Vein Fire (22 page)

CHAPTER  37

Nests

“Can you lie stomach down on the couch? Will your arm be okay?” Matt asked Hannah and he undressed her as he kissed her. The black tights she normally wore were crumpled in a ball on the floor next to her shirt. Both of her arms were folded upwards, covering her breasts. Careful not to hurt her arm, Hannah stretched out onto the couch.

Gathering her hair, he moved it over her shoulder and knelt beside her. Armies of men could be lost moving across the softness of her skin. It was intoxicating in both smell and texture. Matt had never experienced anything like it in his life. She trembled, and he won
dered if she had always shaken before when he touched her and he didn’t notice it, or if she was just cold and nervous with him at the moment. One hand petted her hair while the other slid down the dent of her spine. Repeating these strokes seemed to calm her and she stopped quivering. Matt leaned in and inhaled her hair. His lips moved to her neck and trailed down to the soft dip of her lower back. She was halved by her spine, and he enjoyed both sides equally. The loveliness of her offered body was no longer something he sought to destroy. He saw her now…as Hannah…the girl who had always been more than she was that day, as her chirality—her mirrored self— had changed with each attempt at obliterating or possessing her.

Four words breathed alongside her cheek caused her to open her eyes, “I love you best.” Matt gently rolled Hannah over, cradling her in his arms like a doll. She still held her arms over her breasts. The scars on her arms…her legs…her stomach—they were all there for him to see, but each one was something he had to undo—work ahead of him—to put the disjointed figure back together.

“Don’t you want me to smoke first?” Her tiny voice was nearly a whisper.

“No.” He softly shook his head.

“Do you want to smoke first?”

“You are my heroin.”

Between her raised legs, he hovered. Drawing one ankle to his mouth, he kissed it fully. Two wide, round brown eyes watched him as he continued down her leg, kissing the branches of the lightening strike-scattered scar.

“You’re beautiful.”

The gasp she made when he entered her made him push deeper until her lips formed a perfect open pout. Hannah wasn’t bottomless and this view was something no one had seen before—she belonged to him.

Hidden inside of her, Matt swam in her abyss and swirled with her beating soul. Hannah had always been his destination, and he, her fate. He finished with her and kept her still, slowly lowering her legs.

“Don’t move. I want you to keep what I put inside of you.”

Hannah didn’t move. Her eyes followed him, and he cast a blanket over her naked body. Patches of red flushed across her skin. A smile began to upturn the corners of her mouth, so he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Pulling his pants on, he sat on the floor beside her. To the left of him was the coffee table with the heroin, foil, straw, and lighter. The preparations began.

“We’ll smoke now. Okay?”

Hannah nodded.

“How is your arm?”

“It hurts a little.”

“A little?”

“Just a little.”

“Well, it won’t in a minute.”

Matt let her smoke first. Absolute peace blessed her face after her first hit. They smoked until it was gone and both were high. Hannah began dancing her arms slightly.

“Do you want me to put you on the floor so you can make carpet angels?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Where are you?”

Hannah’s eyes were closed and she smiled, “I’m throwing rocks at swans and clouds are spitting snowflakes down a wishing well.”

“Are you in the snow making snow angels?”

“No, I’m one of the snowflakes now,” she sighed.

Matt smiled. “Yes, you are, Angel.”

*

Six days passed, and Hannah hadn’t returned home yet. On her first day with him, Matt retrieved Skye and some things she’d need. He took care of her so she wouldn’t want for anything. In some ways, he treated her like a child—stripping her down to her bare self so he could attempt to build her back up again. They smiled at each other over cold breakfast cereal and held hands as they watched television. During the week they went to work, but she returned to Matt’s house afterwards. Life was good—for both of them.

Matt still sold drugs out of his house and Hannah number two was one of his more frequent customers. It seemed liked they had sorted most things out between them and Hannah number two never stayed long and only called Matt outside to talk once. Hannah watched, and because of this, Matt was careful. It was one thing to make money off of the other Hannah, but he didn’t want to make his Hannah feel uncomfortable. Occasionally, she tried to pick a fight with him about this. Matt blamed himself—and for this reason, he controlled his temper.

Maybe it was the couch—how it sighed in the middle, or the constraint of huddling two people on it—but Hannah never slept well. One night, Matt found her sitting on the floor in the dark in the dining room. She discovered an old box of Christmas decorations someone had given to Matt. There was a mob of tangled light strands and she plugged them in. The illuminated nest rested in her lap. Dots of red, yellow, blue, and green brightened spots on her skin with their colors.

“What are you doing?”

Hannah jumped from being startled, “Oh! I was just playing with the lights.”

“They look beautiful on your skin.”

She arranged them on her lap like a blanket, “I suppose they do. It’s not so easy to see my scars in this light.”

“I don’t mind your scars.”

