How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (16 page)

Suicide
never tasted so sweet,

As
it does with your name in my mouth.

I
think maybe “talk” was really supposed to be “bitch,” but Mom always edited out
the cuss words when she sang to us.

All
around the stage, people were going crazy, dancing like they did on the videos
of Mom’s concerts, jumping and waving their arms and yelling. I used to dream
about people doing that for me, but now that it was happening, fuck ‘em. I
couldn’t see past Colt, anyway. I don’t know what I was looking for—some kind
of sign, maybe. Something that said Colt was still the OCD hard-ass who would
make you run a drill until you got every step better than right, perfect. The
guy who barely cracked a smile when he made a joke and who used to spend
eighteen hours a day training, running the arsenal, and designing attack plans
so twisted they’d make you dizzy.

But
that thing in the suit with its hand on Mikal’s back didn’t give me any kind of
sign.

The
last words to “Out of Spite” are “so sweet, so sweet, so sweet…” When I played
that last little riff, Mikal yelled and clapped louder than anyone else in the
bar. She even stuck her fingers between her lips and whistled.

“Okay,”
Dodge said, his hand over his mic. “You think you can be serious now?”

I
nodded, kicked the distortion back down, and started playing “Tulsa
Time”—because while I was at it, fuck Jason and Mitzi, too. Dodge shook his
head, but he sang it.

People
started honkytonk dancing again. Behind the bar, Rowdy nodded at me like he was
excusing the slip into hardcore. Kathan, Tempie, Mikal, and Colt sat down at a
table like it wasn’t any big deal for them to be at the human bar, not Seventh
Circle, at the other edge of town.

Jax
was on the floor, pushing through the crowd trying to catch up with Harper, who
was crying and headed for the bathrooms.

Every
now and then it would hit me why the teenage me should be glad I didn’t end up with
Harper. She was hot and she had the attitude, but if someone hurt her—really
fucking took her out—she wouldn’t know how to get back up and keep going.

Desty
was sitting at their table by herself, looking at me like I’d just killed a
dragon or something. Desty got it, even if no one else did. Fuck anybody who
thought they could make you sorry.

Desty

When
the band took their second break of the night, Tough brought a couple of beers
back to the table.

“That
song you played—” I wanted to tell him how incredible it was. I’d heard Jason
Gudehaus’s songs on the radio while I was hitchhiking, but after listening to
Tough’s recordings, I could tell Jason was playing an instrument he didn’t know
how to use. Tough knew how to make people feel anything he wanted them to feel.
That song he’d played when Mikal taunted him had given me this rush of
everyone’s-going-to-get-what-they-deserve.

I
wanted to put all that into words, but before I could make any sense, Tempie
pushed between us.

“Tough,
right?” she said. She nodded toward a red Emergency Exit sign. “Mikal said she
wants to talk to you outside.”

Tough
looked over his shoulder at the empty table where Tempie and the fallen angels
had been sitting, then tugged on the bill of his John Deere hat as if he was
straightening it. He looked from me to Tempie and back.

“I’ll
be fine,” I said.

“I’m
her sister,” Tempie said. “She’s safer with me than she is with some redneck
loser. And, by the way, Kathan told me what you used to do—or, who you used to
do. Gives new meaning to the phrase ‘Screwing the boss’s wife,’ huh?”

Tough
was blushing, the top part of his cheeks turning that too-red color. I tried to
say something—anything to get Tempie to shut up—but it’s hard to stop her when
she’s on a roll.

“Desty’s
too pretty to pay for sex,” she said. “And even if she was an ugly skank, I
wouldn’t let my sister bang someone who’d give her post-mortem syphilis.”

Tough
sucked his teeth, then put his hands up in front of his chest and nodded at the
way Tempie’s dress was pushing her boobs up.

Nice
rack,
he mouthed.

Tempie
flipped him off, but he was already headed for the exit.

“You’re
such a jerk, Tempie,” I said.

“I’m
just looking out for you.” She sat in the chair beside me and pulled down on the
sides of her dress so it would cover her butt.

“Tough’s
not Dad,” I said.

She
took a drink of my beer. “And I’m not a psychology book.”

“Touché.”
I watched the door close behind Tough. My foot started jiggling under the
table. “So…”

“Don’t
be weird, nerd.” But it was like Tempie didn’t know what to say, either. She
started picking at the corner of my beer’s label with her fingernail. “Did you
read up on the joint-familiar thing?”

I
shook my head. “My friend Jax is giving me all the info the Witches’ Council
has, but that’s not much.”

“Why
don’t you just ask Kathan your questions?” she asked.

“I
need to know more before I even know the right questions to ask,” I said.

Tempie’s
always been really good at that cruel laugh that makes people feel stupid.

