Bleed Like Me (13 page)

She shook her head and passed me my paper. “You're a good writer. Don't give up on it.”

I nodded and escaped her classroom, tossing the paper in the trash on my way out of school, moving faster than my leg really wanted me to so I could get back to Brooks.

•  •  •

He was leaning against the brick wall of the store when I walked up.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Thought maybe you weren't coming.” His voice quivered a little and my stomach flooded in warmth.

“Were you worried?”

He looked at his boots. “I just got you back.”

My feet inched closer to him without me even being fully aware of it. He was like a magnet. “I just got
you
back.”

He grinned at me. “Yes. Yes, you did. So are you ready for my surprise?”

I leaned in and inhaled his scent. Indian Spirit cigarettes and sweat and deodorant and boy. “Yes,” I breathed.

He pulled me around the corner behind the Dumpster. I dropped my bag and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing a path down his jaw. He uncoiled my arms and stepped back from me to lift his shirt up, tossing it to the ground like he was dropping a surrender flag. My breath caught.

At first I thought he'd taken a razor blade to his chest, but as I stepped closer, I saw it was a bright red tattoo designed to give the impression of knife scratches. It was a misshapen heart with stitches across it. Tiny red straight pins speared the heart in six places across the top. The heads of the pins were circles with letters in them:
GANNON
.

“What'd you do?” I reached out to touch him and he hissed.

“Easy. It's healing. I need to put some more ointment on it.”

My mouth opened and closed. “Why did you do this?”

He closed the distance between us and slid his hand under my shirt. His fingers moved over the cuts around my belly button. The cuts he'd made. “I'd do anything for you.”

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Everything between us was so intense. My fingers moved gently to the tattoo. “I can't
believe you did this. I've never had anyone do something so crazy for me.”

He lifted me up and slid his hand to the back of my bandaged thigh. “Anything. Do you understand? I'd do anything. I'm yours. Completely.”

I kissed him, wrapping myself around him as tightly as I could. Not wanting to escape. He dug his fingers into my thigh. I cried out in pain but held his hand there. I started to pull off my own shirt when there was a loud thump on the Dumpster. Dennis stood in front of us with his hands on his hips.

“Gannon. Say good-bye to your Smurf and get your ass in the garage right now.”

Brooks grinned, reached for his shirt, and tugged it back on. “I'll see you later, sweetheart.”

I smiled at him and dutifully followed Dennis toward the storage garage. I glanced back at Brooks and he winked at me.

Dennis mumbled the entire time he messed with the padlocks. When he finally got the garage open, he pointed me to the pile of tools and huffed as he moved to the scrap-wood corner. After twenty minutes of flinging pieces of wood around, he joined me on the ground, separating nails.

“I'm not sure the Smurf is good for you.”

“What?”

“The Blue Man. The boy with the piercings and the tattoo.
I'm not sure this is a good choice for you.” He released a long breath.

“And you can weigh in on this, why?”

“Gannon. You're my employee and I'd like to think a friend. I probably know you better than your own parents. I know kids these days dress differently and mark their bodies in all manner of ways, but this is more than that.”

Yes, it was. But I wasn't about to share that with Dennis.

“You're flaking out on me, kid,” he continued. “And I've got a hundred dollars that says he's the reason.”

“I'm not flaking out on you.” It was a hollow protest and we both knew it.

“Aw, Christ, Gannon, I thought you were smarter than to get reeled in by some bad boy with a nipple ring.”

“You saw that?”

“Of course I saw it,” he grumbled. “He wasn't wearing a shirt. And the carved-up heart with your name on it? Where did you find this kid?”

“He found me.”

Dennis barked out a short laugh. “Of course he did. You're like a golden ticket to someone like him.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes it is. That kid's a loser, and you're just the kind of person who'll stroke his ego enough he'll think he's worth something.”

I sucked in a breath. “That's cruel.”

