How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (26 page)

Tough

I
dug a couple shirts out of my laundry basket and held them up for Colt.

Gray
or blue?
I asked him.

For
a long time, he just stood there staring.

Something
wrong?

Colt
flinched and snapped out of it.

“No.”
He took the gray shirt and pulled it on. The bottom of the tattoo on his left
arm still stuck out the sleeve, but having the cross covered helped. I could
even look at it without getting knocked on my ass—“will not leave you or
forsake you until all the work for the service of the house of—” I had to stop
reading there, but I remembered how the verse ended.

Guess
it depends on who the “you” is,
I thought. Some guys got
resurrected. Other guys could commit suicide-by-vamp and damn their eternal
soul to Hell and No One would lift a fucking finger. It was pretty hard not to
be jealous of shit like that.

“What?”
Colt asked.

You
got some new tats,
I said.

He
gave me a suspicious look. “Yeah?”

Yeah
. My
head was killing me. I tried to massage some of the throbbing out of the spot
where my skull connected with the back of my neck.

“That’s
it?” Colt asked.

What
else would there be?

“I
don’t know… What about them?”

Nothing.
It was just something to say.

Colt
shook his head. “Everything leads somewhere.”

Where
the hell would it lead? I say you got new ink, you say yeah, then I say let’s
go downstairs so we don’t have to talk to each other anymore.

For
another couple seconds, Colt watched me like I might sucker punch him. Finally,
he relaxed. I squeezed the back of my neck and wished that the bass in my head
would either stop pounding or pick a fucking tempo and stick with it. To top
that off, my hands were starting to shake again. I needed a drink.

Let’s
just go downstairs,
I said.

*****

When
we came down, Harper and Desty were too occupied with what they were doing to
look at us.

“You’re
still not counting fast enough,” Harper said. “Start again. Go.”

She
had her arms around Desty’s waist and she was leaning over Desty’s neck like a
vamp drinking. For a minute I just stood there staring at them. Desty looked so
hot with Harper holding her that way. I knew Harper wasn’t a vamp, but I knew
what she’d be feeling if she was one and she was drinking out of Desty.

Then
Desty’s legs gave out. Since Harper was so much shorter than Desty, all she
could do was slow down her fall. My throat went dry and I started to move.
Harper flashed her crucifix at me over Desty’s shoulder. It held me off, but
just barely.

“Keep
your feet under you,” Harper coached her. “If you end up on the ground, he’s
going to be on top of you before you can move. Then—”

“Then
you’re dead,” Desty interrupted like she’d heard that a hundred times already.
She was still hanging in Harper’s arms, but now she had her feet on the floor.

“You
know, if you don’t want to take this seriously, Scout’s pretty keen on getting
Tough to be her protector,” Harper said.

“I
am taking it seriously,” Desty said. “Sorry, I just— When do I stand back up?”

“Go
ahead,” Harper said, still staring me down with the crucifix.

When
Desty stood up and turned around to face me and Colt, she got all
self-conscious and started adjusting her shirt and pushing her bangs out of her
face.

“Hey,”
she said. “Um, the lesson’s over. We were just practicing. Or whatever you want
to call it.”

“Hey,
Colt,” Harper said.

“Hey,
Harper.” Colt nodded at her. Then he looked at Desty.

“Hi,”
she said.

“Uh,
hi.”

Shit,
you guys are making me feel awkward,
I said.
Colt, this is
Desty. Introduce yourself so I don’t have to go find some paper.

“Yeah,
sorry,” Colt said. “Desty. Tough told me you guys were together. I’m—I’m—”
Suddenly Colt’s heart was going a hundred miles a minute. He tried taking a
breath, but it got caught in his throat. “Dammit—just four—it shouldn’t be this
hard.”

Harper
shot me a look like
What the hell?
I don’t know what she was expecting
from Colt, but I guess crazy hadn’t been on the list. The guy had spent the
last thirty-six days getting his head fucked with and he’d just come back from
the dead—the least she could do was cut him some fucking slack.

But
Desty walked around behind me and over to Colt’s side.

“I
know who you are,” she said. “Colt, right? It’s nice to meet you, um,
formally.”

“We
met before?” he asked.

“Sort
of. While you were—”

“With
Mikal?”

Desty
nodded.

I
could feel the heat swamp Colt’s face and hear him grit his teeth. His cheeks
turned dark red and he glared down at the floor.

“We
didn’t talk or anything, so it’s not like you should remember me,” Desty said.
“Really, it’s not a big deal.”

She
held her hand out—not like for a handshake, but like you’d do so someone could
hold your hand. Colt looked at it for a second. As soon as he took her hand, I
could hear his heartbeat calm down.

