Dead Spell (7 page)

Adam held her hair while she puked, fending off the assholes that were trying to take advantage. There were too many to count and if any of them knew her real age, they didn’t tell him. He found out after four months of dating and even that was by accident.

None of it mattered now. He loved and accepted her. Broken or whole.

He drove to Lance’s trailer
with the heat on full blast. The window was cracked open a good two inches to air out the sickening, lingering smell of sweat and sex that had clung to Harmony like a second skin.

It was pouring rain and the long stretch of country road was nearly devoid of streetlights.

Thinking about Lance tattooing Harmony, touching her, hurting her, sharpened Adam’s anger and refocused his frustration.

“I’m coming for you, man.”

He hit the high beams, ignoring the warnings of deer, and slammed on the gas. The deep hum of performance exhaust grew louder with speed. He lit up a cigarette and turned up the radio, drumming his fingers to the beat of Master of Puppets.

By the time he pulled into Lance’s gravel driveway, he was at a tipping point.

The run down double-wide was dark except for the glow of a candle visible through the bedroom window.

“Asshole.”

He slammed the steering wheel with the heels of his palms and got out of the truck. His shirt was so hot from the heater blowing on it that the cold rain steamed when it hit the fabric.

He was too angry to even notice he was wet.

“Open up, you prick.” The rain muffled the sound of his fists against the rattling metal door. “God damn it, open up!” He kicked hard and it swung open.

Lance ran out of the bedroom shirtless, his hands choked up an aluminum baseball bat. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here, now, before I call the cops.” His shaking hands betrayed his attempt at looking brave.

Adam grabbed Lance’s throat and pushed him so hard that the drywall caved in and the bat fell from his hand.

Lance was half a foot shorter than Adam and even lifted off the ground, feet dangling and kicking, he refused to look him in the eye.

Adam leaned into him hard enough to hold him still. “You listen to me, you piece of shit, you touch her again and I’ll bury you, you hear me?”

Lance’s eyes went wide as he struggled for breath. “And you’re going to drop those bullshit auto theft charges or she is pressing some of her own.” He pulled Harmony’s underwear from his pocket. “Proof, you got me?” But Lance was too choked up to answer. “Nod if you understand me.”

Adam loosened up enough for Lance to nod and when he did, Adam let go, dealing a solid punch to his left eye and another to his jaw. “You’re fucking pathetic. She’s a goddamned walking target for people like you, people that use her and throw her away.” He kicked Lance in the ribs and an unnatural, wet noise rose up from his gut.

Lance rolled to his side and Adam left him there, gasping in a pool of his own vomit.

12
.

Harmony woke up naked and alone with Adam’s side of the bed undisturbed. There was a bathrobe at the foot of the bed, a fresh prescription of Zoloft on the nightstand, and a note that said “I love and forgive you.”

She was too sore, tired, and scared to keep fighting.

 “I love you, too.”

She put on the bathrobe and wiped the tear running down her cheek.

Oh, my god. My hair.

She caught her reflection in the stand-up mirror. She looked hacked, like a kid that got a hold of her mom’s scissors. Swaths stood on end at varying lengths, some so close to her scalp that you could see it through them.

She wondered if Adam had seen the chop job already or if the room was too dark when he got back.

It was going to be hard to fix, but she had to try.

She slipped inside the bathroom and took the scissors back out from the drawer. Adam had cleaned up the mess. Now she had to explain it.

Part of her wanted to tell him about Tom and the attack. The other part of her knew better.

She smoothed her hair with a comb, and section by section, lifted and cut it until it was relatively even. It ended up a very short, pixy-style haircut that made her feel like a chemo patient.

“This is not a good look for you.”

She wanted a hat or a hood or some coffee. An easy explanation would be good. She rinsed out the sink and went to the kitchen.

“Morning.” Adam stirred his coffee with his left hand, icing his right. He looked worse than she felt.

“Morning.” She noticed his wad of blankets and pillow on the couch. She lifted the cold pack off his hand. “Pay Lance a visit last night?”

“Mmhm.” He poured her a cup of black coffee.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“So what now?”

Adam shrugged. “We wait to hear if he dropped the charges.” He put a finger to her chin and turned her head to get a sweeping view of the new cut. “Nice job,” he said, “I had a hell of a time vacuuming this morning.”

“Speaking of messes. What about us?”

“I meant what I said in the note. I love and forgive you, but you need to get straight, Harmony. If this is going to work, you have to go back into therapy and start taking your pills.”

“But not with Reed. I hate that guy. He thinks I’m like my mother.”

Adam held her shoulders. “What do you mean like your mother? Did something happen in therapy?”

“No, it’s nothing.” She untied her robe and pressed against him. Things were only right if he didn’t refuse her again.

“Harmony, talk to me. What did Reed say?”

“We can talk later.” She guided his hands to the small of her back and kissed him. “I kind of have other plans.”

She dropped the robe and pulled off his shirt, kissing him with feverish need.

He lifted her on to the counter and easily gave in.

* * * * *

Brea scooted down so her knees were against the back of the seat in front of her. Jaxon was coming in late so she had to ride the bus and its bucking down the pothole-filled road made it hard to hold her compact. She cleaned the mirror with a swipe of her finger and groaned. She hated how she looked: tired, plain, and child-like.

Most of the junior girls hit some kind of super puberty over the last summer. They developed full breasts and grew several inches, but not her. She was still barely five feet and, given her genetics, unlikely to make it past 5’1. She was a little girl among women. A virgin, no less, terrified that she was so far behind she would never catch up. It was why most boys didn’t notice her and why she couldn’t help but feel that this thing with Jaxon was some kind of mean prank. Telling herself it wasn’t his style really didn’t help.

She dabbed a few dots of liquid concealer under each eye and blended it over the dark circles with her fingertips.

“This is hopeless.”

The light purple coloring bled right through.

She swept a thick line of black liner on her top and bottom lids, tousled her hair until the few dyed strands she hid from her mother showed, and called Harmony’s cell for the hundredth time since the police station.

Voice mail. Again.

“Harmony, it’s me. Call me when you get this, would you?”

The bus pulled into the circle and she saw, or rather heard, Adam’s jacked-up, black Chevy crest the hill into the senior parking lot.

Harmony was half out of the passenger’s side window waving frantically for Brea to come over.

Brea shoved her compact and make-up in the top of her overfull backpack and moved to the edge of the seat. When the driver opened the door, she rushed up the aisle, moved with the herd, and, after checking for monitors, broke left for a quick getaway.

Harmony slid across the skull fabric bench seat and snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“What the…” The haircut left Brea speechless.

“Never mind, just come on, would you?” Harmony took Brea’s backpack and helped her up.

“I’ve been calling you all night.”

“Oh my God, did you get reamed or what?”

“You have no idea.” Brea leaned over and waved at Adam who, until that point ignored her. He waved back, still not saying anything, and she saw the knuckles of his right hand were split. “What happened to him? And what happened to your hair?”

“You like it?” Harmony tousled her short bangs and chugged a half a can of Red Bull that obviously wasn’t her first. “I did it myself.”

“What possessed you…?”

“Possessed.” Poor choice of words.

“I’m…sorry…” Brea apologized.

Adam looked over. “Sorry for what?”

 “He speaks.” Brea gasped.

Harmony rolled her eyes. “With me, he never shuts up.”

 “So, uh, Adam, what happened to your hand?”

Harmony smiled. “He got Lance to drop the charges.”

Brea scoffed. “Lucky for you. My mom’s pissed. I’m not supposed to see
or
talk to you and this time she means it.”