing waves. I curl against him, at war with the cold; fighting to keep the little warmth I have within me. He puts both arms around me and rubs my shoulders.

“So cold,” he says, “my little ice-cube.”

I fall asleep, with the picture of him and I frozen together in ice embedded in my mind. I sense that he is awake the whole time watching me.

My feet are numb
, is the first thing I realize when I am woken up by a ghastly scream. I then pinpoint the location of the scream:
the fire
. It is still blazing, with Ashten sleeping within inches of it. Her eyes are wide with fear, there is fire licking at her hair and arms.
Ashten is on fire
. I say to myself, because I am half asleep, and it isn’t registering in my numb limbs that they should be moving.

“Ashten is on fire!” I scream scrambling to my feet. She screams in agony and I set myself into action. I pull her away from the fire, the heat emitting from her flaming body licking at my face.

I drag her into the ocean and watch as she sinks, gurgling in the water. I hold onto her as the waves crash over us, she is sobbing and swallowing salt water.

“Are you okay?” I yell above her sobs, and the sound of the waves.

“Nooo,” she whimpers. Her hair has been singed off by the fire, and in the moonlight I can see the charred skin on her arms. My heart is racing, and adrenaline is warming me even though I am submerged in the icy water with her. The ocean is turbulent, the water spinning and sloshing onto shore, it is like being in a giant washing machine.

I wrap my arms around her tightly. “It’s okay,” I soothe her. She is inconsolable, her tears unyielding and glistening in her eyes. Trenton, who has finally woken up, rushes over to us.

“What are you guys doing?” he asks groggily.

“The fire,” I say.

“You guys didn’t put out the fire. Ashten got burned, she was on fire,” I say while staring out at the ocean, trying to calm myself. Ashten’s sobs have died down to whimpers.

“She’s burned badly,” I say, rubbing Ashten’s shoulder.

“Oh my God, Ashten I am so sorry,” he says, his hands on his head, at a loss as to what to do. “Is the water helping?”

Ashten shakes her head, and Trenton helps me pull her out of the ocean. I take off his hoodie, which is only a little wet, and put it on her. I collapse in the sand, exhausted and sore.

“We have to go,” I say.

Trenton nods. Ashten cries out in anguish, and I stroke what is left of her hair.

Trenton climbs back up the sand and wakes Holden. The two of them clean up the area and pack away the folding chairs into Holden’s van.

“Bailey, do you have a license?” Ashten asks over her weeping.

“No, but I can drive,” I say.

“You need to drive my car, okay? The keys are in my front pocket.” I reach into her pants pocket and pluck them out.

Trenton returns, and picks her up. He places her in the passenger seat of her Mazda. Her arm hits the door and she howls “Damnit!”

The skin is burnt almost to the bone, and it makes my stomach churn, the mix of alcohol, the smell of burned flesh, and salty sea-water.

“You look green,” Ashten says, settling in the seat.

“I’m gonna’ be sick,” I say leaning over, then spewing forth the contents from my stomach. Trenton holds my hair.

“Feeling better now?” he asks once I have finished, and hands me a bottle of water.

“I’m still nauseous but I’ll be okay. Let’s get Ashten to the emergency room.”

I sit in the car, and with the sun beginning to unsheathe itself like a piercing golden sword, I recognize that my head is pounding. I am hung-over from three beers.

“Are you too sick to drive?” Ashten asks, worried.

I gulp fresh air to ease my queasy stomach, and take tiny sips of the water.

“I’m going to be just fine, don’t you worry about me,” I say.

I start the car up and drive out of the parking lot, my cold hands vibrating on the steering wheel.

“How many times have your driven?” she asks, obviously skeptical of my ability to get us all the way back to Cape Coral without crashing.

I tilt my head and say, “A few times.”

“You’re not bad,” she says, encouraging me.

I loosen my grip a little, try to focus on the road, and the repercussions of drinking last night as my body feels ravaged by the alcohol and lack of sleep.

“How did you catch fire?” I ask.

“I was sleeping pretty close to the fire because it was freezing last night. You had Trenton holding you; I bet you didn’t even notice the cold.” She looks out across the morning traffic, reliving the horrifying moment. “I was awake the longest; I was watching you and him sleep. So peaceful, so beautiful. I think he loves you.”

My throat tightens.
He can’t love me.

“Anyway, I did eventually fall asleep, but the night got chillier and the fire was still hot, so I rolled closer to it. I guess I thought I was getting close to Holden, a person, not a fire. Then I woke up, my throat and eyes stinging from the heavy smoke, and I realized that I was on fire. Roasting like a marshmallow and you woke up about the same time. You saved my life.”

“No.” I shake my head repeatedly. “I didn’t,” I say not wanting her to bear the burden of repaying me her life.
I should be taking lives not saving them
, I think. “I panicked. You were on fire, and anyone would have saved you.”

“Anyone could have, but you were the only one who woke. The only one who dragged me into the freezing water, not thinking of catching hyperthermia, the only one who held me when I was crying in pain.”

I grip the wheel tighter and almost slam into the car in front of me. My heart flutters rapidly from the near accident.

“I had to,” I say quietly. She turns her attention back to the burns that are on both of her arms, the skin black and crispy like burnt bacon. I feel bile rising from my stomach, trying to force its way out my throat.