“You’re
cool jumping into bed with that durr-Chevy-kid necrophiliac, but you won’t even
consider something I already know everything about?”

“I
didn’t jump into bed with Tough,” I said.

She
pointed at my throat with my confiscated beer.

“Move
your hand over about an inch and try saying that with a straight face,” she
said. “Yeah, that’s right, Tempie saw the hickey. Where’s his? Downstairs?”

“We
didn’t—” Then either Tough’s song or the one sip of beer I’d had before Tempie
took it kicked in. I sat up a little straighter. “You know what? That’s none of
your business.”

“I’m
your freaking twin,” she said. “I tell you everything.”

“Tell
me why Kathan wants us,” I said. “Really. What does he need to command legions
of fallen angels for?”

“All
that crap you read and you don’t even know yet that the last battle’s coming?”

I
just stared at her.

“You
seriously don’t! I can’t believe this, Desty. I know more than you—me.
Temperance Joanne McCormick knows more than the Great Nerd of Hannibal.” She
basked in the superiority for a few seconds, then got serious. “Everybody’s got
to choose a side. That loser—he’s on the wrong side. He can’t protect you. With
me and Kathan, you’ll have the power to protect yourself.”

“Leave
Tough out of this. You don’t know him.”

“I
know he’s a man-whore. Did he tell you that?”

“He
can’t talk,” I said.

“Yeah,
convenient,” Tempie said.

“Whatever.”
I took my beer away from her.

I
leaned back in my seat and pretended to be looking around the room so I didn’t
have to look at Tempie. Willow was over by the bar with Dodge. She waved at me.
I tried to smile back, but it felt like more of a contortion than my face could
handle at the moment.

Beside
me, Tempie snorted.

“Jeez,
Desty, this place is dirty. I can’t believe you like it here. I thought you
hated rednecks.”

I
glanced at the empty stage where Tough’s electric guitar was on its stand.

“Some
of them aren’t so bad,” I said.

“This
from you.”

“What’s
that supposed to mean?”

“It’s
supposed to mean this dirty bar and that durr-Chevy-kid from the girl who I
rigged to win the Cherry-Poppin’ Festival lottery and she traded it away for
Zit-Face Lundt.”

“His
name was Farren,” I said. “And God forbid he have acne in tenth grade.”

“They
make stuff for that,” Tempie said.

The
Annual Precautionary Deflowering had been going on at my school ever since the
year sirens drained five virgins in two months. Everyone I knew called it the
Cherry-Poppin’ Festival. At the beginning of every school year, the
administration paired up the boys and girls from the sophomore class, rented
out the Travelodge on 61, and provided condoms, lubrication, candles, etc. for
their first time. When the number of boys to girls was uneven, they drew a name
from the freshmen. The year we were freshmen, Tempie had rigged it so I would
be drawn and I would get paired with her boyfriend, Leif Barnhart.

“Anyway,
the point is that I got you the hottest guy in school and you traded for
Zit-Face because Leif was too much of a hick for you.”

The
real reason I had traded for Farren was that he was in my critical reading
elective and I’d had a massive crush on him. I’d reasoned that the night at the
Travelodge would give me the chance to talk to him outside of class, try to
gauge whether or not he liked me, too. It hadn’t, mostly because he kept
calling me Tempie.

But
none of that had anything to do with how I felt about Tough.

“Tough
isn’t just some ignorant redneck,” I said. “I mean, he kind of acts like it
when there’re lots of people around, but—”

Our
whole lives, Tempie and I had been able look at each other and know exactly
what the other was thinking. “Twin-brain,” Mom used to call it. The way Tempie
was looking at me right then, I knew she was thinking that what I saw as this
profound connection with Tough, built on mutual understanding and pain, was
actually something stupid and childish. Even worse, she felt sorry for me for
being so naïve.

I
sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. “Ugh, I hate you sometimes.”

“Look,
I’ll give you that he’s cute,” Tempie said. “But he’s a loser. And, anyway,
everyone knows he’s going to die before the final battle.”

“What?”

“Kathan
told me. It’s in all the prophecies. The Whitneys are the last of the Chosen
Soldiers and all the prophecies say the last battle can’t start until the last
of the Chosen Soldiers visits death upon his brother.”

“Don’t
give me some bull you and Kathan made up about—”

“Kathan
doesn’t make shit up,” Tempie said. “And you know I wouldn’t say anything like
‘visit death upon.’”

“I
know.” I leaned my elbows on the table, trying to think of a way to explain.
“But—”

“Ask
your ‘friend’ on the Witches’ Council.” Tempie said “friend” like it was
ridiculous that I could make one without her.

“What
the heck is your problem tonight?” I snapped.

“My
problem? I’m your sister and you weren’t even going to talk to me.”

