Wake (66 page)

“Leave the dishes,” he says. “We’ll do them later.” We kick back on the couch and try to decide between Asian-language cartoons on channel three and competitive pole vaulting on channel nine. Luke says we might be able to pick up an English cartoon network if we adjust the rabbit ears, but neither of us wants to get up to do it. We’re full and sluggish, so we make do with foreign cartoons. It doesn’t even matter that Briana’s music drowns out most of the sound.

Luke starts making up lines for the characters, talking over the noise and being silly about it. He makes me giggle and we start to recreate the whole plotline of the episode: the girl with pink hair is a government agent, spying on the guy with white hair who is actually a rogue alien who just likes to probe people and has lost all interest in his species’ mission to conquer earth. The little girl with black hair is his accomplice and is actually a robot control ed by a tiny fell ow alien, M.I.B.-style.

“What about the guy with the glasses?”

“Oh, he’ll be dead by the first commercial break.”

When the cartoon ends we give championship pole-vaulting a try. Without humor to stimulate me and with a full belly to make me sleepy, I quickly start to doze. The last thing I remember is the relentless thundering of Briana’s music in the background of my consciousness, and when I wake up I’m no longer on the couch. I’m in Luke’s bed, tucked in with the quilt up to my chest. Damn. It’s been years since someone carried me to bed. I stretch my legs with a sigh and then something touches the back of my head. Luke pets my hair and asks if I’m awake.

“No. Go away.”

He chuckles like I’m joking and lies down next to me. Next thing I know I’m being spooned and his hair is soft against my cheek when he kisses my temple. God damn it, I thought I explained that this shit is off limits.

“Luke.”

“Mmmh?” He runs his hand down the curve of my ribs and hip. His lips are at my shoulder and he’s close enough to my back that I can feel his misplaced excitement. I bet he was waiting for me to wake up. Pervert.

“We talked about this.”

“Give me a chance.” He rolls me with a hand on my shoulder and before I can tell him to fuck off straight to hell he’s got his mouth on mine, pressing our lips together in what I think is an attempt to be passionate. It’s not, it’s just pathetic. Luke lays his weight in top of me, pressing his cock up against my thigh. I really have to stop fooling around with virgins; they just don’t get it. Absolutely no subtlety.

I reach down and grab him, hard. The first time he tried this bullshit, I didn’t say anything. But since then I’ve told him no more. If he’s going to seriously try this with me, I’m going to hurt him and I won’t feel bad about it.

Turns out Luke likes a rough hand. He wraps his fingers around mine and makes me grip him even harder. Fucking hell. I twist a little and he snatches my hand away with a soft exclamation.

Luke pins that hand near my head and begins to leave big wet kisses down my neck. It’s like something out of a bad movie. He rolls his hips against my front, humping me through our clothes, and moans into my neck like a fat man with a hot pie. His other hand slips between my legs, rubbing me through my jeans. Jesus Christ, he’s going to try that again, is he?

“Stop that.”

“Is this better?” He moves his hand in circles instead. I can’t wait until this country declares open season on idiots.

“What do you think?”

Luke gets a hand under me and squeezes my ass. I try to kick him, but I can’t reach much with my hips pinned down. He thinks I’m leaning into him and starts to kiss me with more ‘passion.’ He gets a hand up my shirt and I swear, if he starts fumbling with my bra I’m going to lose my shit completely.

Luke lifts himself up on his elbows and looks down at me with a weird expression. “I don’t have a condom.”

I put my hand on his shoulders and shove, hard enough that he falls off the edge of the bed with a crash.

“Who the fuck said you would need one?” I tug my shirt back into place and get out of bed. “I told you no more of this shit,” I yell at him as I storm out into the hall . I need to get out of here. I shove my feet into shoes and grab my purse off the counter. Briana’s music comes to an abrupt stop.

“Willa, wait!”

“Fuck off, Luke.”

“Why do you keep turning me down? I’ve treated you a lot nicer than your other ‘boyfriends,’” he demands rudely. What does he know about me and my sex life? At least the others
asked
before they touched me.

“My boyfriends are none of your business, jackass. I keep turning you down because
I don’t want you
.”

I feel like throwing something, but I suppress the urge and head for the door.

