Indigo: The Saving Bailey Trilogy #2 (33 page)

“How about I give him a lap dance?” I giggle with my hand over my mouth, unable to contain myself—or Indigo, that is.

“Go!” Ella pushes me toward the stairs, I stop to bend down and gather money falling from my bra. She shoves my clothes into my arms and more money falls around me. It’s
raining
money.

“Well, I guess I made enough,” I say sitting on the stairs to put my clothes on.

“My ass is on the line, too. Get dressed and don’t come back. I’ll tell the bouncers not to let you in.”

“Those bouncers are scared of me more than you,” I say. “Wait! My mom’s lingerie! Where is it?” I look across the stage but can’t see anything past the strobe lights and heels stabbing the stage.

“I don’t know!” Ella says. “
Leave
now.
Or I’ll have the bouncers throw you out!”

“No, I need my mom’s lingerie if she finds out I took it she’ll beat me to death!”

“I thought you didn’t give a damn ‘bout nobody. You’re scared of Mommy? I knew it. You’re just a scared little girl,” Ella mocks me.

I try to climb back on stage but she pushes me down the stairs, and does the signal for me to be escorted out. Three bouncers, all larger than the mountain guarding the entrance, come at me. “Please, Ella. My mom will
kill me.
”

“I don’t know where it is Bailey, I’m sorry,” she says. “You shouldn’t have come here. This is no place for a sixteen year old girl.”

“This is no place for an eighteen year old girl either, Ella.” I abandon her, standing there as her boss and the bouncers converge on us.

Pushing against bodies, I spot the red exit sign and head for it.
Stay away, Bailey,
I think.
Please don’t come out yet, not here, not now.

I make it out of the club without screaming, punching walls, or bursting into tears. Shaken up, I find it hard to breathe as the warm air clings to me like saran wrap. Harley’s front wheel is turned inwards; her mouth tilting at me in disappointment. Pulling my keys out of my jacket, I fumble with my shaking hands to start her up. After a couple of attempts she is alive and rumbling beneath me, taking me home.

Bailey is scared of her mother, scared of what she will do when she sees her lingerie missing. I am Bailey now. Indigo doesn’t want to stay for the beatings and pain. Maybe she is the real coward, not Bailey. Either way, I’m skidding to a stop in my dad’s empty drive, Mom standing cross armed at the door.

I turn the bike off but remain on it. I’m not about to get close to her.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Looking for you!” Mom says.

She’s mad as a dog off the streets.

“I found drugs in your skirt. Where’s my lingerie, huh? Where were you? Where were you! Stop staring at me dumbly, I want answers!”

“I didn’t buy drugs, I promise,” I say. “I-I- don’t know where your lingerie is.” I get off Harley and walk cautiously toward her
.

“Tell me the truth, were you at Indigo? Your father said something about Indigo…where’s my lingerie? Where did the money go?”

“I lost it,” I say, hoping that by being truthful she will go easier on me.

“The money?”

“Your lingerie—at Indigo.”

Her hand slices across my cheek. The truth hurts,
badly
. I take a step back and shake my head, which is spinning from the strike. I empty my clothes of all the money I earned at Indigo. It falls between us like a green paper mote. “I hate you, Mom, I hate you so bad. I thought I could earn the money you needed to pay your bills; I want you out of my house. You don’t belong here!”

“This,” Mom yells, “is your father’s house, not yours. And he’s graciously letting me stay here and you can’t do anything about it!”

“I can, I will. You had your stronghold on me for eleven years, damnit, Mom, when are you going to let go? I could be dead and your warm hands would still be slapping my face, beating my cold body. I’m not your punching bag anymore,
Daddy promised!
”

“You’re my daughter and I’ll slap you if I want! Your dad can’t stop me from punishing you.” Mom’s hand hits my face again, her palm closing into a fist just before clipping me on the chin.

My right leg is solid on the ground and my left is leaning in a running start, caught between Bailey, who wants to stay, and Indigo, who would rather run. Indigo drags Bailey’s leg behind her, forces the knee to bend and my heel to touch gravel. Mom screams for me to stop. She’s too pregnant to run.