“What’s
there to talk about?” I said. “We both know you ran off and left me to take
care of Mom. What, should we be all best friends again?”

“Why
come after me, then, if you hate me so much?” Tempie asked. “Why not just say
‘screw it’ and go off to college or whatever and get on with your life?”

I
bit the inside of my cheek and glared at the tabletop. Tempie didn’t even get
why I came after her. How freaking pathetic was it that that made me want to
cry?

Tempie
picked up my hand and squeezed when I started to pull it away.

“Hey,
nerd, come on,” she said. “I love you, you know? You know I do, right?”

I
nodded and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Just
listen to me for a minute, okay?” she said. “That durr-Chevy-kid—he’s going to
die. He won’t be around to protect you when the shit hits the fan. Kathan and I
will. We want you with us. And it’s not like you’ll have to sleep with Kathan. You’d
just be there for the important stuff. The sex and stuff—that’s mine.”

That’s
when it finally hit me. Fallen angels tell you the truth when they want you to
believe something untrue. Kathan had told Tempie that Tough was going to die.
If that was true, then what was the lie he wanted us to believe? And if the
last Chosen Soldier had to visit death upon his brother—

“Why
did Mikal want to talk to Tough?” I asked.

Tempie
looked at the wall of alcohol behind the bar as if she hadn’t heard me.

“I
want a drink,” she said. “Something good.”

Dodge,
Willow, and even Owen were up on stage, talking to each other and looking
around the bar. Tough’s guitar was still on its stand like a neon sign
screaming, You’re an Idiot, Desty. My stomach tried to claw its way up my
throat.

I
grabbed Tempie’s arm. “Where are they?”

“Ouch.
Stop it.” She tried to knock my hand off, but I dug my fingernails in.

“What
were you, like, supposed to keep me busy or something?”

“I
figured a nerd like you would know that it’s called ‘running interference,’”
Tempie said. “And obviously it worked.”

Tough

It
was so hot out my beer started sweating as soon as I stepped into the alley.
The fire door clicked shut, closing me off from the noise and the last breath
of air conditioning.

Mikal
was leaning against the brick of the old police department with Colt’s suit
jacket folded over her arm. Beside her, Colt was rolling his shirtsleeves back
just like Dad used to when it got too hot in the church.

“That
was a rousing fight song,” Mikal said, playing with her end of the leash. “Were
you hoping to start a musical revolution?”

I
took a drink of my beer, shrugged, and checked the other end of the alley.
Kathan was at the entrance, talking to Rowdy’s bouncer, Cris.

The
metal snap of the leash sounded like somebody chambering a round.

“Colt,”
Mikal said. “Kill.”

My
back exploded.

I’ve
been shot before. I’ve been stabbed. Mitzi had bitten me God knows how many
times. Colt trying to put his boot through my kidney was a whole other kind of bad.
It felt like I was going to piss blood. My arms folded when I tried to catch
myself and my head bounced off the gravel.

Owen
and I must’ve been hitting the ‘shine a little harder than I’d thought because
it took until I saw the boot in front of my face for a jolt of scared-shitless
panic to catch up with me.

“—ever
fucking listen the first time? Fuck, Baby Boy, you think I’m yelling ‘cause I
like to so fucking much? When I start talking, you put that fucking guitar down
and—”

I
jammed my fists into my armpits to protect my fingers and tried to curl up and
get small. The boot caught me right under the ear. My brain whited out.

Then
Colt was pulling me up by my hair.

“So,
Tough, do you have a protector yet?” Mikal asked. She didn’t give me a chance
to answer, which was just as well, because the only thing I could think was the
end of that joke—
All in all, I prefer scotch.
“I didn’t think so.”

Colt
shoved me back against the wall and hit me in the stomach with a clip full of
machine gun punches. The last one hit the rib Rian broke. I pitched forward and
threw up beer foam.

Colt
picked me up again, this time Ryder-style with his arm around my throat. I
couldn’t breathe. I clawed and dug at his arm, trying to break his grip. He
turned me to face Mikal.

“You’re
my favorite kind of rebel, Tough,” she said. “You were too young during the war
to remember why everyone was fighting. You know you should be fighting, but you
don’t know what, so you fight everything and everyone around you.”

The
pressure building behind my eyes was going to make them explode. My arms
weighed about eight million tons. Red started closing in from the sides. He was
going to choke me out.

I
had just enough left in me to make a fist. I jacked my elbow backward into
Colt’s solar plexus—another Ryder favorite.

Either
I didn’t hit him as hard as I meant to or Colt wasn’t feeling any pain. He spun
me around and kneed me in the stomach. I hacked some, but nothing came up that
time. He went for my throat, but I bulldozed his bad knee with my shoulder.

We
hit the ground. He rolled head over heels, then up to his hands and feet.