Dennis shrugged. “Maybe. But it's true. You're better than this one, and if I were you, I'd think long and hard about getting involved with a boy who brands your name on his body just because you opened your legs for him.”

His words ripped through me. This was my boss, Dennis? My friend? “Fuck off, Dennis. You're not my dad.”

He shook his head at me. “Sometimes I wish I was,” he mumbled.

My hands trembled as I put the rest of the tools away. I slipped away as soon as I could, not even nodding good-bye to Dennis.

I wanted Brooks. Needed him. And then he was there. Sitting on his car in the Punkin' parking lot, smoking a cigarette, waiting for me. The relief was immediate. Powerful. Addictive. Better than anything I'd ever felt before.

“I think we should do E again.” I was wrapped in a blanket in the back of Brooks's car, staring at the scuff marks on the vinyl seat.

He shifted me on top of him and played with the ends of my hair. “Really?”

“Yeah. I liked it.”

He grinned and cupped my chin. “Yeah. I thought you might. Not really a good idea, though.”

“Are you worried about Sue?”

He shook his head. “Not so much. But I'm worried about you. E can be really addictive. I don't think you should be exposed to too many things that are addicting.”

I lifted my head. “Why not?”

He chuckled. “Because then you'll fall. It's in your nature. You're a bit compulsive.”

I whacked him. “Go to hell. I am not.”

He slid his hand down to the back of my thigh. He peeled the bandage off and touched the deep cut lines. “Yes, sweetheart. You are.”

“What about you, then?” I pouted.

“Not so much, usually.” He pressed the bandage back in place.

“Usually?” I quirked an eyebrow at him.

“With you it's a bit different. I've never wanted anything as much as you before.”

My breath caught in a hiccup of happiness and desire. “And you have me.”

“Not quite,” he whispered into my hair. “But I will.”

I'd given him so much. Part of me didn't get why he wouldn't think I was his, but the other part of me knew he was sort of right. I rested my chin on my hands.

“How much more can I give you?”

“How much money do you have saved up?” He grinned and wagged his eyebrows.

“Are you serious?”

“Sort of.”

A wrinkle formed in my brow. “I don't know. Most of my paychecks for the past two years. But I'm not lending you money.”

“I don't want you to.”

“Then what does it matter how much I've got?”

He ran his fingers through my hair. “Run away with me.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I'll be eighteen soon. And out of the system. I can do whatever I want. Your birthday is first. You'll be legal. Leave town with me.”

“What about school?”

“I probably won't pass. I've missed too much. I can get my GED. So can you.”

A lead weight rested in the bottom of my stomach. “Does Sue want you to leave?”

“Probably. I don't know. I haven't really asked her.”

I hooked my finger into his nipple ring. “Why do you want to take off?”

He stared at me for too long, his fingers moving over the contours of my face. “So my dad can't find me.”

I lifted myself from him. “I thought you hadn't seen him in a long time.”

“I haven't,” he said, pulling me back down. “But the last time I did, he told me he'd be back for me, my ass belonged to him.”

“What? What does that mean?”

He released a sigh. “I assume you've heard about my stint in juvie?”

I pursed my lips.

He nodded. “Thought so. Well, it wasn't very long because I was pretty young, but it had to do with my dad.”

I laced my fingers through his and squeezed. He squeezed back and my heart thumped.

“I got sent there for stealing a car, driving under the influence.”

“Really?” Of all the things Brooks might have done, I hadn't expected that.

“I got sick of all my dad's shit, so one night I broke into his liquor cabinet, then decided to steal his car and take off. He freaked out. Called the cops. I ended up in this police chase and I really had no clue how to drive so I crashed the car. Also I was pretty wasted and there was an open bottle in the car. Frickin' schnapps of all things. The prosecutor was an asshole and my defense attorney sort of phoned it in. Plus, the judge was this old codger who decided to make an example of me even though I was young. The last time Dad saw me, I was being taken away by the cops, and he screamed that he'd kill me for what I did.”

“He'd kill you?”

