How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (11 page)

Colt

I
have a surprise for you, Colter.
The tar-covered wings inside
my head crackled and burned hotter, recreating the feeling of when Mikal first inflicted
her essence on my brain—high-voltage current in places where there shouldn’t be
any sensation.

What,
did you nail a cat to the floor and set a mouse loose?
I
asked. That was an illustration Dad used to use back when he was still
preaching.

We’re
going to the bar tomorrow night to watch Tough play,
Mikal
said.

It
was a trap. One of us was the cat nailed to the floor and the other was the
mouse Mikal was going to smash.

I
had this sick urge to laugh at the image of blood and guts spraying out from
under a sledgehammer and no way to be sure the feeling came from Mikal. What if
it was me? What if the black noise was somehow seeping past her essence?

No,
she wouldn’t let that happen. I was hers to destroy. Letting me take myself
down wouldn’t be any fun.

I’ve
never had a familiar long enough for him to fall in love with me,
Mikal
said.
I like it.

Fuck
you,
I said. This wasn’t love. It was some fucked up combination of Fairhaven
Syndrome and self-preservation.

You
know you’ve lost when you spend the majority of your energy trying to convince
yourself you haven’t,
she said.
It’s all right to admit that you
love me. I saved you when no one else would. Not your father, not your family,
and not God, no matter how much you begged Him.

Going
for the hard-sell today,
I said.
Tired of waiting for me to
crack?

She
laughed.
It’s always one step forward and three steps back with you, Colt.

Straightjacket
sleeves jerked my arms tight around my chest. I couldn’t breathe. My heart
couldn’t pump hard enough to force blood through the compression. Even though I
knew it was an illusion, I started to panic. Bad dogs get punished.

Now,
Mikal
said,
Who saved you from the black noise, Colter?

I
pictured her beating Mom to death. Handing Kathan the sword for Dad’s
execution. Chaining Sissy to that telephone pole and setting her on fire.
Cutting Ryder to pieces with a big-ass hunting knife.

Selective
memory,
Mikal said.
Remember what it was like after everybody
left you all alone. Just you and the black noise.

For
once, Mikal’s tar-covered wings receded completely and the light and sound and
color outside my brain overpowered everything inside. A grid of glowing red
lines stretched out from Mikal and filled the room. Thick, red drops hung from
the places where the lines connected, like arterial spray on a spider web. I
could feel my body shaking, cold sweat, an adrenaline high. Not real. The lines
weren’t real. Only crazy people thought that things no one else could see were
real. I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

“Not
there. They’re not there. They’re not—”

But
I was too focused on fighting the lines to hold the black noise off. It rolled
up my spine and into my brain. It had been waiting for an opening. It was
always waiting. It spread out through my head, a nightmare asylum of lunatics
filling every windowless, padded cell with the wrong kind of laughter. Oh,
fuck, that was me laughing—sick, wrecked shrieks no sane person could make.

“Focus
on me, Colt.” Mikal’s voice was almost lost in the racket. “Who made the black
noise go away?”

“You
did.”

“Beg
me and I’ll make it go away again.”

I
couldn’t get a full breath, couldn’t move no matter how hard I fought. Trying
to think through the black noise was impossible. The only thing I knew for sure
was that I’d brought this on myself. Mikal had told me that if I was bad she
would put me back in the lunatic’s cell. I must’ve wanted to be punished. I
must’ve been dying for it to be such a smartass when I’d known—

No,
it wasn’t real. It was in my head. It was the black noise.

“Please,
God, don’t let it be real. I can’t do it again. I can’t take it.”

“Beg
me, Colter, not Him. Only I can make the black noise go away.”

Something
tried to tell me to resist or serve, but I couldn’t. There wasn’t anyone to save
me—no one but Mikal. If she cast me off, everyone would know about the black
noise. They’d lock me away in a mental hospital, keep me tied up in a
straightjacket, electrocute me and drug me until I was too brain-dead to be
crazy. Mikal had done it because it scared me enough to make me obey, but when
I stopped being able to fight her outside, she had taken the straightjacket
off. She had promised we wouldn’t have to go back if I was good.