“I know why your parents sent you here.”

I stop with one foot out the door. “What?”

“I know about your sister. And the shit you did after. No wonder your parents shipped you off to live with your brother. I bet they were sick of the drama.”

I let the screen door close. “You don’t talk about my sister.”

“I overheard our brothers talking. Frank told Doug what you did to Tessa.”

“You know fuck-al , you little shit.”

“Do your parents not want you to date because of the shit people you got involved with back home? I think they’d be over the fucking moon if you dated someone normal—someone they knows isn’t insane.”

“Are you trying to talk me into dating you?” I can’t believe his sheer idiocy. “I’m seeing someone, you arrogant prick.”

Luke gives me a skeptical look. “Oh yeah? Who?”

It’s more of a lie than truth, but I can’t let him think he has an opening. “Jem Harper.”

Luke stares at me for a few seconds, and then bursts out laughing like I’m a joke. “Jem
Harper?
The guy with cancer? Whoa, shit, you are nuts.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Luke.”

“And what happens when he croaks? Are you going to completely lose your shit again and hurt Frank?”

I really fucking hate Luke Thorpe right now. To insult Jem is one thing—Jem never did anything to him —but to suggest that I’d hurt my family on purpose is crossing a line.

“Jem’s not dying,” I answer through my teeth. “He’s in remission. And you could go out tonight and get hit by a car—and the way you’re going, it’ll probably be
my
car.” Luke sneers at the threat. “You say shit about me and Frank again, you’re going to regret it.”

I give him the finger and turn to go.

“Are you gonna kill Harper too?” Luke calls after me. I don’t want to stop, but God fucking damn him for saying that to me. I turn and Luke’s got this bitter sneer in place. “Forget it. You’re not worth it. I
know

what you did to her.”

I drop my purse on the porch and reenter the house. Luke folds his arms as I step up to him, looking down on me with disgust and arrogance. That little shit.

I take a swing at his jaw. My whole weight is behind it, and the arc is long enough that he can see it coming—and he doesn’t even move. My first two knuckles connect with his jaw and his neck twists to the side. What kind of idiot doesn’t block or duck?

He expects it when I wind up for the second punch, and he lunges at me. Luke shoves me into the banister. He’s got his hands around my elbows, pinning my body to the edge of the wood. I’m not above sacking him. My only education is in how to fight dirty. Luke’s not a fighter, and he leaves his legs wide open for my knee to come up and bruise his ball s. He might have the advantage of height and weight, but I’ve got experience and I know how to capitalize on his pain. Luke lurches and gags as I lower my knee. His grip loosens enough that I can get my arms free, and I shove him back as hard as I can. My leg wraps around the back of his calf, tripping him.

Luke hits the floor like a sack of potatoes. The adrenaline has deafened me and all I can see is his smug face twisted up in pain. I take advantage of his prone position by sitting on his chest with my knees pinning his elbows down. I knew I loved his stupid haircut for a reason—it gives me something to grab as I pull his face in toward every punch. He gets two across the cheekbone and one across the jaw, hard enough to bust his lip open. My hand is going to hurt like hell when this is over, but right now I can’t even feel it. I wind up my other arm to strike the opposite side of his face, but Luke gathers himself enough to flex his arms and throw me off.

As I fall on my back to his left I strike out with my foot and manage to land one last kick to the jaw. Luke is up and on me in a second, equally fuel ed by adrenaline. He goes for the kill shot. His hand wraps around my neck, squeezing me. He’s got me held at arms length, beyond the reach of my fists, and his leg pins mine down. He thinks he has the upper hand. Stupid boy.

I slip my thumb between his palm and my neck, gripping his wrist. My other hand grabs the back of his elbow. I twist his wrist back on itself and push his elbow joint in the wrong direction. His shoulder naturally rolls with it and he cries out in pain before his face even hits the tile floor. I roll on top of him and put a knee in his back.

An arm bar hurts like hell, even relaxed. Luke struggles, kicking his legs and flexing his shoulder. I just push harder. One quick move and I could snap his fucking elbow.

Not bad for a little girl.

Luke has the nerve to ask for mercy. What does he think this is? High school wrestling? There’s no tapping out in this match.