“Yeah. Very fatherly, I know.” He shrugged, but I could feel the pain rolling off him in waves. “He really loved that car and I totaled it.”

“He put his own son in juvie? Over a car?”

Brooks nodded. The younger version of himself lay beside
me, all anger and hurt and resentment and loneliness. I ached to take it all away from him.

“What was the shit you'd gotten sick of?”

Brooks lifted me off him and turned his back toward me. “This.”

I flinched. I'd never get used to the sight of those scars. I wasn't surprised they'd come from his dad; he'd as much as told me without saying the words. But still I could barely wrap my head around it. His own father. My hands moved over the edges of them, tracing the smoothness and slight dents in the skin.

“They put me in the foster system after juvie because they'd seen all the marks and I told them Dad had made them. When they investigated him, he was drunk and got pissed at the caseworker and took a swing at her. That was sort of the nail in the coffin. But I've never doubted he wants to kill me. I'm always watching my back, waiting for him to come after me. I know sometimes it seems like I have a death wish, but I'm not about to go down at the hands of my messed-up old man.”

I leaned forward and kissed each mark on his back, letting him feel the tears on my cheek.

“Run away with me,” he said, and his voice cracked.

“I don't know,” I whispered. “I have to think about it.”

The silence in the car cocooned us. Small goose bumps formed on his skin and I tugged the blanket tighter around him. Thoughts darted through my brain, unwilling to land long
enough for me to absorb what they all meant.
Stolen car. Juvie. Scars. Run away. Run away. Run away.

He turned back to me and held my cheeks, brushing away the tears. “I don't have you yet, but I will.”

“Do I have you?”

He curled a lock of my zebra hair around his finger and tugged. “Sweetheart. You've had me since the first time I caught you with a menthol.”

I grinned and blinked the last of my tears away. “Minty fresh breath.”

He chuckled and rolled me underneath him. “Yes. Minty fresh breath,” he said before diving into my mouth.

•  •  •

At home I walked in on an argument. A horrible one. I had no idea where my brothers were, but my parents were in the midst of a fierce screaming match the likes of which I'd never heard.

“You can't control me like that. I'm not responsible for your decisions—” Dad's voice cut off when he saw me.

Mom had been crying. Again.

“Where are the boys?”

“Playing with Tim's puppy.” Mom's lip quivered.

I opened my mouth to spout about what an absolutely terrible idea that was, but Dad shook his head at me. “You should go keep an eye on them.”

I wasn't even out the door before I heard Dad say, “I can't live like this anymore.”

My brothers were surprisingly composed around the dog. It was a golden retriever and licked anyone who came near it. The boys couldn't get enough. Alex giggled when the dog jumped on him and slurped his ear. Tim watched with narrowed eyes from the side, but didn't say anything.

“Hey,” I said, dropping next to Luis. I smiled at Tim, but he crossed his arms. Too knowing for a little kid. My brothers' sphere of influence had spilled over the edges. Poor Tim.

The weather was cold and I expected snow soon, but the boys were dressed in light coats and seemed oblivious to the oncoming winter.

“Mom and Dad are fighting,” Luis said.

I nodded.

“It's about us,” he continued.

I shrugged. “Hard to say.”

“It is. Dad wants to give us back.”

“No, he doesn't.”

“I'm not going,” he grumbled as if he didn't hear me. “I'll run away before they send me back to Guatemala City.”

“I thought you wanted out of this shithole.” I nudged him with my knee, trying to erase the wrinkle between his brows.

“Not to go back to an even worse one,” he said, all serious face, too old and too jaded for his years.

“He doesn't want to give you back.”

“He'll leave, then,” Luis said. I glanced at Miguel, who'd been listening to our whole conversation. He shrugged at me.

I wanted to argue, assure them, tell them something that was true. But I had nothing. Dad had mentally checked out over the past year, and nothing Mom did seemed to change how absent he was.

“Amelia,” Dad called from the back door of our house.