I zip straight into the little patch of woods behind the trampoline, tripping over low lying branches, my heels sinking into the soft ground. My jacket snags on something, and I think it’s caught on a tree, but I pull and it doesn’t give. I turn around and see Mom, my sleeve pinched in her hand. Screaming, I rip my jacket off; Mom drops it in the dirt and claws for my arm.

Her nails dig into my forearm and latch on. Jerking me down, she pushes me into the wet ground. Something stabs my arm; it sinks into my skin sharp as a blade. The harder Mom pushes me down, the deeper it cuts.

“Stop, Stop!” I scream. Maybe she doesn’t see what is cutting me, it’s too dark.

Dark enough to conceal murder.

“Please Mom, you’re hurting me!” I try to kick free but my legs are cramped beneath the weight of her body, rendered useless. Half my body is in the slowly ebbing creek and the other half is deep in mud. The blood on my arm is warm, the pain in my arm is warm, and my head is full and fuzzy. My teeth gnaw at the inside of my lip.

“The day you were born we all went to hell in a hand basket! You know why? Because your father stopped seeing me. All he cared about was that damn little girl and her ugly black curls and eyes as big as the
world!
”

Her hand digs around in the creek, she pulls out a rock. “The crying little girl who never, never, stopped wailing, no matter how long I held her!”

“
I was crying for my father!” My fingers wrap around her hair and tug on it, I don’t want to kill the baby, but I have to fight back or I will die here. Die in this creek, being clubbed to death by rocks.

The creek taped off with caution tape—yellow plastic wrapping over tree limbs and weaving through the swing set. I see the wheel of tape bounce against the surface of the trampoline, unraveling.

“
Help me, pleaseee!
”
I cry out in desperation.

“There’s no one here,” Mom cackles. “There was never anyone here for you!” She raises the rock above my temple.

I close my eyes and imagine how Clad will feel when Mom makes his painting come to life. When he has to stand next to my casket and hold real flowers in his hands at a real funeral, looking into the dead eyes of a real dead girl—
that real dead girl he loved to the end of the universe and back.

I hear crunching, the crunching of leaves as someone walks across the backyard and toward us. I dive my hand into the creek, grab a clump of mud and smear it on my mother’s face. She lets go.

I can barely find my legs to stand on. Leaning against a tree, I watch the figure as it comes nearer. Mom watches too, blinking away mud.

Parting with the stable tree, I unsteadily move toward the person. Curly hair and the faint scent of Irish Spring body wash—
Dad
.

I keep on walking. He passes me and goes to Mom. I walk to the front of the apartment and pick up one of the fifties I earned at Indigo.

Yelling erupts from the dense trees, a voice that could make birds fly from their nests.
Sydney, Sydney, daughter, daughter, Bailey, Bailey. What did you do?
Dad’s monster voice growls.

I let out a scream. I want him to leave her alone, to come running to me, because I think the stress of his yelling will kill the baby.

Dad’s footsteps come my way. He stops dead in his tracks, a foot from me. His eyes taking in the blood on my arm, the jagged cut that is dripping on the gravel, the water soaked through my cut off tank top and my tear stained face.

I haven’t stopped screaming, my eyes are closed and my head is thrown back, like Dad is a dentist, inspecting my molars. He grabs my wrists and brings my arms around his waist, clutching me tight to his chest. My screams turn into openmouthed sobs.

I punch his stomach with small, little girl punches. “You promised, you promised!” I say. “You promised I would be safe. You were supposed to protect me.
Well, you can have her.
You two can have that baby and create a perfect little family. I’m leaving—
forever
.”

Dad’s arms hang at his sides, he lifts his hands, as if in a plea for me to stay, tears coursing down his bronze cheeks.

I turn from him and take wobbly steps toward Harley. I sit down and start the engine.

“I believed in you,” I say. “I really thought you would take away the pain. I’m sorry, I was wrong. I’m sorry I opened myself up to you so freely and tried to be your little girl again.” I look down at the handle bars, shaking my head and pursing my lips together. “I wanted happiness, thought we could share it.”

“Bailey, don’t go,” Dad says. “I’ll make it right again, your mom can stay somewhere else. Please, don’t leave me; you’re all that I have.”

“No,” I say. “You have the baby.”

They have their family now. A Mommy. A Daddy. A new baby. It is the correct thing for me to do, after already taking so much of their lives.

