Dirty Blood (21 page)

The only wound that seemed to be healing at a normal
human rate was the bite on my arm. I was careful to hold that arm
out of the stream of water. The stitches would be ruined if they
got wet. At least the oozing had stopped, thanks to the strange
homemade salve Jack had given me. And it didn’t ache nearly as bad
anymore. Fee had said to keep applying the medicine and once the
stitches fell out, the healing would speed up and close the wound,
just like every other scratch on my body. In the meantime, I was
careful to wear long sleeves.

When the hot water began to run cold, I finally shut
off the knob and climbed out. I pulled on sweatpants and a long
sleeved Cat in the Hat pajama shirt. I opened the bathroom door to
clear the steam off my mirror and ran a comb through my hair. When
I was done, I heard my desk chair squeak. I walked out and found
Wes at the computer, playing solitaire.

“Hey,” I said, crossing to my bed and sinking onto
it, carefully. My muscles weren’t screaming quite as loudly now,
but there was a collective exhale throughout my body as I sank onto
the soft mattress.

“Hey.” He glanced over and then went back to his
game.

I sat there for a minute, feeling awkward in the
silence. I pulled my phone out and scrolled through the names. The
need for someone to talk to was something I was struggling with. I
still felt torn about approaching my mom, knowing it could quite
possibly do a lot more harm than good.

She’d finally cornered me early this morning and
demanded to know what was going on with me. She’d used words like
distracted and absent and preoccupied. I’d somehow managed to ease
her concerns by telling her I was stressing about things like my
breakup, and colleges, and normal teenage dilemmas. I think she
bought it. For now.

And telling Sam or even Angela about any of it was
not an option, either. Mostly, I just didn’t want to put that kind
of stress on the people I cared about. It wasn’t fair to them. But
the one person I wanted to talk to, the one person who understood
everything that was going on, had no interest in speaking to me,
apparently. At least not about anything that mattered.

My phone rang in my hand. George. I still hadn’t seen
him or talked to him since his attack, and my concern won out. I
decided to answer.

“Hello?”

“Tay, what’s up?” He sounded like himself, maybe a
little tired.

“How are you? Your mom called me about what
happened.” I felt Wes’ eyes on me, but I stared down at the floor
and focused on George’s response.

“I’m okay. It wasn’t as bad as she made it sound, I’m
sure,” he said.

In the background, I heard his mother say, “Eighteen
stitches isn’t bad?”

“George, that’s a lot of stitches,” I said. “Are you
sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good. Just been takin’ it easy. Mom said I can
go back to school tomorrow, though.” There was a pause and then he
said, “What’s been up with you?”

“Not much, um, busy with… helping my mom out at the
store.” A pang of guilt shot through me at the lie. Partly because
it was George, and there was a time, not so long ago, that I’d
never had to lie, and partly because I just really wanted to talk
to someone right now.

He didn’t press me for more detail, which meant he
believed me. He cleared his throat, and I sensed a change in
conversation coming. “So, are you going to the dance tonight?”

“I don’t think so. I forgot about it.”

“Do you want to go? I mean, you’d have to pick me up,
but we could go together. Just as friends,” he added, before I
could answer.

“George…”

“We can be friends, Tay.”

“I know. I just have a lot going on right now, at
home. Things are… stressful,” I said. Wes was looking at me again,
I could feel it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” George asked, in a
soft voice.

I hesitated. “Do you ever feel like you’ve been
waiting your entire life for a specific moment when it’ll all make
sense?” He didn’t answer. “Or like you’re right on the edge of it
all making sense, but you know you don’t have all the pieces yet.”
Wes’ gaze was like pointed arrows. I could feel it.

“Tara, what’s going on?” he asked. His tone became
worried.

I sighed. This wasn’t going to work. No way could I
tell him. He wouldn’t even believe me if I did. “Nothing, never
mind,” I muttered. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll
see you at school.” I stole a glance and saw that Wes had gone back
to his computer game. Obviously, all he’d cared about was making
sure I keep the secret.