Shit,
I forgot how fast you were.
I grabbed the longneck I’d dropped
earlier and pushed up.

Colt
put his weight behind a punch that would’ve knocked my teeth out, but I turned
with it. His fist popped my jaw. The momentum made it easy to throw him onto
his back. I rolled with him. Got on his chest and pinned his arms to his sides
with my knees. I cocked the beer bottle back like a night stick. I could’ve
smashed his head in. I should’ve smashed his head in.

But
like a pussy, I hesitated. It didn’t matter that I was right where someone
should be who could save their brother from Hell—just kill him. Bring down the
bottle and smash his brains out, use the broken glass to cut his throat, just
get him away from being a familiar and having Mikal control him and torment
him. But inside the whole time, I’d been screaming for Colt to be Colt, so when
I looked into his eyes and imagined I saw him for a second, I hesitated. That
was all it took.

His
legs wrapped around my chest before I even felt him start to move. My head
bounced off the gravel again. Red and blue police flashers lit up my brain.
Then Colt was on my stomach, putting any beating Ryder ever gave me to shame.

“You
think you’re a real badass, don’t you?” Colt said. “You can take a couple
punches, so you must be.” He grabbed my shirt and pulled me up so he could
knock me back down. “You wouldn’t know real fighting. This—” He socked me so
hard that everything I could see faded out, then came back. “—ain’t it. I am
the only son of Daniel Whitney still fighting.”

Colt
let me drop and stood up. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

I
tried to go after him, but I couldn’t get my arms or legs to work.

“Know
when you’re beat, Baby Boy,” he said.

You
tattoo-wearing bitch dressed up like a slick city fucker—act like you’re such
hot shit when you’re off your leash—I’ll stomp your ass.
But
nothing on me would move, not even a little. The pissed-off leaked out of me
like blood.

I
closed my eyes and let my head rest on the gravel. Maybe I blacked out for a
couple seconds. When I could hear again, it was Mikal talking.

“See
you tomorrow night, Tough,” she said.

Two
sets of footsteps crunched down the alley away from me. I thought I was alone
until I heard wings rustle.

“Fair
warning, Tough—” Kathan.

Dammit,
why can’t I just pass out?

“—Modesty’s
mine. She and Temperance belonged to me before they were born. They’ve always been
mine.” He slapped my cheek and sparks popped behind my eyes. “Keep that in mind
the next time you’re nailing her—she’s just making her way back to me.”

Then
his footsteps crunched away, too.

I
breathed. In. Out. That’s all I could do at first, and not even very well.
Ryder always used to say he wasn’t scared of getting beat to death, he was
scared of getting beat halfway there. Smart.

The
fire door slammed open and someone ran into the alley. I know I flinched, but
right then I was too far gone to care about being chicken shit.

“Tough?”
Desty touched my neck really lightly. Goose bumps went running down my back and
chest. “Are you all right?”

By
some miracle I rolled up onto my side, then got my knees under me. Remembered
to open my eyes, even though just the right one opened all the way.

Everywhere
but the sunburn on her nose and cheeks, Desty’s face was white and scared. I
tried a smile. I couldn’t get all the way up yet, so I leaned back against the
wall and breathed in the trash smell from Rowdy’s dumpster.

“I’ll
go get someone,” Desty said. “Jax. I’ll go get Jax.” She started to get up, but
I shook my head and patted the gravel beside me. “Are you sure?”

I
nodded. Then I had to close my eyes to make everything hold still. I heard
Desty slide down the wall next to me. The adrenaline was gone, but my heart was
still pumping pretty hard, kind of stuttering in my chest, and pain was soaking
into every part of me. There’s nothing worse than post-ass-whooping pain
because it comes with all the bells and whistles of not even being good enough
to defend yourself right.

Desty
picked up my fist. She pried my fingers open and laced hers through them.

“I’m
so sorry, Tough. Tempie was distracting me. I thought—” She took a shaky
breath. “I thought Mikal was going to make Colt kill you. You know it wasn’t
him, right? It wasn’t really Colt.”

“Know
when you’re beat, Baby Boy.”

Then
I got the joke. I started laughing.

“Tough?”
Desty was on her knees in front of me. She looked worried.

Ryder
and his fucking nicknames. Sissy was Boss, Colt was Sunshine, and I was Baby
Boy. As in, “Stand up like you got a pair, Baby Boy.” Or, “Quit that fucking
bawling, Baby Boy.” And my personal favorite, “Know when you’re beat, Baby Boy.
Stay the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and just be glad I didn’t kill your sorry
ass.”

“Tough?”
Desty sounded like she was crying. She didn’t get why it was funny.

I
laughed until my eyes were watering and every part of my body that hurt wanted
to kill me just to shut me up, but I couldn’t stop.