I let Bailey die right there; I run her over with Harley’s back tire. Indigo has her own family too; it’s time she goes to be with them.

Love and pain are one in the same. Love drives me away, pain drives me away. Love and pain make me weak, make me strong. Love and pain bring me to the Allie in the dead of night.

I climb over the fence and stand in the light of a crackling fire. They cheer,
Indigo has returned
. Everyone is happy I’m where I belong—everyone except Bailey, who I thought I killed. But somehow she stuck to my bike’s tire and followed me over the fence.
She just doesn’t give up.

“Give us a minute, guys,” Holden says to Cairen, Ashten, and Alana.

“Can we talk on the other side of the fence?” I ask.

“Sure.”

Holden gives me a boost. We both use my bike as a stepping stool.

Slouching, I hang my legs over the side of the bike. Tired and sore, I want to sleep, want someone to hold me. I lean my head against Holden’s arm.

“My mom did me in tonight,” I say.

“That bitch!” he spits.

“I think she took the Mollys Ashten gave me…” The idea wakes me up a little.

“Damn, isn’t your mom pregnant?”

“Maybe not anymore,” I say wearily. “I just want to sleep and not think about it. Can you show me a place to lie down?”

“Okay, we can go to the van.”

I get off of Harley but stagger on my feet; I bump into the motorcycle and crash to the ground with it. “I’m not feeling right,” I say.

Holden stands up the bike and then lifts me up. Finding relief in his arms, I let my eyes close, thinking they will open again on their own. But they don’t, not until Holden is shaking me awake in his van.

“I’m tired,” I mumble. My eyes strain in the dark.

“I was just making sure you’re alive,” Holden says. “You’ve been out for a long time.”

“Can I sleep more?”

“I want to clean the cut on your arm first.”

“Did you take my heels off?” I ask, moving my feet around in the blankets.

“Mhm,” Holden says. “It’s not very practical to sleep in high heels.” His lips curl into a smile. “I’ve got to get a washcloth, you stay here.”

I unbutton my pants beneath the blankets and push them off with my feet. The mattress is hot and sweaty under my body. I turn and find a cooler spot to lie on.

Holden returns with a cold washcloth, he wipes my face and arm. He pours alcohol over my cut and wraps my arm in his hoodie. Grabbing his hand, I play with his fingers. He’s sitting in front of me, his lungs pumping out his bare chest.

“What’s wrong?” I trace the crags of his eyes and the bushy eyebrows above them.

“I’m angry.”

“I can see that,” I say.

“I want to
kill
your mom.”

“Go ahead.” It then occurs to me, that when a gang member says they want to ‘kill’ somebody, they probably aren’t bluffing.

“I’m serious,” Holden says jerking his head away from my hand. “You have blood under your nails.”

“It’s on my clothes too,” I say. “
It’s just blood
.”

“It makes me
angrier
.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” I say, pushing his hair from his eyes.

“How about we get some sleep, it’s late.”

He puts his head on my pillow and turns his body to me; I smell the weed on his breath. “Where are your parents, Holden?” I blurt out. “Did they love you?”

“My mom killed herself and my dad left shortly after,” he says through his teeth. “That’s when I came to the Allie. That’s why we all come here: because we have nobody else.”

I focus on his drugged breath and crooked teeth as he talks. Occasionally, his lips hit mine. The tips of our noses and our foreheads come together. His face is beautiful, in an ugly way, his features not quite right, one eyebrow a little higher than the other.

“When you kill yourself, you go to hell.” My words go into his open mouth; he swallows them and brings a hand to his throat like they are poison.

“Why the fuck would you say that”

He starts to cry. I grab the back of his head and press our foreheads together harder; he closes his eyes, tears dripping off the tip of his nose and landing on mine. “Because
I’m
going to hell,” I say.

Neither of us moves.

“No you’re not,” Holden says, his eyes opening. “All little girls go to heaven.”

“That’s because they’re innocent, but I’m not innocent. You want to know why my mom hit me?”

“Don’t tell me, Bailey.”

He grabs the back of my head too; painfully knotting his hand in my hair.

“I have to tell
someone
,” I say. “I went to Indigo; I was stripping in my bra and panties. I was making money. The men love my body. Everybody loves my body. They want me when I don’t even want myself.”