How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (17 page)

Colt

Pain.
Muscle-tearing, teeth-cracking pain.

Bad
dog.

God.
Death. Please.

The
torture stopped. The nothingness was heaven, so beautiful that I started to
cry. Or realized I was crying. I don’t know. It just felt so good.

Do
you see how much I love you, Colter?
Mikal asked.
You disobey a
direct order, and instead of destroying you the way you deserve, I take away
the pain.

Aftershocks
made my muscles twitch. I tasted blood and metal, smelled ozone and burning
meat. There was a piece of my cheek between my back teeth, bitten off when they
clamped down.

In
my peripheral, I could see Mikal’s old-fashioned electroshock therapy machine
wired to a truck battery. I didn’t remember how we had gotten there, but we were
in the basement. I was strapped down to the table—chest, wrists, hips, ankles.

I
told myself not to move, not to think about the straps. If I thought about
them, I would panic. I couldn’t panic. If I panicked—

But
I couldn’t fucking breathe.

Right
before the claustrophobia sent me off the deep end, a leftover spark of
electricity triggered the memory—orange-zest frosting on a cinnamon roll made
with real vanilla. A cup of coffee. Cigarettes. My stomach growled like hunger
was the only thing it had to worry about.

Then
I was standing in the cemetery with my shirt in my hand, trying to act like I
wasn’t dying to know what she thought while she traced my new chest piece. I’d
just come from the tattoo parlor. The skin was red and hot and her fingertips
burned like dry ice.

“I’m
not that into tattoos,” she lied. “Sort of old-fashioned that way.”

Mikal’s
laughter dragged me back into the basement.

My
heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. Mikal was going to
take it away. That memory was the one bright spot in a lifetime of fighting and
death and failure and she was going to take it away.

This
is why I love you, Colter,
Mikal said,
Even when you disobey me.
The way you lock things into their own little boxes. You had me convinced it
was survival instinct—hide the black noise away and maybe no one will find
out—but you did it on purpose with her memory. You were hiding her from me.

I
shut my eyes tight, but I heard the drawer open. Without looking, I knew what
Mikal had gotten out of it.

Open
your eyes, Colter,
she said.

Mikal
held the syringe up the light and flicked the barrel to get the bubbles out.

I
lost it, fought the restraints. She didn’t stop me. It was part of the
punishment—no protection from reality.

Please,
God, don’t let this happen,
I prayed.
Let my heart explode, let me
suffocate, give me an aneurism, let her turn the machine up too high and
electrocute me—anything—just please don’t let her do this.

The
needle slid into my throat. White-hot nitro shot up my neck and down my shoulder.
Everything burned, too clear, too intense. Just the air on my skin was driving
me half-crazy. Every heartbeat detonated inside my chest and shattered my
skull. Breathing sounded like screaming. My bones shook—they wouldn’t hold
still.

Mikal
licked the needle and smiled down at me.

We
can fix this together, Colt. You think you love that vampire, that you love
Tough—that you can protect them—but you’re too young to understand what real
love is. I know everything about you—every awful, locked-away secret you tried
to hide—and I still love you. If they knew you half as well as I do, they
wouldn’t be able to look at you again without being sick.

Conviction
flooded the broken places inside of me, the way it used to when one of Dad’s
sermons laid me open down to my soul.

I know
you want to be good, Colt.
Mikal stroked the sweat-soaked hair off
my forehead.
I can help you. Let me help you be good.

The
buzz and tick of the electroshock machine, my choked crying, the wet whisper of
her tar-stained feathers. I felt so close to understanding something, but I
couldn’t keep ahold of the thought. The tears were coming harder because of the
exhaustion and the drugs and the certainty that Mikal was right.

It
sounded like a spine snapping when I swallowed.

Fuck
you, bitch.

Pain.
Mind-obliterating, soul-breaking pain.

Tough

I
woke up in my bed back at the house. The fan was blowing the hot air around.
Out the window the moon was shining. Somewhere, a coyote howled. A three-shot burst
from an AR-15 hollered back.

Welcome
to Halo.
I snorted. It hurt my chest and stomach and nose—a little
bit of everything—but it brought back something. Me laughing in the alley
outside Rowdy’s.

“Tough?”
Desty was sitting on the floor with her arms folded on the bed. She had sleep
lines on her cheek from the back of her hand. She smiled when I looked into her
eyes. “Hey.”