My
mind latched onto that—if I was good, Mikal wouldn’t make me go back.

“I
can save you, Colter,” she said. “Beg me and I’ll save you.”

“Please—”
—please, Mikal.

She
hugged me to her chest. Her wings wrapped around us. Inside, her burning-tar
essence closed around my brain again, forcing the black noise out. The sound of
screaming overwhelmed the psychotic laughing, then both faded.

That
drowning sensation was gratitude.

Tough

Desty
didn’t say anything until we were almost back to town.

“Sorry
to make you lie for me. I just kind of panicked. Like Tempie would insist I
stay there if I didn’t already have— Here, you can drop me off at the bar.”

I
shot her a look and tapped the radio clock. Rowdy’s had been closed for an hour
and a half.

“I
know, but my backpack’s behind the dumpster.”

I
tried to think of a way to tell Desty she really could stay with me. Then she
wouldn’t have been lying in case Kathan sent someone to check up on her. The idea
of the Tracker creeping up on Desty while she was sleeping in the park or an
alley really freaked me out. Being homeless sucks. I had tried it once for
about a week before I moved in with Harper and Jax. You’d think it would’ve
been the cold that got me since it was January, but it was the lost sleep.
There was a lot of NP bullshit you had to put up with during the night if you
were homeless around Halo.

Desty
sighed and rubbed her face with both hands. If anybody could use a good night’s
sleep, it was her.

The
security light over Rowdy’s back door came on when we pulled up. Even with the
windows up and the air on, the hot garbage smell leaked into the truck. It got
stronger when Desty opened the door and hopped out. I had a quick fight with
myself about pissing off broken ribs versus sitting in the air conditioning,
but I ended up getting out, too.

When
I got around the truck, Desty had one hand on the wall and she was bent over,
reaching behind the dumpster. I know she wasn’t trying to look hot, but with
legs and a butt like that, even the bar-trash smell and the pain in my side
faded. Sometimes a month really could feel like forever.

Most
of my brain was busy memorizing the arch of her back and the curve of her butt
for use later, but some instinct I’m really glad I have reminded me to adjust
my tent pole before she stood up and turned back around.

“What?”
she asked, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

I
shook my head, but the top part of my cheeks started burning.

She
gave me a tired smile. “I hope you don’t play poker, Tough.”

I
made a sarcastic-laugh face.
Poker? I barely know her.
Then I took her
backpack.

“What—”

I
opened the passenger door up and held out my hand to help her in. She really
must’ve been exhausted, because it took a minute before she got the message.

“You
don’t have to,” she said. “I just couldn’t think of anything else to tell
Tempie.”

I
tossed her backpack up into the cab and she cringed.

“My
computer’s in there.”

I
shrugged.
Get in and I won’t have to do the same with you.

“If
there’s somewhere else—”

I
shook my head and gave her that
Come on
nod again.

She
just kept standing there, staring at me. I was starting to think I actually
would have to pick her up and put her in the truck when she sort of fell into
me. Her arms squeezed tight around my ribs. My eyes watered and I had to bite
the inside of my cheek to keep from jerking away.

I
must’ve made some kind of sound, or maybe Desty remembered on her own, because
she jumped back.

“I’m
sorry,” she said. “Are you okay?”

I
nodded, but I probably didn’t look too convincing.

“It
just seems like forever since anyone—” Her bottom lip started shaking.
“—since—” She tried looking up at the sky. “—since anyone—” But she couldn’t
hold it in. She started crying.

Shit.

I
don’t know if it’s the same way for other guys, but I have this problem with
crying girls. One of the only things I learned from Dad before Kathan killed
him was that it’s a man’s job to protect women. So, if a girl near me bursts
into tears, it doesn’t just make me uncomfortable, it makes me feel like I
fucked up, like I should’ve been protecting her from whatever made her cry.