“Shut up,” I bark at him. I replace the hand on his elbow with my other knee and he cries out in protest.

My free hand grabs him by the hair, jerking his head back. His eyes are already bruising and he’s got blood running down from his split lip.

“Yeah,” I snarl at him, “I killed her. So
what the fuck
do you think I’d do to you?”

I throw his arm away and he whimpers in pain. Fucking pathetic. I take one last kick to the ribs as I walk away.

It’s not until I bend to pick up my purse that I realize Briana is watching from the top of the stairs. “Go help your brother clean up,” I tell her, and slam the front door behind me.

Monday It’s nice to know that my left hand still good for throwing punches. I wear gloves with long fingers to hide my bruised knuckles. The first two knuckles on both hands are a little swollen and the tops of my fingers are purple. The marks are satisfying, because they’re the only ones on me and I know Luke looks a hell of a lot worse. He didn’t even make a mark on my neck when he choked me; his grip was too brief.

I can see Jem a few hundred yards ahead of me as I head toward the school. He’s the only one in the crowd wearing a hat in May. He’s a little hunched today, which could mean anything from pain to tiredness to a particularly cranky mood. Given his new drug regimen, I’m going to bet on pain.

I catch up with Jem at his locker a few minutes later. He looks miserable, slowly turning the dial on his lock and opening the locker. For a moment he just stands there, and then he angles his shoulders, trying to get his backpack to just slide off him.

I come up behind Jem and take the weight of the backpack, easing it off him as gently as I can. His joints must be killing him.

Jem looks at me with a forlorn expression. “Thanks.”

“That bad?” I hang up his backpack and he nods.

“I’m only taking half my regular dose, and only half as often.”

“Withdrawals symptoms?” I ask lowly. Jem shrugs. Some things are too personal to talk about.

“Nothing I can’t hide,” he says. It annoys me a little that he’s hiding his discomfort to keep others from worrying. But he’s done it before, and I know how hard it is to talk him out of these asinine ideas.

I hand him a mint and head off to class.

*

Jem doesn’t show up to lunch, which annoys me even more because it means he feels worse than he’s letting on. I take some of my frustration out on my lunch—enough that Hannah notices that I’m eating more aggressively than usual.

“Just trying to eat quickly. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Studying?”

“Something like that.”

When I get to the nurse’s office, I find her gone. The staff are on lunch break too. I peek behind the curtain at the twin cots and find Jem lying on his side, looking like death warmed over.

“Nothing you can’t hide, eh?” I tuck the blanket tighter around his shoulders and sit by him, keeping him company and rubbing his back. The pain in his joints is no better or worse than usual, but his stomach is easily upset. He’s afraid to eat anything because it will make him sick, and prolonged hunger makes him lightheaded and cold.

“Is it nausea?”

Jem turns red in the face. “No,” he mumbles. One of the more uncomfortable side effects of opiates is constipation. Now that he’s on a lower dose, his digestive tract has to reconfigure the whole food processing situation.

I go back to the cafeteria and buy him a fruit juice. He can drink, at least, and he needs the sugars.

“Does Elise know I’m in here?” Jem asks as he sips.

“Probably.” Elise is highly attuned to her brother. “I bet she just thinks you’re a little tired, though.”

“Thanks for your help. I’ll pay you back for the juice.”

“Damn right you will .”

Jem chuckles at my tone and drinks more of his juice. He has to sit up a little to do it because I didn’t bring him a straw. He doesn’t need to be sucking air back right now. The gas would just be harder on his gut.

“Come here.” Jem holds out an arm to me, inviting me to sit next to him against the headboard. I scoot over to join him and he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“What happened to your hand?” He picks up my right hand and pulls my glove off to look at the bruises.

“I beat the shit out of a my friend.”

Jem’s eyes widen. He pushes both my sleeves up to my elbows, looking for hidden bruises. I tell him I’m fine but he insists on checking.

“Who were you fighting with?”

“Luke. You’ve met him.”

“That kid?” His voice pitches up. “He’s got at least thirty pounds on you, Willa.”

“More like forty.”

“Please tell me it was play fighting.” Jem still inspects my head and neck for hidden bruises. He wouldn’t believe me if I told him that Luke didn’t land a single blow.