“I hope not…you put some of them there.”

Matt crouched down so he could see her face. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were okay, I said I was sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hannah whispered.

Matt inhaled “Can’t you quit?”

“Could you quit heroin?”

“I could quit everything but you.”

Hannah looked into his eyes. “That’s lovely.”

“So are you.”

She smiled. “No, I don’t think I can quit.”

“Well, what do you do when you’re somewhere you can’t cut, like work?”

Hannah sighed. “I go to the roof of the building and think about jumping off.”

Matt’s face winced. “What? You think about killing yourself?”

“Mmmhmm. Or, there are four stone gargoyles on the roof. I talk to them.”

“You talk to rocks?” Matt’s tone adopted a skeptical tone.

“Not rocks, gargoyles. I even named them.”

“And this makes you feel better?”

“It clears my mind.”

“Maybe you should keep one of those gargoyles with you?”

“They aren’t likely to fit in my purse.” Hannah laughed and repositioned the lights.

“You should move in here with me.”

Her head snapped upward, “What?”

“You’re here all of the time anyway.”

“I…I don’t know,” she stammered.

“What’s stopping you?”

“My parents would kill me.”

“Hannah…” Matt sang, “…you keep bigger secrets than me.” He reached for her arm and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the scars on her wrists.

CHAPTER
  38

Showers

Hannah lay on the couch with Matt, his arm slung over her as he slept. She did not sleep, instead, she thought about dead skin cells and body fluids from the other Hannah being irrevocably part of the couch. In her mind, there were still three people on the couch; Hannah could not escape this. It placed her somewhere between repulsion and wanting to die. The blankets and sheets they used were washed since she came to stay, but she still couldn’t shake the obsession with the remains of Hannah number two.

Sliding out from Matt’s arm, Hannah went upstairs to take a shower. In her backpack were her nail brush and other items. Retrieving them, she wrapped her cast up in a plastic bag and began her methodical shower. First the hands—they were the easiest place to start as she adjusted to the pain. As she moved up her arms, she flinched when the bristles scrubbed over new wounds. Plastic hairs ripped at healing cuts and reopened old wounds. Anytime Hannah did this, there was blood flowing down the drain like a faint smoky red stream.

Spots of blood were left on the white towel after she dried off. Her skin was bright pink and raw, but she only felt marginally better. After dressing, she crept down the stairs and was surprised to see Matt awake.

He looked at her and shook his head. “Jesus, Hannah. Did you give yourself one of those Silkwood showers again?” Matt pulled a cigarette out of the pack, lit it, and then tossed the lighter onto the coffee table. It bounced like a neat V, into the air, and fell to the floor. Hannah went over and picked the lighter up, setting it down next to the pack of smokes. “Why do you do that shit—the showers, the cutting, and your fucking arm?”

“I don’t know.
I start to think about bad stuff and it’s the only thing that makes me think less.”

“Well, what are you thinking about?”

“Lots of things.”

Hannah could hear Matt started to lose patience. “What did you think about today?”

Hannah fidgeted. She never imagined she’d tell anyone any of the bad things she thought of. “The other Hannah and how much you fucked her.” It came out in almost a whisper.

“What about it?”

“I think about how you fucked her on the couch and every time I sit on it, I wonder what bits of her or her body fluids I’m touching.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hannah; we’ve been over this a hundred times. I only dated her because of Jared.
Look—as soon as he went to jail, I told her to fuck off.”

“Did you really though?”

“Of course—why are you asking me that?”

“Because I found a pair of underwear under the couch the other day and I wondered if they were hers.”

“Fuck if I know. Stop being so paranoid. You’re the only one I’m fucking. Those panties were probably left here by some junkie tying herself off with them in my living room.”

“And how do I know you didn’t fuck the junkie, too? I don’t even think I can trust you.”

“Will you shut your fat fucking mouth?” Matt yelled. “I have a fucking migraine and I’m dope sick.”

The tears immediately started dripping from Hannah’s eyes, as much from anger as from hurt.

Matt shook his head, got up from the couch, approached Hannah, bent down, and gave her an apprehensive hug.

Hannah pushed him off of her with both her good arm and her cast arm. “Get away from me.”

Matt staggered backwards for a step. “Calm down!”

“Leave me alone!” she screamed at him with a shrill voice. “You’re white trash.”

He spit into Hannah’s face. She kicked and squirmed, but could not move with him on top of her. He slid up and trapped her arms under his knees. As she tried to wheeze in air, her stuttering chest kept seizing. Slowly, Matt placed a pillow over her face and pressed it into her scream.

The shrieks were stifled, but so was her breathing. Hannah was able to inhale one time before the fabric sealed around her mouth. Struggling only made it worse, so she intuitively stopped. Everything was static-like and fuzzy. There were no paisley trees…there were no moss covered carpets…Hannah just faded out. 