She
pushed up onto her knees and leaned over the bed far enough that I could see
down her shirt. Her fingertips touched the split in my eyebrow, a spot on my
cheek, and my jaw, like she was making sure they were all still there.

“I
was going to wake you up in a little while to make sure you weren’t seeing
double or anything,” she said. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “How’re you
feeling?”

Horny.
Pissed-off. Tired. Like someone kicked my ass. Thirsty.

“Nauseous?”
she asked.

I
shook my head, once, then stopped so my skull would quit stabbing my brain.

“I’m
going to go get you some ice for your—” Desty looked at my face and swallowed
whatever she’d been about to say. “Lots of ice. Do you want some water or
something?”

I
grabbed an empty beer can off the nightstand. My hands were kind of shaky.

“Okay,
I’ll be right back.” She started to leave, then came back and kissed me, really
softly on the lips.

I
closed my eyes and listened to Desty go downstairs.

“Know
when you’re beat, Baby Boy.”

Colt
had been trying to talk to me, maybe tell me it wasn’t him kicking my ass. I should’ve
had the balls to kill him when I had the chance. Maybe that was why I thought I
saw him for a couple seconds. Because through whatever Mikal was doing to him,
he saw me and recognized I could save him.

No
human in town would have a gun I could borrow. When you signed the armistice,
you swore on your life never to carry a weapon again. But I could talk to some
of the crows. They always kept something good on hand in case the coyotes tried
to move in on their territory. AR-15s like the one I’d heard earlier were
bottom of the barrel to them. And the crow who owned the tattoo parlor, Lonely
Pershing, was probably losing money with his best customer enthralled. If that
fell through, I could drive out to the cabin and see whether anything was left
of the arsenal.

Thinking
through my options eased up some of the pain in my chest. One way or another
I’d get a gun. When Mikal brought Colt around for another ass-whooping, I’d set
him free from her.

Desty
came back with a freezer bag full of carrots and one of Jax’s Red Hots.

“There
wasn’t any ice or beer,” she said. “But Jax said you could have this.”

She
held out the energy drink. I took it and sat up against the wall. Desty handed
over the carrot bag, too, then she crawled up on the bed beside me. I winced
when I put the carrots against my face—apparently those little bastards were
all cut into jagged points. After a few seconds, though, they started softening
up.

“You’re
all right, aren’t you, Tough?” Desty asked.

Not
if there’s really nothing to drink in this house.
But I
nodded.

Desty’s
computer was on the night stand with a document open. I used the Red Hot can to
point at it and change the subject.

“Jax
typed it up for me,” Desty said. “It’s something he memorized for the Witches’
Council.” She sighed. “I haven’t studied it very closely yet, but it’s got to
do with Kathan wanting me and Tempie to be his joint-familiars so he can
command legions of fallen angels in the final battle for Earth.”

I’d
like to say I thought something noble like
I’ll stop him—I’m a Whitney, I
was chosen to save the world,
but all that came to mind was Kathan telling
me Desty was his, she was just working her way back to him, so all I could
think was,
That fucker better keep his hands off you or I’ll kill him.

You
can’t kill a fallen angel, though, so what do you do?

Sissy
had thought deporting them back to Hell. Ryder had thought blowing up their
shit and incapacitating them. Colt— I guess I’d never find out what Colt
thought.

If
I could figure out a way to keep Desty away from Kathan for good, that would be
something. But it was like Colt—short of killing him, I’d never get him away
from Mikal. Just thinking that made me feel sick. I couldn’t even hurt a
girl—not even when Mitzi and I were in the middle of sex and she wanted me to
cut her, knowing she was a vamp and she’d heal right up—there was no way I
could kill Desty.

I
took a drink of Jax’s Red Hot. It tasted like candy and piss. What the hell was
the point of drinking that crap—besides staying up all night to beat level ten?
I sat it on the window sill. Then on second thought, I gave it a push out. I
heard the can smack off the porch roof and hit the ground.

Beside
me, Desty said, “I didn’t think it was your style, either.”

Damn
if it didn’t make my heart hurt, her trying to joke around. I let the carrots
drop, turned my head, and caught her on the lips.

She
made this soft sound in her throat, then she pulled away.

