Damaged 2 (6 page)

CHAPTER
9

Peter
is driving my car and I'm staring at the side of his face, lost in thought. He
ignores me for a few miles and finally says, "Can I help you with something?"

I
blink a few times and try to look the other way, but the sun is still low on
the horizon and totally blinding. "No, I was just trying to burn a hole in the
side of your face with my laser vision. It didn't work."

He
smirks. "Very mature"

I
raise my hand to my eye, line up Peter's face in the center, and pinch my thumb
and forefinger together. "No, this is mature. I'm squishing your head. Go on,
say something else and I'll do it again, bitch. I'm not afraid to use these
puppies." I pinch a few more times while giving him the evil eye.

Peter
slows the car and pulls over to the side of the road, brakes, and throws it in
park. "Get out."

"What?"
Is he insane? We're in the middle of nowhere just after sunrise on an alien
abduction road.

"You
heard me, Colleli. Get out. Now." Peter kicks open his door and slams it shut.
I wonder what the hell he's doing, but I don't follow.

"It's
my car, asshole! You can't tell me what to do!" Peter is at my door. I startle,
and my heart tries to leap out of my chest. He yanks the door open and I
practically fall out.

"Yes,
I can." We're standing on the side of the road in the tall grass. Bugs are
buzzing along with something else that I can't identify.

I
get to my feet and glare at him. "What are you doing? You can't just stop the
car and get out."

He
looks at me like I'm crazy. "I kind of did…" A truck blasts past us, swallowing
up the rest of his words and throwing my hair in my face. Peter's lips continue
to move, and the next thing I hear is, "last night, so you're driving for a
while." He shoves past me and sits down hard in the passenger seat.

What
an asshole! He snaps at me to get back in the car. I grit my teeth together and
hurry around to the driver's side. I leave my windows down and let the wind
blast me for a while. When I can't stand it anymore, I blurt out, "Why'd you
come?"

Peter
has his arm over his face and is slumped back in the seat. He peeks out from
under his elbow. "Excuse me?"

"You
heard me. Don't pretend that you didn't. Why'd you bother showing up if you're
just going to sit there and be pissed off for two thousand miles?" He doesn't
answer. Instead, Peter covers his face again and acts like he's going to sleep.
"Hey!" I smack his shoulder. "I'm talking to you."

"Why
do you think? And stop hitting me. You're going to catch me off guard and I'll
accidentally punch you in the face or something. Now, stop talking and let me
get some sleep, all right?"

My
pulse picks up the pace. Maybe I wasn't dreaming. "You didn't sleep well last
night?"

"No."
He doesn't move.

I
throw around the idea of asking him if he was next to me, but I'm fairly
certain he was. I'm the reason he didn't sleep last night. "Thank you," I say
without looking at him. I stare blankly at the road.

This
makes him look over at me. "For what?"

I
press my lips together. I don't want to say it. I don't want to thank him for
anything, but I should. Especially that. "For last night. I know you woke me up
and calmed me down. Then you acted like it never even happened. I kind of suck
at that. So thank you."

Peter
puts his arms down. He's quiet for a long time. Scruff lines his cheeks, and
his hair is a mess. He looks more like the pictures of Pete Ferro from the
paper now. "Sidney, I…" His voice trails off as he sits up in his seat. "You better
change lanes."

There's
a flock of birds on the highway. They're sitting there sunning themselves like
they're movie stars. I wave him off. "They'll move."

Peter
is staring at the birds as he speaks. "I acted like it never happened because I
didn't want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you." His hands lift
to the dashboard and he wiggles in his seat. "You might want to slow down and
go onto the shoulder."

"Are
you afraid that I'll hit a bird? Do you know how hard it is to hit a bird, never
mind a whole flock?"

"Yeah,
well, I'm pretty sure you could do it."

"What
does that mean?" I straighten in my seat and glance over at him.

"Do
I really need to explain that after the squirrel attack? Seriously, Sidney,
move over. One of those things looks like a turkey." Peter tenses and keeps
looking between me and the road.