First came a giant breath in, then her eyes flicked open. Matt was no longer on top of her. Scrambling backwards along the floor on all fours, she scurried like a frightened crab, Hannah’s eyes darted until she found Matt.

“Hannah, stop.”

Hannah jumped up and ran up the stairs, but Matt pursued her. She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, just as Matt reached her. Throwing her body weight against the door with her hip, Hannah managed to push back enough to get the door lock clicked. The wooden door bulged inward as Matt rammed it repeatedly with his body. It didn’t give.

“Open the fucking door, Hannah.” Matt pleaded, “C’mon, I just want to talk to you.

“You tried to kill me!” Hannah screamed and cried as she frantically occupied all of the space in the bathroom in one blur of a constant movement within its confines.

“You’d be dead if I was trying to kill you, now calm down and let me in.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” she screamed over and over until her voice was hoarse.  

The lock on the door broke through the frame, splintering the wood, and Matt was deposited into the bathroom. Hannah came at him, screeching—a tornado of arms and legs as she tried to beat him back out of the room. Her cast came down on the bridge of Matt’s nose and stunned him, causing him to stumble backwards, out of the bathroom. Desperate, Hannah slammed the door shut and braced it with her body—her shoulder pressed firmly into the wood. Her desperate fingers tried to push the wood back into the door frame so the lock would hold once again.

Matt’s footsteps traveled across the hallway, but returned. One sharp kick and the door flew open, scattering Hannah backwards for a second before she retreated to the far corner of the bathroom, trying to melt her body into the wall as Matt approached her slowly. In his hand was an old plastic soda bottle. It held a rust-colored liquid and Hannah recognized what it was. Sometimes they smoked heroin in the empty upstairs bedroom. If Matt was too high to walk across the hallway to the bathroom, he would piss in old bottles. There had been several old bottles in the bedroom he hadn’t dumped out yet. The urine was turning cloudy and orange from age.

Matt raised his arm up and dumped the urine on Hannah. She tried to push his arm away, but he was stronger and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed as the old piss showered over her head. Humiliated and helpless, she shivered as she stood in a puddle of Matt’s foul piss.

Cracking an eye open, she saw Matt standing before her, sneering. He leaned forward and spit in her face. “I didn’t try to kill you, you fucking cunt.” Whipping the empty bottle at her feet, he stormed out of the room. “Clean that shit up,” he yelled as he stomped down the stairs.

Hannah had never felt so embarrassed in her entire life. Tears gurgled from her eyes as she struggled to remove her wet clothing. She dropped each item where she stood and tiptoed to the shower, gently pushing the bathroom door shut on her way there.

The hot water felt nice. Hannah continued to cry as she soaped and scrubbed every crevice which might have been a reservoir for Matt’s piss. There was no point in her trying to keep her cast from getting wet in the shower—the soft gauze inside was saturated with urine.

The hot water ran out before Hannah shut the s
hower off and dried herself off. She was glad the mirror was fogged; she couldn’t even look herself in the eye. There was only one incomplete set of clothes in her bag, but it had to do, despite that meaning she’d be wearing a pair of shorts without black tights under them.

Taking the pissy clothes home wasn’t an option. Hannah didn’t have anything to put them in, so she said good
bye to her favorite pair of pants and a nearly new black shirt. She sprayed cleaner all over the floor and walls where she had been standing and wiped the entire mess up with paper towels. They were the paper towels she had bought for Matt, trying to make his house homier.

With her backpack slung over her shoulder, Hannah descended the stairs. Skye was still curled up, sleeping on the one chair. Matt sat on the couch, watching TV. When Hannah picked Skye up, he shut the TV off and repositioned himself on the couch.

“Hannah, I’m sorry. That was so fucked up and wrong of me.”

Hannah did not look at Matt. She stood before him, her bare legs glaring back at him. It was the first time she had let anyone see her bare legs in the sunlight. Matt stared at them, but Hannah did not care; she wanted him to see what he had done.

“I’m gonna go now,” she all but whispered. He did not stop her.

Hannah drove home and took four Percocets as soon as she poured something to drink. She kept old newspaper under her kitchen sink. Carefully arranging it, she retrieved scissors and a pair of needle-nose pliers. The process was tedious, but she pulled all of the cotton pads out of her cast and then snipped out the gauze. The swelling had significantly decreased since her fall, and the cast was already loose. Once Hanna removed all of the padding, she was able to slide the cast off of her arm. Doing so made her wince from the pain. She cradled her arm, took it to the kitchen sink, and scrubbed the last of the piss evidence from
it.

The orthopedic surgeon’s office would open the next day. Until she could have the arm recast, she wrapped it in an elastic bandage and used her sling. The pills had kicked in by the time she was done, and she lay on her bed, her hurt arm rested on her stomach. In all terms and meanings, she was broken.