Bleed Like Me (21 page)

“Kenji's friend out here still needs help,” Brooks continued.

So he was going to deal? I wanted to tell him not to—it couldn't lead to anything good—but the thought of the two of us being able to live in a place with a kitchen and bathroom was like a dangling carrot to a rabbit.

“Let's give it a few more weeks,” I said.

“The opportunity may not be around in a few weeks.”

I wrapped his hands around my waist so I could sink into his chest, smell his Indian Spirit cloud. “If it's the right thing to do, it will be.”

He nuzzled into my neck. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The bitter edge in Brooks's voice showed itself more and more often. He didn't like that I had to work. He detested the fact that he couldn't get a job. He couldn't stand that there was something wrong with me that neither of us seemed to know how to fix. And I couldn't tell him that I wasn't the only one obviously broken.

“I'm gonna call Ali,” I said, standing up from the couch.

Brooks's mouth turned down. “Why?”

“She's my best friend. I told her I'd check in. I barely call her as it is.”

He raised a shoulder. “She's not part of our life.”

I bit my bottom lip. Did that mean I couldn't still be friends with her? Resentment pooled into the empty spaces of my brain.

“Are you using the new phone I got you?”

I nodded. Brooks had been providing me with new unlocked phones of a suspicious origin after every call I made to Ali. He didn't even trust just switching SIM cards in my old phone anymore.

“Okay, give it to me when you're done; I'll pick up a new one tomorrow.”

I didn't say anything else, just turned and retreated into our room, plunking myself on the bed.

“It's about frickin' time,” Ali said as soon as she picked up the phone. “You texted you'd call at nine. It's ten thirty.”

“Sorry. Work.”

“Why do you keep having to change phone numbers every month? It's ridiculous and seems sketchy and totally paranoid. I mean, seriously, who the hell are you running from? You're both eighteen. The two of you are acting like Bonnie and Clyde.”

I swallowed. “Well, Brooks is in violation of his probation. And he's also worried about his dad tracking him.” I hated that I had to defend him and hated even more that a little part of me knew she was right.

“You should call home,” she said, and her voice caught.

“What's wrong?”

She took a deep breath. “Your dad split. Moved into his own place. Your mom's on her own with the boys.”

Guilt and anger wrestled inside me. My skin itched. I took three long breaths. “How's she doing?”

“How the hell do you think she's doing? She's lost two family members in the past two months. She's the only guard left alone with the inmates running the prison. She's a hot mess.”

Fury sliced through me. “Why are you putting this on me?”

“I'm not, but Gannon, for Christ's sake, have a little compassion. She sucks as a mom, but she's still
your
mom.”

My hands were trembling. I looked around the room for Brooks's brown paper bag. This could all be so much better with E. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Call her. Just call her. She wants to hear your voice.”

I didn't say anything and finally Ali sighed and hung up. My eyes fell on the paper bag and I shook it until the envelope with the E dropped out. I opened it and peered at the white pills. My thumb moved across the envelope and a tiny drop of blood appeared. Relief. From a paper cut. Jesus. The door swung open and my hand slipped beneath my legs. Brooks took two strides into the room, slamming the door behind him.

He yanked my hand out and the envelope dropped to the floor. “What did I tell you?”

I couldn't speak. My world spun in a fuzzy blur like I'd been drinking.

“We do this together. We do everything together,” he said, and picked up the envelope.

I stood up, my head still spinning. “I have to get out of here.” He followed me. I put my hand up and shoved him back. “Alone.”

The hurt that flashed across his face was nothing in comparison to the overwhelming urge to flee. I pushed my way out of the apartment, ignoring Gary and Bruce's puzzled expressions as I left. The cold night air filled my lungs and soothed the itchiness of my skin. Breathe in, breathe out. I floated over the sidewalk, unaware of anything but the air in my lungs and the buzzing in my head.