“Tough,
there’s this prophecy—Tempie told me about it—or maybe Kathan, using Tempie
like his freaking puppet.” Desty rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know. Whatever. But
the prophecy’s got to do with you and Colt—”

It
opened up my busted lip, but I kissed her again, hard. Desty must’ve tasted the
blood, too, because I saw her lick her lips, but this time she didn’t make me
stop. She put her arm around my neck. Her other hand slid under my shirt. Goose
bumps again. I quit kissing her long enough to pull my shirt off, but when I
started to lift hers up, she grabbed my wrist.

“Wait,”
she said. “Tough, I really need to tell you this.”

Not
right now.
Even though it was through kissing and touching her, I
knew I was begging. It didn’t bother me as much as it might have bothered
somebody with some pride.
Please, please, just make me feel better.

Desty
sighed—the good kind of sigh—and helped me get her shorts and underwear off. I
grabbed the condom out of my jeans’ back pocket before I kicked them onto the
floor.

It’s
the man’s job to protect the woman, right?
I’m pretty sure Dad
would turn around in Heaven if he knew I thought that right before I had sex
with a girl so I could tune out for a while. If he didn’t already know I was a
shitty man by now, anyway.

After
a couple of minutes, Desty pushed up on her elbows and stopped me getting her
ready. “I don’t know if I can…come with someone.”

I
kissed her again. She let go of my hand and laid back down.

“Sorry
if I can’t,” she said.

I
wasn’t too worried. The Matchmaker had marked my bill “paid in full,” hadn’t
she?

Nice
one, asshole, think about what a great trick you are.

I
tried to shut off my brain and make up for being such a sack of shit. Getting
Desty ready felt good. And not the way people say “good” when they mean “better
than nothing.” Good like I wouldn’t need a shower later. Good like…I don’t know
if there’s a way to say “innocent” without sounding retarded, but like that. I
didn’t want to ruin it. I wanted this to be really good for her, too.

But
Desty stopped me again before I could make her come.

“Okay,”
she said.

She
waited while I got the condom on, then helped me inside. She was so hot.
Burning, compared to Mitzi. For a second, all I wanted to do was feel how hot
she was.

Then
her fingernails dug into my back.

“Ow,
ouch—”

Shit.
I
pushed her hair out of her eyes.
What’s wrong?

“The
condom—does it have some kind of warming gel on it?”

I
nodded.

She
bit her lips and made a sound in her throat. I pulled out, but it didn’t seem
to help.

“Sorry.”
Her eyes were tearing up. “It just burns really bad.”

I
got up. Found a towel on the floor and handed it to her, then checked the hall.
Jax and Harper’s door was shut and the lights were off downstairs. I took
Desty’s hand, led her to the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

“I’m
sorry,” she said again.

I
shook my head.

It’s
not your fault.
I kissed her and rested my forehead against
hers so she would know I meant it. Her skin felt so good.

Desty
smiled, then got in the shower. I threw away the condom before I climbed in,
too. After she washed up, she said she felt better. We started making out
again. Then she realized I was trying to make the hickey on her neck bigger and
she got to laughing.

“Hey!”
Jax banged on the bathroom door. “You’re not finally getting laid, are you,
Tough?”

Desty
put her hand over her mouth to try to stop giggling.

“You’ll
have to cut him some slack, Desty,” Jax yelled. “He was literally born in a
barn. He doesn’t know civilized chicks prefer beds.”

I
threw the shampoo bottle at the door.

“Payback,”
Jax yelled.

A
few seconds later the board at the top of the steps creaked. He was headed
downstairs.

I
rubbed my face against Desty’s shoulder and kissed the hickey on her neck. How
could you not love someone who made you feel better no matter how bad crap got?

“Quit
messing with that,” she said, elbowing me in the stomach.

I
laughed and tried to make Desty think she’d got me in the broken rib so she
would feel bad, but she wasn’t having it. She pushed me until my back was
against the tile, then she got down on her knees and things turned serious
pretty fast.

I
don’t think Desty had ever given anyone a blowjob before. She kept stopping
like she was afraid of hurting me. I tried to show her she wouldn’t. Shit, she
was so cute and sweet and so fucking good—innocent-good. I wanted it to last
forever, but then she looked me in the eyes like she was asking me if she was
doing it right and I lost it.

Afterward,
we got out and dried off, then headed back to the bedroom. I wanted to do
something for Desty, but she stopped me.

“Tomorrow,
okay?” she said. “I think you need to sleep.”

She
must’ve been right because I just barely remember knocking the carrots off the
bed so we could lay down.