Desty’s
my girlfriend,
I told him. I didn’t mean to sound
territorial, but that’s how it came out. I guess maybe I’m the jealous type
after all.

“Yeah
right,” Colt said, but it didn’t look like he was talking to me. He was looking
at the window. “I’m the last guy he’d have to worry about. Give it a fucking
rest, all right?” Then he scratched the back of his head and looked at Desty.
“Sorry. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s
okay,” Desty said. She smiled at him. “You’re actually doing a lot better than
most of the castoffs I’ve read about.”

“Yeah,
I remember reading some stuff about the effects fallen angel essence has on
human brains,” Colt said.

“I
actually meant—” Desty looked from me back to Colt. “You haven’t tried to— I
mean, you’re not trying to think of a way to kill yourself right now, are you?”

“Not
right now,” he said.

Desty
didn’t know whether to laugh or not, which was kind of the way it went with
Colt. Sometimes he was joking and you couldn’t tell. You had to know him, and
even then it wasn’t easy.

“All
right,” Harper said. She crossed her arms and looked at me. “So, what now?”

I
really wanted Colt out of the house. If Harper and Jax both knew about him
coming back from the dead, then Scout knew, and maybe the Witches’ Council did,
too, since Jax went to bother them about some prophecy or other. It was only a
matter of time before it got back around to Mikal.

Couldn’t
hurt to hide Desty out, too. By now Kathan had probably figured out that I
wasn’t giving her up without a fight.

The
cabin would probably be the best place.
It was west of town, stuck way
back in the sticks. The couple who’d owned it had been killed in the NP-Human
Conflict and didn’t have any kids, so after Kathan burned down the farm house
and killed Dad, Sissy moved us out there. Colt had still been living there when
Mikal enthralled him.

I
checked out the window. The shadows were getting long and the temperature was
probably dropping below boiling. Before too long, the sun would be down and we
could go.

“Out
to the cabin?” Colt asked.

Is
the arsenal still there?
I asked.

“Unless
Mikal had somebody go and confiscate it all. It’d be like her to leave it,
though.” Colt shrugged. “Hell, she could’ve had me take her to it and load it
up for her. I’d never know.”

“You’re
talking to each other,” Harper said. I could hear the skin of her arms rub
together as she twisted them tighter around her stomach. She looked at Colt.
“You can hear Tough.”

He
nodded.

Harper
threw her hands up.

“That
explains it. That explains everything,” she said. “I knew God wouldn’t bring
him back crazy. He would’ve been all right—totally okay—if God had really
brought him back.” She pointed at me. “You made him a zombie.”

Bullshit!
I
wished I could’ve yelled it at her. She saw the miracle happen, she got to feel
it, she should know. No one would recognize the real fucking thing like the guy
who had to stand by watching it and knowing he never got to feel that kind of
love or power again. Just remembering it hurt. I shook my head, hard.

“Prove
it,” Harper snapped, cocking her body at me. “Give Colt an order.”

Colt
locked eyes with me.

“Try
it,” he said in that voice that always reminded me Colt was a stone-cold
Soldier of Heaven all the way down to his bones.

Take
it easy, Commando. I’m not going to give you an order,
I told
him.
Harper’s just freaking out.

“I
won’t have a damned zombie in my house,” Harper said.

Desty
tried to help. “Harper, Colt’s not a—”

“How
would you know?” Harper said. “He hasn’t started to decompose yet.” She looked
at me. “I don’t want him here, Tough. If Jax was home you know he’d vote with
me.”

I
kicked the coffee table so hard that the corner stuck in the wall. All of Jax’s
games and shit that we’d picked up earlier went flying again.

Harper
didn’t back down. She pointed back and forth between me and her.

“One
of us—who is not me—had damn well better fix all these holes in my house.”

I
went into the kitchen to get the shopping list and pen off the fridge so I
could write her a note.

I’m
taking Colt and Desty to hide out. When Jax gets back, you and me and him are
going to talk.
As a last minute thought I added,
And don’t
fucking call my brother a zombie again.

Desty

The
worst place to ride in a pickup truck is the middle, especially in a stick
shift. There are some exceptions—when your boyfriend is driving, for example.
But when your boyfriend’s brother is sitting on the opposite side of you
talking to himself while your boyfriend glares out the windshield, the middle
goes back to being the worst place to ride.

“Maybe
brain damage,” Colt said. “But the tar would still— You heard him. She didn’t
leave me. She wouldn’t. She wasn’t done yet. It was close, but not—”

Tough
glanced across the cab at Colt. That look was an easy one to read—I used to see
it in the mirror when I got up in the morning. He was telling himself he could
take care of Colt, that it wasn’t as bad as everybody else thought.