My feet carried me to the Pizza by the Slice. I had no idea why, but then I saw the woman who'd sat down with me at a table by the window, nibbling on her pizza. Her brows furrowed when she saw me. She pointed to the seat across from her. I shook my head, but my body steered me inside anyway. I dropped into the seat and stared at my hands. The blood on my thumb was smeared and dried.

“Why are you always here?” I blurted out.

“I live across the street. I'm not always here. But I'm not a great cook. Chinese takeout gets old. I guess pizza does too.” She pushed her plate away.

“I'm Amelia,” I said. It was stupid, a pull to something I couldn't have, but I couldn't stop myself.

“It's nice to meet you.”

“It wasn't supposed to be like this.”

She gave me a warm encouraging smile. “What are we talking about?”

“My life. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It's not like I expected everything to be perfect. We're teenagers without high school diplomas, trying to live together. I've seen enough of those reality shows to realize it isn't exactly a recipe for success. I just didn't think I would miss everything so much.”

I brushed away tears and she handed me a napkin to blow my nose.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” she said. “Why don't you go home?” Her voice was so calm and nonjudgmental. I wanted to tell her the rest. I wanted to pour everything I was feeling out onto the table in front of this stranger.

The glass banged next to my head and I looked into Brooks's devastated eyes. The urge to spill my life to this woman whooshed out of me and I was out of my chair, stumbling for the door without saying good-bye.

“Amelia,” she called out as my hand hauled the door open. “I'm Grace Miller. I'm on the third floor across the street. Come find me if you ever need to talk.”

I blinked. What the hell was I doing? I shook my head, exited the restaurant, and walked straight into Brooks's arms. He held me too tight and we were both shaking from all the things that weren't being said, trying to press our emotions into each other. Squeezing each other so hard, like that would somehow mold us back together. I pulled away from him and searched his face. Some of the anxiety had eased, but the question was still there. The question I couldn't answer.

I gnawed my lip, slipped my hand into his, and led him to the park around the corner.

“You have to tell me. Who was that woman? You know her? What'd you say to her?” he asked, half a block down the street.

“Nothing. I don't know her. She lives across the street and eats here sometimes.”

“Why were you talking to her?”

“I don't know. She's no one. But I have no one to talk to.”

He looked at me like I'd slapped him. “You have me.”

I touched his cheek and kissed him. “I have you.”

He peered into my face. “What's going on with you?” Again with this. Always the same question. Always my nonanswers.

I barely scraped out the energy to say, “Nothing.”

We sat on a bench. Coldness seeped into my jeans and I snuggled closer to him. I stared at a couple walking with their arms hooked together. The man was in a fancy long coat over a
suit. The woman wore leather boots, a peacoat, and a matching hat and scarf. Married maybe. In love for sure.

“Do you think that'll be us one day?” I asked.

“You mean me with my corporate job and you meeting me after work where you're a hygienist or some shit?”

We looked at each other and laughed. “Yeah. Didn't think so.”

Brooks steepled my hand with his. “I want that for us, baby. Well, not that exactly, because fuck if you'll ever catch me in that asshole coat.” He chuckled. “But a life like that. Where we aren't running from anyone. Where we have jobs and can just be together as we are. Maybe even have kids one day.”

I bit my tongue, swallowed past the dryness in my throat, and squeezed his hand. “I want that too.”

“I promise it'll be better. Soon. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He pulled me closer and dropped kisses on my cheeks and forehead, like he had the first time we were in the woods together. Then he hooked his arm through mine and we walked home. We didn't speak. Nothing was resolved, but at least the itchiness had subsided a little. I flipped off the lights in our room, tangled myself up in him, and ignored the fear circling around my head.

Brooks started dealing. It was sort of inevitable. The paranoia and bitterness around him was infecting everything, and in the end I told him to call Kenji's friend. I was terrified, but hoped that making money of his own would change the silence between us. My heart flipped the first day he came back with his boy grin and a handful of twenties.

He pulled off my boots and started kissing my feet.

“Gross,” I said, kicking him off me. “I've been wearing those boots all day.”

