Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)

“Wait! Wait! Don’t go! We haven’t been properly introduced.” She ran around and threw herself in front of me to keep me from heading back into the house. She shifted the cat to the crook of one arm and extended her hand. “I’m Emma Jean Parish. I just turned twelve, and I like magic and reading. I also like fairytales even though Aunt Ruby says I’m too old to like ‘em. Also, I don’t like scary movies or yelling,” she rambled. “What about you?”

She offered me a small, sad smile and sniffled, her hand dangling in the air.

I sighed heavily. I knew from the determined look in the girl's eyes that she wouldn’t scram until I answered her. I glanced down at her hand and raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to. Do you sign?” she asked, and I realized she was looking straight at me so I could read her lips. “I learned how to sign the alphabet from an old encyclopedia. I can spell things out, but I don’t know much else.”

She thought I was deaf.

A lot of people did at first.

When I was first put into the system, they placed me in an American sign language class because they thought I didn’t know how to communicate. While I was in there, I picked up a thing or two.

She began to spell out the same thing she just said with the hand not choking the kitten. Her tongue hung out the side of her mouth as she concentrated on making each letter perfect. If she continued like that, she was never going to leave.

Frustrated, I blurted out, “Tristan. And I’m not deaf.”

The sound of my own voice, which hasn’t rattled my eardrums in years, startled me as much as it did her.

“Tristan?” She smiled, cocking her head to the side. “You’re not deaf?”

I shook my head.

“Tristan,” she repeated. She reached out and removed my arm from my chest until she freed my hand. She shook it with more force than most grown men, but that wasn’t what shocked me.

It was the zap of her skin on mine. The feeling of something shattering all around me until gone. I was too young to be having a stroke, so what the fuck was that?

I stared down at our connected hands in wonder. It’d been a long time since I’d spoken and even longer since I let anyone touch me. That’s all the feeling was. I shook it off, but the current still hummed between us.

“Funny, you don’t look like a Tristan.”

No, I didn’t. I looked like a criminal. A thug. Although, I did agree with her. I never cared for my name. Tristan sounded like someone who went to a fancy private school and did his homework before lacrosse practice. Not someone who spent more time in a cell than a classroom, and the only time he ever touched a pencil was to sharpen it into a weapon.

“I like it though,” she mused, stroking the kitten. “I mean, it’s a nice name. Not for you, though. You might want to look into that.” She pressed her lips to the cat’s head.

I lit a cigarette. Over Emma Jean’s head, I spied my social worker inside, sitting at the table and talking Marci politely while smiling and nodding. I hoped they’d hurry up so I could finally get the fuck out of there.

I leaned back against the black Firebird and took a deep drag, wishing I hadn’t sold the last of my weed this morning to Mr. Arnold, the eighty-year-old man who lived next to the boy’s home.

“You even gonna ask why I’m so upset?”

I shook my head, but Emma Jean continued anyway.

“You see, it’s because of Mr. Fuzzy here. By chance, do you know anyone looking for a pet kitten? ‘Cause Auntie Ruby says if I don’t get rid of him today, she’s taking it to the…the…the shelter.” She squeezed the cat who hissed and wiggled, but she held on tight, unaware that she was practically crushing the thing. “And…and…”

She began to sob again. Her face reddened. Her mouth opened wide, and she closed her eyes as she started to bawl.

I scratched my wrist under the sleeve of my hoodie. Shit, I didn’t know what to do when kids cried. How the fuck do you turn it off? I glanced around hoping that someone was going to come take her away, but there was no one.

“So, do you? Know of anyone who can take Mr. Fuzzy? He’s a really nice kitty.”

Mr. Fuzzy disagreed with a hiss.

I shook my head again.

Emma Jean’s deep blue-green eyes were already huge, but they grew even more significant with her panic. The crying only became louder. She reached out with her free hand and grabbed my arm once again. The zap between us happened again, stronger this time, like I’d stuck a dime in a light socket.

Why the fuck does she keep touching me?

I wanted to peel her hand off my arm, but she was locked on like a pit bull's jaw in a dog fight, and I couldn’t pry her off without breaking one of her fingers.

Hurting a girl would land me back in juvie, and I’d only just gotten out. No way did I want a return trip so soon, especially since the judge told me that the next time he saw me, he’d make sure I was tried as an adult.

I didn’t want to go back to juvie, but it would be a cakewalk compared to jail. I really didn’t want to go there.

“You don’t understand, Mr. Tristan! If Mr. Fuzzy doesn’t get adopted at the shelter, they’ll put him to sleep!” She sucked in a loud, shaky breath. “At first, that don't sound so bad, you know, ‘cause who don’t need a good night sleep? Aunt Ruby is always sleeping or napping when she’s not at the casino over in Lacking, but my best friend Gabby Vega’s teacher volunteers at the shelter, and she told her it’s all just a lie they tell kids.”

She sucked in another shaky breath and leaned in closer, her grip tightened around my arm with every word. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Sleep don’t mean sleep at all. It means…” She finally released me to cover Mr. Fuzzy’s ears. I rubbed my arm. “It means they kill it.” She let out a strangled cry, covered her mouth with her hand and backed away a step. She looked up at me, pleading with her giant glassy eyes.

All I was thinking about was a way to get this girl to go home, but I wasn’t thinking fast enough because she’d started bawling again, the sound echoing between the houses.

I don’t ever show emotion, mostly because I don’t feel all that much, but this little shit had me clenching and unclenching my fists. I had to get the girl to shut the fuck up.

It’ll be okay? I said inside of my head, giving the girl a nonchalant shrug.

“How? How is it gonna be okay when Fuzzy’s nothing but worm food?” she wailed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.

I took another drag off my cigarette, holding the smoke deep in my lungs. Maybe, if I was lucky, I’d suffocate myself, and this would all be over.

I glanced into the kitchen window and met Marci’s gaze.

Fuck, I ain’t staying in the group home because of this fucking kid.

“Shut up,” I commanded. But my voice was low. Too low for her to have heard me. I barely heard myself.

“And nobody wants him!” she cried. She tipped her head, mouth open wide to the sky. Her shoulders fell in defeat, so low I swore they were about to hit the god damned ground.

I looked toward the house again. My case worker moved and was now standing at the window, pointing toward the scene that played out in front of me.

Shit.

I waved for the girl to follow me to the side of the house, out of view of the window. She did. When we were safely out of sight from the kitchen window, I took a hissing Mr. Fuzzy from her arms.

Her smile brightened. She nodded enthusiastically. Her cries halted completely. Finally, I’d hit her off switch.

“You’ll take Fuzzy?” she said with a smile, exposing teeth too large for her head.

Emma Jean didn’t wait for an answer I wasn’t about to give.

“Yes! Thank you! Thank you!” she exclaimed, hopping up on her tip-toes to wrap her arms around me in a one-sided hug.

She lifted herself onto her toes to kiss me on the cheek, but I turned my head at the same time, and the kiss landed on my lips. I didn’t turn away. It was the shock that kept me immobile. She didn’t pull away either.

One second. Two. Three.

Fuzzy, squashed between us, meowed loudly. The front door opened and then closed. Emma Jean pulled away with her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

I looked away just in time to hear the voices of Marci and my caseworker.