THREE
MY GAZE TRACED THE zombie’s oozing features as the sharp whine of the tattoo gun burrowed into my ears. The undead creature was forceful and intimidating, saturated with color and menace. I watched Dunn, the zombie’s owner, wondering what it said about him, that he had decided to carry this monster on his flesh. As I eyed his wiry little body, I decided he’d probably been bullied as a child. He was certainly compensating for something. I kept searching for more clues, grateful for distraction from the throb and sting radiating across my skin. And from the guilt eating away at my heart.
Dunn’s face twisted in concentration as he deftly maneuvered the needles. I bit back a shiver at the pain, forcing myself into stillness, afraid the tiniest move would ruin the portrait taking shape on my arm.
“Halfway there,” Dunn commented. “You need a break?”
I shook my head. “Keep going.”
“You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I replied through gritted teeth.
Dunn grunted and bent to his task again. He had some mad skills. Even through the blood and the swelling, Nadia’s delicate face was instantly recognizable. It had only taken him a few days from the first time he saw the photograph to sketch her face and map where it would lie on my forearm. It was sort of hilarious that, for all my bad-girl rep, the only thing I’d ever used my fake ID for was to get this tattoo. Dunn had even given me a discount. It still ate a chunk out of my pathetic college fund, but that wasn’t a problem now. I’d gotten a scholarship, after all.
I looked out the window of the shop, watching cars thread their way along Wickenden Street’s narrow lanes. Maybe this tattoo would do it. The school memorial hadn’t—I’d stared at Nadia’s glossy, poster-size photo from the back row of the bleachers, watching all her other friends cry and hug each other in the front row, and it still hadn’t chased her ghost out of my head. The wake hadn’t done it either—after seeing her lying there, pale and perfect, the dreams still haunted me. The funeral had failed me, too—even after gutting my way through the priest’s promises that she was in a better place, the nightly visions of her trapped in that dark city, the very same place I’d carried in my head for the past two years, remained. Now she was there. And it was my fault.
Diane said I needed to find my own way to say good-bye. She promised it would make me feel better. So here it was, my personal memorial to Nadia. I’d wear her solemn, haunted expression on my skin forever: a reminder of what I’d had, what I’d missed, what I’d lost.
Someone came out from the back of the shop, and the door’s hinges creaked in protest. I gasped as the Suicide Gates appeared in front of me, reaching for me, trying to swallow me. I’d walked through them with Nadia that night just a week ago, over ground I knew well, screaming at her to get back, to turn around. Begging her not to go through. But she’d just looked up at the city beyond the Gates, crying and terrified. She was all alone, even though she was surrounded by hundreds of people mumbling in a bunch of different languages. Those enormous, armored Guards stood on either side of the Gates, wielding their curved swords as they herded the crowd into a vast, dark city. One of the monsters had laughed at Nadia when she’d begged for his help. Welcome to the Suicide Gates, he’d shouted.
I’d jerked awake, so relieved it was just a dream, unaware that she was already dead.
“You okay?” Dunn pulled his tattoo gun back, and by his expression, I knew I’d just done something spastic.
I cleared my throat. “Fine. Why?”
“You were, uh…moaning? Not that I minded…” The twist of his lips made me seriously consider taking to my former ways and stabbing him with his tattoo gun.
“Sorry. It hurts. Go ahead.” I stared out the window, trying desperately not to think of what I’d seen in those dreams.
The needles fell silent again. “Finished,” announced Dunn, squeezing my hand. “What do you think?”
I looked down at the inside of my right forearm. Nadia’s face looked back at me. “She’s perfect,” I murmured. “Thank you.”
He bandaged me up and I headed home, hoping this would put an end to the nightmares of Nadia. Every night since she died, I’d walked with her deeper into that infinite, dark city. She was surrounded by strangers wandering the streets, all wearing glassy-eyed looks of sorrow and torment. Except for the enormous Guards who patrolled the streets, nearly everyone in the city looked completely miserable. Nadia wanted to ask for help, but no one would look at her. She couldn’t hear me calling her name. I was just a ghost hovering by her side. I woke up every morning, my grief fresh, my heart aching. Maybe now she would rest in peace and let me get back to my regularly scheduled nightmares. Anything was better than seeing her suffer.