I hung up before George could argue and stared down
at my phone. I continued to scroll through my list of contacts,
knowing without looking that no one on that list was a realistic
choice. I sighed and tossed my phone aside, rolling onto my stomach
to stare out the window.

“Can we talk?” I asked, hesitantly, a few minutes
later. Wes turned to face me. He gave me a look that said he’d
rather not, but he waited without protesting. “Look, I don’t know
what happened the other day, or why you’ve stopped talking to me,
but it’s getting old.”

“Okay.” He shrugged.

“Okay? That’s it. You’re not going to offer any kind
of explanation?”

“No.”

I bit my lip, trying to push down on my irritation.
“Look, I just want to make sure we’re good. I don’t want to be
fighting with you, when we should be fighting Leo.”

Something in his eyes flickered when I mentioned the
name and his expression softened. “I know,” he said. “Look, we’re
not fighting. I just have a lot on my mind right now and I think
it’s best if we keep things… professional.”

“Professional,” I repeated, raising my eyebrows.

He nodded.

My eyes narrowed, and even though I was trying to
stay calm, I could feel my temper getting the better of me. “So
that’s how you’re going to play it? We need to be professional?
Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? I mean, I don’t know
what I did to change your mind, but at least don’t act like there
was never anything going on.”

My voice had risen a few octaves by the last part,
but I didn’t care. The whole situation was grating on me, and I was
sick of trying to always smooth things over or decode his
mysteriousness. He stared back at me, but didn’t answer, which only
made me more frustrated. To my horror, tears gathered in my eyes,
and I blinked them back, hoping he didn’t notice. I knew they were
angry tears but still... I blinked harder, but my eyes only became
more watery, until his face blurred out of focus. I turned away,
flopping over on my bed, hoping he’d take it as my temper and just
go back to his computer game.

“Tara.” Wes’ voice had gone quiet, and I realized
with a sinking feeling he must’ve noticed the tears.

“I’m done,” I said, dully, careful to keep any
emotion out of my voice.

I heard the chair creak, and then the mattress sank a
little behind me as he sat down. “Tara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
make you upset,” he said.

“Stop. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He looked genuinely confused, which
actually made it worse.

“Be nice. You always do that when I finally get fed
up and lose it over you being cold or distant or I realize you’re
keeping something from me. Between your mood swings and this stupid
magnet thing between us, I can’t keep up. I’m done.”

“Tara, I’m sorry-”

I blinked a few more times, finally clearing my
vision, and then whirled to look at him. “I said, I’m done. You
don’t have to apologize. You just have to leave me alone. You can
get someone else to guard me, or I can handle it on my own. But
with you, with this, I’m finished. Please. Leave.”

I jumped up from my bed without waiting for a
response, and stalked out of the room and down the stairs. I found
my bag near the front door and pulled the Draven out and took it
into the living room, opening it to a random page and settling on
the couch with it. I stared at the words, but I had no idea what
page I was on, or even what chapter. My chest felt heavy and tight;
saying the words, telling him to leave, had actually been painful.
The thought of removing him from my life left me breathless with a
panic that overrode anything Leo could do to me. But I just
couldn’t take the back and forth anymore. Or the cryptic answers or
the lies. He obviously didn’t feel the same way about me, anyway,
based on his hot and cold –lately, mostly cold- attitude towards
me. Then there was the whole magnet issue; what if that was the
only reason I felt something for him anyway? What if it was science
or something, not even real? Thinking about that only made me mad
again. Being mad was easier; it lessened the ache in my chest.

I waited, but I didn’t hear any noises from upstairs.
Several minutes passed and still, silence. My curiosity got the
better of me, and I set the book aside and crept back to the front
entryway, peeking up the staircase. Nothing. I padded quietly up
the stairs and peeked into my bedroom. There was Wes, playing
solitaire at the computer. Anger speared through me. I couldn’t
believe he’d just gone back to his game, like nothing had happened;
like I hadn’t just told him to get out of my house.

He didn’t want to leave? That was fine. I would.