"There
are no turkeys sunning themselves on the highway." Just as I say it, the flock
of birds takes off, just like I thought, except for one huge bird that decides
to walk across the lane.

"Uh,
Sidney—"

"Why
isn't he flying?" The bird is as big as a shopping cart and seems totally happy
to be sitting in my lane. What the hell? I'm almost on him by the time I
realize that he isn't going to fly away. I brake hard and swerve the car, but
the damn bird keeps walking. It screeches like a cat in a trash compactor as
the car nearly mows it down. I miss the bird and swerve onto the shoulder as we
skid to a stop. Heart pounding, I turn around and look back at the damn bird.
Peter gives me a look that says
I told you so
. I point a finger at him
and say, "Not a word."

He
grins. "I didn't say a thing."

"Who
expects to see a goddamn turkey in the middle of the highway?"

"Uh,
me. I told you, 'Hey Sidney, there's a turkey in the middle of the highway.'"

I
glance back at the thing, and the animal is still in the lane like he's
perfectly safe. If it was later in the day, he'd be splattered by now. "What
the hell is wrong with him?"

"He
must be one of those suicidal turkeys I'm always reading about."

Ignoring
Peter, I kick open my door and walk back to where the demented bird is still
happily gobbling in the left lane. "Here turkey, turkey. Get off the road, you
retard." I make noises like I'm calling a cat.

Peter
walks up behind me. "What are you doing?"

I
stand up straight and the turkey looks at me, but the fat bird doesn't move.
"Damn, he's stupid. I can't leave him there. Get something from the car to get
him off the road."

"Like
what? You didn't pack any food and I doubt he wants a Red Bull."

"I
don't know. Go find something."

Peter
walks back and digs around in the trunk. He comes back with something in his
hand. I can't really see what it is by the way he's holding it. Peter stops in
front of me. "You want me to save the turkey, right?"

"I
can do it."

He
holds up a hand and walks onto the highway. I keep glancing down the road,
waiting for signs of life. Peter moves toward the bird slowly, and when he's a
step away, he throws something pink at it. My face scrunches together when I
realize what he has—my bra. A strap lands over the bird's head. Peter yanks and
the bird comes toward him. Peter scoops the beast up and holds him under his
arm while wrapping the other end of the bra around the bird. It holds his beak
closed for the most part so the thing can't peck at us.

When
Peter hands me the turkey, it looks like the animal is wearing a pink padded
push-up bra. "Here's your bird. Nice bra, by the way."

I'm
frowning. The bra looks better on the turkey. As we talk a few cars pass by.
"What's the matter with him?" I look at the thing, but I can't tell. He doesn't
flinch when I touch him, like his wings are hurt. "Are turkeys supposed to
fly?"

"I
don't think so, but I'm not sure. I'm not into livestock."

"Well,
it's good to know you haven't screwed everything on two legs." Peter mutters
something, but I ignore him. "He doesn't look like a turkey, except for his
gobbler thingie here." I point at the red lump hanging from his beak.

"Gobbler
thingie?" I give Peter a look and head back to the car with the bird in my
arms. "Where are you bringing that?"

"To
a vet. He should have flown away."

"Sidney."
Peter grabs my elbow and turns me around. "You can't bring that with us."

"Why
not?"

"It's
a wild bird. If he takes that bra off, he'll peck out our eyeballs."

"You
couldn't get my bra off, so I don't think he will. I'll buckle him into the
backseat. It'll be fine."

Peter
follows after me. "I did get your bra off, mostly."

"Mostly
doesn't count," I say as I lean into the car and put the bird on my back seat.
For a wild animal, he really doesn't seem to mind the car, or being held. Maybe
he's somebody's pet. "Do you think he's a turkey? I mean, he's really dark."
His feathers are so brown they're almost black.

Peter
sighs. "I'm an English teacher, Sidney. It's not a raven or an albatross. After
that, I'd be guessing."

I
laugh lightly. "Ah, famous birds in literature."