I
kept my left arm squeezed against the pain in my side like some kind of broken
wing and hugged Desty with my right. She didn’t make a lot of noise when she
cried, but her whole body shook. I rubbed her back. Damn, she was soft. And the
material of her t-shirt was so smooth that it kept snagging on my hands.

It
didn’t seem like hugging her was helping anything and I really, really didn’t
want her to keep crying. So I did the only other thing I know that makes girls
feel better—pulled Desty square with my chest and started kissing her cheeks.
They tasted like salt, but it was good salt, and underneath she tasted like
skin, which was even better.

Ryder
always said I wasn’t good for anything other than music, but he was wrong. You
can get good at anything if you practice enough. If Mitzi had called me in just
once a night while she and Jason were my protectors, I would’ve had sex more
than twenty-one hundred times. Thing was, Mitzi burned way too hot for
one-and-done, so for the last five years I’d been running the equivalent of
two- and three-a-days. Practice, practice, practice—then nothing but my right
hand for more than a month.

When
Desty started kissing me back, I went a little crazy, pushed her back against
the truck and unbuttoned her shorts. There was a sleeping bag behind the seat,
a condom in my back pocket, nothing but a spare tire in the bed. I could throw
the sleeping bag down in the back and make her forget why she was crying for a
little while. Or the bench seat in the cab was plenty big if she wanted air
conditioning. Hell, when you got right down to it, she could throw her legs up
around my waist and we could use the fender for leverage. That security light
would shut off after a while and I was sure I could fight through the rib pain.
I was even fine with not using a condom if she didn’t want to pause to get one
on. I’d pull out—whatever she wanted—just so I could come with someone again. I
traced the waistband of her underwear around her hip.

Let’s
work off some of that room and board.

I
jerked away from her so fast our lips made a popping sound.

“Did
I hurt you again?” she asked.

I
shook my head. Whipped off my John Deere hat and rubbed my face with both
hands.

Shit,
shit, shit.
I took a deep breath, then blew it back out.
The spike in my rib helped clear out my brain some. Another breath to make sure
it hurt enough.
I really just thought that. Who the hell am I—Mitzi?

“You
were just being so nice to me.” Desty re-buttoned her shorts. She wouldn’t look
at me. “I thought you wanted…”

Dammit,
Desty, one of us thinking that I’m the guy who’d make you fuck me for a place
to sleep is already too many.

I
pulled my hat back on and nodded toward the truck, hoping she would just get in
and let me figure this out.

She
climbed up and shut the door. I punched the fender as hard as I could.

Desty
didn’t say anything the whole ride back to the house. It was driving me crazy
that I couldn’t just tell her I started out wanting to make her feel better and
crap got out of hand. I would’ve given a whole lot to be able to talk right
then or to be able to ignore whatever faulty wiring passes for my conscience.

*****

I
had hoped Jax would be playing video games when we got there—he was pretty good
at putting people at ease—but the place was quiet. Either he was across town
doing some emergency photographic-recall for the Witches’ Council, or him and
Harper were in bed.

I
put Desty’s backpack over my shoulder and headed upstairs. She followed along
behind me, not saying anything. That got me—if I was the kind of dick who would
take advantage of a girl who needed a place to stay, then Desty was the kind of
girl who’d let me. Between that and knowing I was going to see Colt with Mikal
again tomorrow, my last nerve was stretched pretty tight.

“You
must give me the Holy Staff to rise to the next level, Warrior.” Harper’s voice
was muffled through their bedroom door. “Mm, give me all of it.”

“Like
this, Goddess?” Jax’s voice was lower, but still easy to understand. “Or like
this?”

“Oh.
Yeah, like that.”

“Come
with me to the next level, Goddess.” His voice cracked. “Come with me.”