“I will be scarred for life. I’m hideous now,” she says, pulling Trenton’s jacket sleeves down to hide the burns. “I bet you don’t know what that is like, huh? To feel despicably hideous. Like a creature who’s crawled out of a swamp, green and slimy. No you are just the opposite, like a butterfly, surfacing from a cocoon. Life must come so easy for you.”

“Life doesn’t come easy for anyone,” I say, and then add, “You are beautiful, your arms will heal and your hair will grow back, and you will be the same pretty girl you were before the fire.”

I think of her as a plot of land; its trees and foliage being burned to ashes, thus creating nutrient-rich soil for flowers and other plant life to thrive in.

“I’m beyond repair,” she says in a childish voice. I place a hand on her knee.

“You will be okay. I know it,” I say. She sighs, tears in the corners of her large tawny colored eyes.

“You are a really smart kid. Which makes me wonder, why are you hanging out with people like us? You are going to be something. And us, well we will just be lucky to not die of a drug overdose,” she says.

“Don’t be fooled,” I say. “I’m like a present: shiny and sparkling on the outside, maybe even a little thrilling, but when you tear off the paper, there is something rotten underneath, maybe a pair of socks, or underwear. The gift that no one wants on Christmas morning.”

I expect her to laugh but she just looks more depressed.

The heavy traffic disperses as we pull into the Lee Memorial Hospital. The emergency parking lot is empty and I park as close to the building as possible.

“My mom is probably worried sick about me. She hasn’t known where I’ve been all night. It’ll be a wonder if she hasn’t sent the cops looking for me yet,” I say, putting the keys back in Ashten’s pocket, knowing it would hurt too badly for her to hold them. “I would love to stay with you, but I got to get back home.”

I open the door, and help her out. She gives me a light hug, careful not to put too much pressure on her damaged arms.

“Thank you,” she says, and I give her a weak smile.

Holden and Trenton have just arrived, their eyes red, and their faces worn out from the night. I follow Trenton back to his car and Holden stays behind with Ashten.

I sigh heavily once seated and belted in. “Rough night,” I say.

“My night was great,” Trenton boasts, stretching. “I had a pretty girl sleeping on me all night.”

“Ashten is burnt beyond repair,” I say, using her exact words. “And all you can think about is how you enjoyed me sleeping with you?”

“I was only saying. I didn’t know it was so bad. In case you’ve forgotten, I was asleep when it happened,” he says, wounded by my words.

“I didn’t forget. How could I forget that I was the only one who gave a damn to get up and help her?” I say, recalling her scream. It would have been impossible to have slept through it,
unless by choice.

“Don’t be so modest. I would have jumped right in and saved her if I had woken up,” Trenton says defensively.

“I screamed too. We were both screaming loudly. You didn’t get up,” I argue.

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” he says as we reach my apartment.

“It doesn’t bother you that she will be scarred for life?” I challenge him.

“
It’s not my problem
,” he says.

I slam the car door after I get out, fuming from his lack of sympathy.

“Ah, come on baby, don’t I get a goodbye kiss?” he asks, leaning his head out the window. I push his head back in as I pass him to the stairs.

Mom is sitting outside the door, her face red, puffy, and tear stained like a flash-steamed tomato. There is a box of Kleenex on her lap, and she is in a stupor. I run to her.

“Mom, I’m home,” I say softly and throw my arms around her neck.

“God, Bailey. You scared me to death. You don’t know what was going through my head all night. I haven’t slept a wink.”

She pushes me away, to look me in the face.

“It really is you,” she laughs, tears returning to her eyes.

“I’m here Mom,” I say, and sit on her lap.

“I thought… I don’t even want to say it. I thought Saint kidnapped you or something, or hurt you or killed you.”

“But he left before I did,” I say in a logical manner.

“I didn’t know that. I was tripping. I was on acid. Might as well come out with it, you already know I’m sure.”

She tosses the Kleenex box to the floor and pulls me tighter to her chest.

“Oh sweetie, I thought you were gone. I almost called the police, but I could never bring myself to admit that I didn’t even remember you leaving the apartment.
I was so out of it
.”

“What do you remember?” I ask, a sob rising in my chest.

“Now, don’t you cry
too
. I’m not sure. I had nightmares. I kept dreaming about you being hit by Saint, and I was laughing, couldn’t stop laughing.” She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “But he didn’t hit you did he? Your face is untouched.”

“I pulled a knife on him and made him leave. He only threatened me, Mom,” I say.

“I’m so sorry. I have made you be so grown up, taking care of me all the time. And the choices I make put us both in grave danger, I could get you killed. If that happened, I couldn’t live with myself, I love you so much,” Mom says reverently.

“I’m too strong,” I say, remembering Trenton’s words. “I’m so strong nothing is going to bring me down, especially no druggie with a temper. My dad killed a man, and I’m not the least bit afraid to do the same, if it comes down to it.”

“I hate to hear you talk like that. Those words are so unnatural coming from my little girl. You are only a little girl, why should you think that you could be like a man, and fight anyone?” she asks.

“If I didn’t think that where would we be? What would Saint have done? Someone needs to be the man of the house.”

“I just wish it wasn’t my baby,” she says, kissing my cheek. “You are soaked. Where have you been?”

“The beach,” I say.

“Overnight? You always were a strange one. Let’s go inside and you can take a shower,” Mom says.

The apartment is warm and clean. The dirty dishes have all but vanished from the sink, and the coffee table is flipped up against the wall.

“I kept seeing you fall over it. I couldn’t take it anymore so I moved it,” Mom says, biting on her nails.