"Something
like that." Peter glances at the bird. "We're seriously going to drive to
Jersey with a bird wearing a bra in the backseat?"

"Yeah,
I know someone there who will patch him up for free."

Peter
slips into his seat and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
"Wonderful. Now's a great time to become a philanthropist."

I
slam his door and lean in through the open window. Peter glances over at
me. "Who says that I wasn't before? I almost had pity sex with you. Talk about
scraping a carcass off the road." I wink at him and walk around the car.

When
I get in, Peter is watching me. "How flattering."

"I'm
all about the flattery."

"And
I'm all about the chivalry. I saved a turkey for you, you crazy person."

I
glance in the rearview mirror. My turkey is looking out the window and wearing
my best bra. I start laughing and can't stop. Every time I look back there, the
image hits me hard like I've never seen it before. I have a turkey doing
boudoir poses in my backseat.

CHAPTER
10

Peter
won't recline his chair. Instead he sits there in the passenger seat with his
eyes mostly closed. I can tell they're still open because his lashes flutter
every now and then when he blinks. It's well into the second day and the sun is
setting. I'm so tired, and I know Peter is exhausted since he won't sleep with
the turkey behind his head.

"It
won't bite you."

Peter
keeps his eyes sort of closed with his arms over his chest when he answers.
"That's very comforting, but I'd rather not risk it."

"I'm
starting to think you have a bird phobia." The corner of Peter's mouth twitches
like he wants to laugh, but he swallows it back down. The turkey shifts in the
backseat and settles down again. Peter's eyes open until the animal stops
moving. "Did Big Bird give you nightmares or something?"

"Or
something," he says and closes his eyes when the bird stills.

What
the hell does that mean?
I glance over at Peter. The dashboard casts a soft glow on
him and showcases the definition in his beautifully sculpted arms and face. The
pit of my stomach fills with regret, and I have no idea how to get rid of it. I
decide to press him a little bit, but I doubt that he'll answer. "So what made you
decide to be an English teacher?"

Peter
lifts his head and glances at me out of the corner of his eye like it's a
stupid question. "I like to read."

"Wow,
what a wonderfully profound and elaborate answer. Thank you for shedding light
on that decision. I think I'll be a teacher when I graduate so I can be like
you. You changed my life." I'm teasing him, and right up until that last point
my words feel light and playful, but those last four words are real. I don't
realize it until they tumble out of my mouth and fill the air like lumps of
lead.

Peter
watches me lazily from under dark lashes and shakes his head. "Nice, Sidney,
real nice."

"We've
been sitting next to each other for two days and you've hardly said anything."

"Neither
have you. The only time you talked to me like this was when we were getting your
passenger back there." Peter jabs his thumb behind us.

Awkwardness
creeps up my spine. It feels like there's a hand on my jaw, forcing it open and
making me speak. "I don't know how to talk to you anymore."

Peter
straightens a little. "You realize what you've done, right?" I glance at him
quickly and wonder where he's going with this. "Unbelievable. You don't know,
do you?"

"Then
educate me, teacher-man. Tell me what I did that was so hideously wrong." My hands
grip the wheel tighter. This is why we haven't spoken in two days. It's because
every time I open my mouth, we fight, and I'm sick of fighting.

"You
turned on me. As soon as I told you my name, you acted like one of
them
."
Peter stares straight ahead and works his jaw. I know he wants to say more, but
he doesn't.

I
keep my eyes on the dark road, watching the dotted white lines zoom by. "I did
not. You didn't lie to them, whoever them is."

Peter
cringes. "Nice grammar."

"Fuck
you, Ferro. You lied to me, like majorly lied to me. You pretended to be
somebody else from day one and never clued me in until you had to."

"That's
not true."

"Psh,
right. If my brother didn't show up with Dean, you wouldn't have told me at
all. I would have found out and felt just as stupid and used later when some
reporter figured out who you are. After everything that happened between us—" I
press my lips shut and lock my jaw.
Stop talking
. I know I'm going to
say things that I shouldn't say, things that I'll regret.