Sometimes
to give them a hard time back when I could talk, I’d bang on the door and yell
at Harper to hurry up because Jax’s stamina bar was almost drained or ask her
if she could take my Holy Staff next.

I
looked over my shoulder at Desty. Her mouth was open like she’d just figured
out what they were doing and she couldn’t believe it. When our eyes met, she
clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from laughing and I almost choked to
death on my own spit.

Everything
went still in their room.

“Tough?”
Harper cleared her throat and tried again. “Is that you?”

I
knocked twice on the wall.

“Try
to keep it down, man,” Jax yelled. “I’ve got at least three more levels to go
before the goddess lets me ascend.”

Two
knocks again. The sound of their laughing followed me and Desty down the hall.
I don’t know why, but it made me feel a little better.

I
flipped the light on in my room and put Desty’s backpack on the bed. She stood
by the door, looking around at the mess while I grabbed a pair of boxers out of
the clothesbasket. If I had thought about it, I would’ve had her wait
downstairs while I cleaned up and sprayed some body spray around. At least I’d
washed the sheets the day before I left for Nashville. They had been on the bed
a while, but I’d only slept on them a couple times.

“Nice
room,” she said. Then she caught my look and smiled. “For a guy who doesn’t
know how to pick up after himself, I mean.”

I
snorted. It was good to have the fuck-you Desty back. I threw the boxers over
my shoulder and started to head out.

“You’re
not, um, sleeping in here?”

I
shook my head and pointed downstairs.

“Oh.”
She hugged her arms around her stomach. But she wouldn’t leave it alone. “You
don’t want to have sex?”

Come
on, Desty, let me at least pretend to be the good guy for once.
All I
could do was look at her and hope she got the message.

“That’s
really…” She smiled at me, and it was definitely relief coming through. “You
could stay, anyway. I mean, I’m not trying to seduce you or anything.
Obviously, if I was, I’d be doing a bad job.”

I
laughed my new no-sound laugh. I like irony.

She
pushed the hair out of her eyes and shrugged. For a second she looked around
the floor, the walls, the beer cans propping the window open—anywhere but at
me.

“I’m
just… I’ve been on the road forever. It’s nice being around someone again.”

That
I could understand.

“Would
you stay up here tonight?” she asked.

I
nodded, then pointed from her to the bed and me to the floor. That seemed to
make her feel better. She unlaced her boots and kicked them off, then sat on
the bed and pulled her feet up under her.

Of
course she doesn’t have anything to sleep in. That would be way too easy.

I
tried to ignore the riot in my dick while I dug a clean t-shirt out of the
clothesbasket. I handed Desty the shirt and turned the fan on High on my way
out. This time she didn’t ask where I was going, I guess because she knew I was
coming back.

I
changed into my boxers in the hall and threw my jeans and shirt back toward my
bedroom door. Then I went to the bathroom to kill some time test-driving that
mental picture of Desty bent over behind Rowdy’s. Nothing like masturbating to
take the edge off a sex rage. Plus you got the added benefit of being able to
think straight again. It sure as hell wasn’t all the family joy and good times
from growing up that made me consider taking my chances on pulling out.

In
case Desty needed more time to change and get settled, I went down to the
kitchen to find something to eat. All we had left in the fridge was two beers,
some of Jax’s Red Hot energy drinks, and half a package of peppered turkey.
Somebody needed to make a grocery run.

I
ate the rest of the turkey, threw the package away, then got a bag of
mulberries out of the freezer thinking that even if they didn’t numb my rib
enough to take a whole breath, they’d at least feel good in the heat. Anyway, I
was still starving and I didn’t want to make anything. I held the berries
against my side with my elbow and took the last two beers back upstairs.

When
I got back to my room, Desty had my shirt on and she was under the top sheet. I
thought she was asleep, so I put my hat on the nightstand, shut off the light,
and stretched out on the floor by the bed. She could make fun of the mess all
she wanted—clothes make a decent pillow.