I crept back down to the first floor. I went straight
to the laundry room and shut the door behind me. It took me a
minute, but I managed to find my black skirt – still in the
to-be-washed pile – and brought it up to my face. It didn’t smell
terrible; it would have to do. I found an off the shoulder blouse
to go with it - luckily it was clean - and changed quickly. The
only shoes I had downstairs were my ballet flats so I slipped those
on and then used my fingers to try and arrange my hair into
something that resembled ‘combed’ in the bathroom mirror. The whole
time, I kept glancing towards the stairs or the ceiling, but I
still hadn’t heard a single noise, and every moment that passed
made me more determined to get out of here.

I grabbed my bag and coat and slipped out the sunroom
door. There’d be no way to lock the house this way, but I wasn’t
worried about it. The kind of people that wanted in wouldn’t be
deterred by a lock, anyway. Wes was proof of that.

I was afraid the sound of my car’s engine would alert
Wes so the only advantage I had was time. If I could get out of the
neighborhood before he got to his car, I had a chance of getting
away before he saw which direction I went. So I blew out a breath
and turned the key in the ignition, hitting the gas and throwing it
into reverse at the same time. The car lurched backward, throwing
me forward a little, and then back again as I hit the brakes. I
slammed it into gear and stomped the pedal and took off. I didn’t
glance back to see if Wes had come out yet. Instead, I concentrated
on getting out of the neighborhood and onto a side road as fast as
I could.

I felt like a getaway driver in some crime, the way I
weaved around corners and turned this way and that, speeding down
back roads and side roads and trying to lose a tail. Somehow,
though, it must’ve worked because I never saw the Aston Martin in
my rearview.

About twenty minutes into my aimless maze of turns, I
ended up in front of my high school. Cars filled the parking spaces
in the student lot and I remembered the dance. I checked the clock.
It was pretty early still. Maybe I could find Sam or Angela and
hang with them. And going stag wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
I hesitated briefly as I realized George would probably be in
there, too, and ready to pounce on me the moment I walked in. But,
right now, I don’t think I’d mind so much. It would feel normal and
right now, normal would be nice. Besides, this part of my life
seemed to somehow be fading away as my new Hunter life took over,
and I was willing to deal with George if it meant getting my old
life back, in some small way.

I parked my car in an open space near the back,
hoping it would blend in, if Wes somehow got the idea to look for
me here. Which, hopefully, he wouldn’t. I used my emergency makeup
kit I kept in the glove box to smooth over some of the redness in
my cheeks, leftover from my temper and the chilly air, and again
did what I could to smooth my almost dry hair into looking like I’d
actually brushed it. Then, I headed inside.

Just like any other high school dance, the theme was
‘crepe paper in the gym’, so it was hard to be impressed. The smell
of sweat and rubber soles still hung in the air from earlier in the
day. But it was dark and someone had strung colored LED lanterns on
a couple walls, so everything glowed a little, which at least made
it harder to notice the dirty floors. Out on the dance floor,
couples swayed to a cover band version of Taylor Swift’s Love Song.
I recognized Sam the quickest, since her dress was by far the
shortest here, and she was surrounded by at least three guys that
looked to be hanging on her every word. I rubbed my arms against a
tiny chill and headed that way.

“Tara,” she called, when she saw me. “You came.” Her
smile faltered a little when she saw my plain black skirt and
eighties-throwback blouse, but she stepped away from her group of
followers to talk to me. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

I shrugged. “Plans changed.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did something happen between you
and that yummy looking guy? Do we hate him now?”

“No, nothing happened,” I said, putting emphasis on
the
nothing
part.

Sam gave me an understanding look, still frowning.
“Well, he’s an idiot. Do you want me to have Eddie pay him a
visit?” she asked, gesturing to the stockier of the boys still
waiting for her to return.

“No, I’m good,” I said, smiling a little. “Have you
seen Angela?”

“She was dancing with what-his-name earlier, but I
haven’t seen her since then.”

“Well, I’m going to wander around and try to find
her. I’ll let you get back.” I gestured to her groupies and she
grinned.