Diane’s car was in the driveway when I pulled in. I tugged at my sleeve as I walked through the door. Diane would be curious if she saw the bandage, not to mention pissed if she saw the tattoo.
“What happened to you, baby?” She trundled out of the kitchen, serving spoon in hand.
“Nothing. Hanging out with, um, Tegan.”
Diane’s eyebrows shot up. “Tegan just called to see if you were going to the vigil tomorrow night.”
Great. Tegan had decided to be a decent human being at exactly the wrong moment. I sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “I needed some time to myself. I went for a drive.”
Her brow furrowed. “Is more alone time really what you need?”
I closed my eyes so she couldn’t see me rolling them. “I don’t know what I need, Diane. I’m not sure it matters, either.”
“It would matter to Nadia.”
I winced. When I had dreamed of Nadia, the only thing that had mattered to her was escaping from her pain. Just as I’d warned her, it hadn’t ended when she killed herself. “You don’t know that.”
Diane’s arms rose from her sides. She wanted to hug me, but she knew better than to try. She crossed her arms over her chest instead. “You were important to her, and don’t pretend you don’t know that.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been having nightmares again, haven’t you? They’re just dreams, baby. Bad dreams, I know, but still just dreams.”
I turned my back to her, opening the cabinet and staring sightlessly at the plates and glasses. They didn’t feel like dreams. In last night’s nightmare, a cackling old lady had tried to drag Nadia away—like some type of animal. Perfect, she’d said to Nadia. You’re perfect. It was a different voice than the one that had whispered to me in so many of my own nightmares, but she’d said the same ominous words. When Nadia had run, the evil animal granny chased her—on all fours, palms and feet slapping the cobblestone street. I’d lurched awake before I got to see what happened to her.
“You think you could have saved her. You feel guilty,” Diane commented as she reached around me and grabbed two plates.
“Of course I do,” I snapped hoarsely, swiping a sleeve across my leaking eyes. “You should have heard the stuff I said to her that night. What if I drove her to it?”
She shook her head and made this disapproving mm-mm-mm sound in her throat. “Do you think Nadia would want you to feel this way? That girl was pure good. I wish she’d loved herself as much as she loved everyone else. She left a lasting mark on this world, and on you. When you came to me a year ago, I was afraid you’d end up right back in the RITS, but instead, here you are—going to college!”
Yeah, Nadia was the reason I had that kind of future. And what had I done for her? She’d said I was the one who kept her grounded, the one who saw past the trivial stuff. She said she needed me because I was real. Strong. Funny. Good. I’d actually started to believe that stuff about myself, to believe I had something to give her in return for everything she’d given me. Then I’d walked away from her right when she needed me most.
I pressed my hand over the bandage and let the pain bleed through my whole body. I deserved this hurt. A flash of panic rushed through me as the dark city flashed in front of my eyes. I yanked my hand away from the tattoo like it had burned me, and the real world returned.
Diane offered me a plate. “You want to talk about it while we eat?”
God, no. “I’m sorry, Diane. Dinner looks great, but I’m going to go do some homework and then go to bed.”
She gave me a sad smile. “I’m here if you need me, baby.”
I went back to my room and scattered my pictures of Nadia across the floor. In almost all of them, Nadia wore that I-rule-the-world smile. I flipped through the snapshots, wondering how someone so confident, so alive, could ever want to hurt herself. Then I got to one of the photos I’d taken of her as we sat in the bleachers watching the boys’ baseball practice.
In that picture she stared into space, eyes dull and haunted. That was the face of a person who could down enough pills to kill herself many times over. That was the face on my arm. That was how she looked when she thought no one else was watching. At first I’d thought it was a fluke. None of my other prints held any hint of this sad, desperate Nadia. But then I’d remembered all the other photos on my camera, the ones I hadn’t thought worthy of printing out. Sure enough—there weren’t many, but they were there, stretching as far back as last summer. Pictures of Nadia caught in honest moments, too distracted or exhausted to ratchet that breathtaking smile onto her face.
My vision blurred beneath the weight of my tears. How could I have let her slip away? I gathered all the photos, the best moments of my life with the only friend I’d ever had. I carried them to the backyard and fired up Diane’s little charcoal grill.