Trying
to be subtle, I swiped my bangs out of my eyes and studied Tough’s face,
looking for differences between the living him and the undead him. Vamping had
leeched some of the red tones from his skin and the fluid loss had brought down
most of the swelling and bruises around his eye and face. His lip was still
split and the cut across his eyebrow hadn’t healed.

Those
were never going away. Tough was going to look beat-up and beautiful forever.

“Shit!”
Colt punched the arm rest on his door.

Tough
exhaled and stared out the windshield. It was that time of night when it’s
still too light out for headlights to do any good but too dark to have your
headlights off, when you can’t really see anything that well. Tough looked like
he was concentrating really hard on watching the road, but if he clenched his
jaw any tighter his teeth were going to crack.

I
reached over and touched his leg.

Tough
moved too fast for me to see—almost too fast to feel. He grabbed my hand like
somebody clinging to a lifeline.

“Tough,”
I started. But I wasn’t sure what else to say.

He
didn’t look at me, just sucked his teeth and let go.

“No,
I don’t mean…” I picked his hand back up and laced my fingers through his. When
I was a tween, I’d gone through the same romance-is-angst phase every
anti-social nerd does. Stupid, borderline abusive, he-didn’t-mean-to-hurt-me
crap. But Tough drinking my blood wasn’t the same thing. Tempie might’ve
thought I was being naïve about the connection between me and him, but I
wasn’t. Tough and I understood each other. We needed each other.
“I
don’t want to break up with you. I like you, Tough. A lot. Maybe even—” I sighed.
“This isn’t how I pictured this conversation going down.”

Tough’s
eyes flicked over at Colt, probably thinking the same thing.

“I
don’t want to leave,” I said. “I mean, I want to stay with you. Leaving—I can’t
yet anyway because of Tempie. I don’t know what to do about her. I don’t want
her brain to corrode but…” But I really didn’t want to be Kathan’s familiar,
incest-porno-polygamy aside. I was enough of a doormat without having an actual
physical need to make someone else happy. “Tempie says it’s all about power,
but I don’t want power. I just want everything to be okay again.”

Tough
put his arm around the back of my seat and leaned over to kiss my cheek. He got
it. Probably better than anybody. I snuggled closer to his side and put my head
on his shoulder. His cool skin felt good in the summer heat.

Then
I remembered earlier in the hallway, when I’d first felt how cold he was.

The
bottom dropped out of my stomach and I pulled away from him.

“But
if you ever mesmerize me again, I’m gone,” I said. “Promise me. Swear.”

Tough
looked me in the eyes and nodded, once.

Colt
started hyperventilating.

“Oh,
fuck, she’s gone, she’s— I can’t—” He put his arms around his head like a
tornado drill and rocked back and forth on the seat. “No, God, please.”

Tough
stopped the truck.

“I
can’t make it go away,” Colt whispered. “The black noise—”

“Colt,
it’s okay,” I said, keeping my voice calm and clear. With Mom, I’d gotten
plenty of experience doing meltdown-damage-control. “Whatever you’re seeing or
hearing can’t hurt you. You’re okay, Colt. You’re safe.”

He
doubled over and laughed until the tendons in his neck stood out. “I’m safe?
You wouldn’t fucking know safe if—”

Tough
jumped out of the truck and ran around to Colt’s door. He opened it, but I
shook my head at him before he reached out.

“Colt,
Tough is by your right side. Is it okay if he touches you?”

“The
lines can’t be here. They’re not real. They’re—”

I
raised my voice. “Listen to me, Colt. Tough’s going to put his hand on your
shoulder. If you don’t want him to, tell me and he won’t.”

Colt
went still.

Tough
looked at me. When I nodded, he put his hand on Colt’s shoulder.

Colt’s
arms relaxed and he took a shaky breath. After a little while, he sat up and
ran both hands through his hair. Then he pulled his fingers through it again
like he was measuring how long it was.

“Need
to get a haircut,” he said. “Starting to look like a damn hippie.”

Tough
took off his hat and pointed at his hair. Vamping had grown it out just enough
to show a hat ring.

“Commie
fag,” Colt said. They both laughed.

Tough
got back in the truck, smiling as he drove. Nothing joking or sarcastic—a real
smile, like he was happy. It made me feel as if someone had poured a gallon of
sunlight into my chest.

“Rian,”
Colt said.

Alongside
the road was the fallen angel motorcycle cop who had taken me to the Dark
Mansion the other night.