He licked my ankle. “I don't care.”

And the thing was, he didn't. I folded my feet underneath me. “Kiss something else.”

He leered at me and I swatted him. “That's not what I meant.”

He pulled my shirt off and flipped me on my stomach onto our futon. “Your back is beautiful,” he whispered, kissing a path down my spine. “No scars. No marks. Just a gorgeous canvas.”

I turned my head to the side so I could see him better. “Yeah, I'm surprised the fire didn't get me there, but I guess you pulled me out before it could.”

He smiled. “Guess so.” His finger figure-eighted down my spinal column. “You should get a tattoo.”

“Not in the budget,” I said.

“Might be now,” he said, and winked at me. Was it wrong that I was so glad about his drug-dealing euphoria? Over him finally, finally being a little happy, as if it could somehow turn me right side up?

“We need to get out of here first. I don't know how much more I can take of dashing across the street to pee and eating crappy food every night. I can cook, you know.”

His fingers kneaded. “I didn't know. But I'm glad to hear it. Even I'm starting to get sick of leftover sushi.”

I nodded. “Plus, I'm not exactly sure how safe it is to eat food that comes from the hands of Gary and Bruce.”

Brooks laughed. “It's gonna be okay. Things will be better with us now. I promise.”

The truth slipped past his lips and pressed against the inside of my chest. Things had been getting worse every day. Not just with the apartment, but with us. He knew it too. The
dream of jobs and security and kids was not in our cards. We lived minute by minute, holding on to drops of water that evaporated before we could lick them up. There was no break for Junior Mints and horror movies, just a pounding grind and a seemingly bottomless pit.

He reached across the futon and dug around in a takeout bag still sitting there. We never cleaned anything. Too exhausted to bother, too dirty ourselves to care much about the state of our room. My head lifted as he shook the bag.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make things better. You trust me, right?”

I took three deep breaths. “Yes.”

“Good. Now head down.” I pressed my face into the pillow and waited. Paper tore. I looked up again.

“What . . . ?”

“No peeking. Head down.”

Then I felt it. The press of something against my back. “Is that a chopstick?” I asked into the pillow.

“Yeah. I'm going to draw you a tattoo.” He pressed harder and the cheap wood scraped against my skin.

My heart beat faster and I wiggled. He pressed harder still, and a long breath escaped my lips. He rubbed over and over the same area. I didn't have the first clue what he was drawing, but I didn't think he did either. That wasn't the point.

He pulled something else from the takeout bag and I heard
rustling. Then the prongs of a plastic fork bit into the same area he'd just used the chopstick on. My body shook and he went over the area again. I ached to see it, ask for more, something harder, but I gathered myself inside and shut it all off.

“Enough,” I said, and he dropped the fork to the floor.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, pressing kisses between my shoulder blades and down the path of the newly scraped skin.

I nodded and slipped my shirt back on. I was tempted to take it off again, wanting to re-create the day in the storage garage when everything came out and Brooks and I connected like we never had before. But I also knew now more than ever it would change things for us. Unglue the already cracking pieces of our relationship.

“Okay,” he said, and grabbed the other chopstick, rubbing the two together at a weird angle until the tips were rough and splintery. He pressed one into my hand. He pulled off his shirt and lay down on his back beside me. “Do me.”

“What?”

“Draw me a tattoo, Gannon. Right here, underneath yours.” Underneath mine. My name carved into him forever.

I shook my head. “No. I'm not any good at drawing.”

He stared at me. “I don't care.” He wrapped his hand around mine and pushed the chopstick against the pale skin beneath his other tattoo. I tried to ease my hand up, but he wouldn't let me.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

His gaze didn't break from mine, but he pushed my hand down more. “It's okay.”

It was a chopstick. Nothing really. A piece of wood with a slightly rough edge, but his whole body strummed like he was asking for something else. Almost like the day with the belt, only different, more dark and dangerous. This wasn't about me. It was about something I couldn't quite wrap my head around.