Tough
rolled down his window and stuck his arm out. He flipped off Motocop. The red
and blue lights started flashing almost immediately. Imagine that.

Colt
didn’t even act surprised, he just said, “You better be ready to lose that
dickhead.”

Tough
slowed down and pulled over, but as soon as Motocop stopped behind the truck
and got off of his bike, Tough threw it back in gear and spun out.

Normally,
I tried to stick to the Social Contract Theory because I liked rules and order
and because I wouldn’t do well in anarchy. But seeing the shocked look on
Motocop’s face made breaking the law this once worth whatever small amount of
damage we’d just done to the system.

Through
the back window, I watched Motocop sprint back to his motorcycle and jump on.
By the time he got the thing started, Tough had shut off his headlights. We
turned down a heavily wooded gravel road, then pulled through an open gate into
an overgrown pasture. The truck lurched in the wheel ruts. I had to keep both
hands on the dash to keep from bumping off of the seat. Beside me, Colt had
ahold of the handle over the window. He looked over at Tough.

“Just
like riding a bike,” Colt said.

Tough
laughed, maybe just a little crazily. Mom would’ve said he was having entirely
too much fun, but man did it look good on him. I wanted to jump into his lap
and kiss him until I could taste that crazy streak.

We
drove down into a creek bed and Tough shut off the truck.

Motocop’s
bike sounded angry tearing up the countryside. The beam from his headlight
shined out over the pasture. I was all flight-response, breathless and jittery.
He was coming our way.

“All
right, Bo and Luke, what now?” I asked.

They
popped their doors at the same time. Tough grabbed my hand and dragged me
splashing out of the cab and into the creek. Then we were scrambling up the
sandy bank and running through the woods.

The
air was hot and thick and hard to breathe. Dead leaves and dry sticks crunched
under our feet and brush snagged my bootlaces, but we kept running until the
motorcycle came to a stop and the engine shut off.

Tough
pulled me down into the leaves beside him. Somewhere along the way we had lost
Colt. The woods were silent, though, so Colt must’ve known to stop, too.

My
body was full of sparkling, bubbly adrenaline. I was panting and sweating and
starting to feel the wet sand in my shoes and all the little scratches that
come from running through the woods in shorts, but I laughed.

Tough
covered my mouth with his hand, then his lips.

“Boy,
you better show your fucking self,” Motocop yelled. “I don’t care what Kathan
says, I’ll shoot your ass if I have to come after you.”

Motocop’s
macho posturing made me want to laugh harder, but Tough took care of that with
his tongue. We were stretched out on the ground in no time with Tough on top.
After some trial and error, we figured out how to make out without his fangs
bumping against my teeth or poking my lips.

I
pressed my face to the cool skin of Tough’s neck and took a deep breath. His
sweat-beer-body-spray smell was there, but fainter, as if it was fading away,
and underneath of it was this spicy smell like the habanero sauce Dad used to
put on everything. I got one foot planted and flipped us over so that I was on
top, just like yesterday afternoon.

But
that memory turned out to be a paper cut—it happened, then a few seconds later
it started bleeding and hurt like heck.

“You
left me,” I whispered. It was getting too dark to see Tough, but I stared at
where I knew his face was. “I know you did it to save Colt, but you didn’t even
tell me what you were doing. You just left me and— I thought you—I thought—”

I
squeezed my eyes shut tight when I realized what I’d thought.

I
was one of those stupid, stupid, unforgivably stupid girls who thought sex
equaled love.

I
pushed myself off of Tough and dropped onto the leaves beside him. I wrapped my
stupid arms around my stupid legs and rested my chin on my stupid knees—the
ones I’d been about to spread for Tough because I thought that him screwing me
meant that he loved me. A black hole opened up inside my chest.

In
the distance, plastic crunched under something heavy.

“You
got a taillight out, boy,” Motocop yelled.

A
few seconds later Motocop started his bike. The headlight filtered through the
trees as he turned around. I had just a second to see Tough lying on the ground
with his hat in one hand and massaging his temples with the other before the
light disappeared.

In
the dark, Tough took a breath like he wanted to say something, then let it out.
I know he couldn’t talk, but I wanted him to grab my hand or something so I’d
know he at least cared about me, that I wasn’t as stupid and naive as Tempie
had said. Tough could do that much for me, couldn’t he?

He
didn’t.

I
pressed my face against my knees, but a couple of tears got out anyway.

Hearing
someone else’s footsteps in the leaves startled me out of my pity party.

“You
all can stay out here if you want to. I’m going to the cabin,” Colt said. “Hell
yeah, good for me. I recognize the place where I live. Gold fucking star.”