Talbot begins to talk about Marcus. I ain’t never heard such nasty words come out somebody’s mouth without one ounce of feeling. She’s monotone, like she is simply talking about her dinner plans while bashing my family, saying she knows some judges who love a good long sentence for the druggies. Says she knows some parole officers too, if my mother is looking to make a trip back to her cell. The way Talbot speaks makes me twitch like Marsha in the car, her teeth clicking between words, bony chin sticking out, smile that never seems to fade.
Marsha’s spine straightens and it’s clear she doesn’t want to be here no more. “While I don’t believe we’ve met before, Chief, I happen to know some people a little higher up in the department than you. If you would like me to contact them about unethical blackmailing and intervention in an investigation, I would be more than happy to.” Marsha matches Talbot’s smile and adds some teeth.
Talbot coughs. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m glad.” Marsha picks her purse back up from the ground. “If there isn’t anything else, we’ll be on our way.” She stands, gesturing to me to do the same.
Talbot stands as well, looking right at me. “I was actually hoping to notify Ms. Johnson of our protocol on knowledge of neglected minors and the harboring of minors. We are legally obligated to notify Child Protective Services.” Talbot closes her mouth and I can hear her teeth meet in the middle. “Just thought you should know before you testify.”
Sickly smile. Same shade as that yellow cushion.
Marsha’s hand is on my back, pushing me forward and out the door, shutting it hard behind her. Before we start toward the elevator, Marsha reaches up to the door and rips off the tape with Talbot’s name on it.
Back in the car, I realize my whole body is shaking, a light but constant tremor, and this is my worst fear made real. Trevor is my reason for so much of these past few months and now he’s at risk, another casualty of a choice I didn’t know I was making when I climbed into Davon’s car that first night. Marsha is the one who’s supposed to fix things, but when she starts the car, she breathes out all the breath in her body and starts cussing. I ain’t seen Marsha cuss so much since her heel broke when we were walking through her office lobby last week.
She’s still going at it, punching at the wheel of that sleek car, as she lets me out in front of the Regal-Hi, the cameras out of sight. We started staggering my drop-off time so the reporters wouldn’t know when we’d arrive, and most of them would have already left. There’s two sitting on the curb, staring at their phones.
Before I can ask what we’re gonna do, Marsha tells me she’ll call me later and waits for me to shut the door to her shrill voice repeating fuck.
“What the fuck happened to you?” The moment I open the door, I see the drippings of dried blood trailing to the mattress, to Trevor curled up and spitting into a pile of bloody saliva on the sheet where his playing cards are still spread. I can’t even see his teeth with his mouth open, the red coating the white.
I kneel down to him, place a hand beneath his head and lift, so he doesn’t have to support the weight of his own skull. He groans and tilts his head a little more until he’s puking into my hand, full vomit out the mouth: his favorite cereal colored deep burgundy.
“Oh baby.” I use my other hand to grab a dirty T-shirt from the floor and wipe up his mess. It smears together into a swirl of oranges and reds, chunky and watery all at once. I pull up Trevor’s body, which is limp and unmoving, so he’s fully on the bed, and rest his head on a pillow. “That it? You got more in there?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, but he shakes his head just enough that I think it’s safe to leave him on his back while I grab a rag and wet it at the sink, bring it back to him.
Trevor’s face is caked in so much blood, swollen into a blur of features, you can’t even tell he’s got the most gorgeous eyes, wouldn’t even guess he can move from land to water and still be this graceful length of boy.
Even with his new muscles and height, Trevor is skinny. I lift his shirt up and his left side is slowly turning blue. I can physically see it morphing colors, deepening and spreading down to his hip. I repeat, “Oh baby,” and he groans again. I tell him I’m gonna touch him now, that it’s gonna hurt.
I start dabbing his face with the rag, but it doesn’t do much for the blood that’s already dried. I start wiping it and Trevor opens his mouth as wide as it will go and roars out into this gurgling scream. I’ve never seen a baby lion in real life but I imagine that they would sound just like that when they are young and scared.
The blood isn’t fading from his face, really only migrating from eyes to mouth. “I gotta get you in the shower, Trev. It’ll be cold, help with the swelling ’fore your eyes swell shut.”
He shakes his head, small shifts side to side at first, getting bigger as I start to move him.
“I got to, baby. I’m sorry.” I lift him into both my arms and even though he’s taller now, his bony frame is light enough that I can curl his body into my chest and cradle him, his legs swinging as I stand and shuffle toward the bathroom.
I set him down in the shower so his head is leaned into the corner. He slumps the moment I let him go to turn the water on. It runs pink.
I tell Trevor I will fuck up whoever done this to him, that he best tell me everything the second that mouth learns how to talk again. I don’t know what else to say, but he’s groaning again, gurgling, vomiting.
I get into the shower with him to make sure he doesn’t swallow none of the vomit or the water, wipe his eyes off. His noises get louder and all I can think to do is sing to him. I ask if he wants a song and he doesn’t respond but he also doesn’t shake his head, stops groaning for a moment.
Every song I ever heard runs through my head, except mostly only the instrumentals, only the trumpet or the bass. The only one with lyrics is the one Daddy used to sing me, only song Daddy ever sang me. I think it’s by some dude from the ’50s about how he wanna beat his girl, but the way Daddy sang it would’ve made you think it was a love song.
no kiddin’
I’m ready to fight
been lookin’ for my Trevor all day and all night
I change it for Trevor and when I say his name, his face twitches a little and I can’t tell if it’s a smile or a frown, but he isn’t roaring no more and the blood is almost completely washed from his face. I turn the water off and strip his clothes from his body before picking him up again, naked now. I rest him on the toilet and stand back up to take my own dripping clothes off, leaving me in a sports bra and a pair of Marcus’s old boxers. I reach up to the bathroom cupboard and grab the tub of shea butter. I sit down on the floor in front of the toilet and pull Trevor’s body down into my lap, cradling him again.
“Alright now, worst of it over.” I hum. “This gonna help too.”
I scoop out a handful and begin to rub it over his torso, tracing each rib until his brown shines. I move up to his collarbone, the left side large and puffy. He winces, but doesn’t fully growl. When I get to his neck and face, I move my hands in circles. He starts to moan again, this time the kind of moan that comes out when you finally scratch an itch. I trace the letters of his name across his forehead, trying to be gentle, but still get the blood moving.
After he’s smooth and glowing, I carry him back to the bed and set him on the floor, grab some new clothes out of the drawer, and start dressing him. I make a bed out of pillows beside the mattress, so I can wash the sheets, and put my hand on his cheek. Even with the shower, his eyes are swollen shut.
“You can sleep now, baby, just let yourself sleep.”
He’s snoring that familiar snore in minutes and I start wrapping the sheets up to stuff in the hamper. Every time I turn away, I get so lost in the rhythm of his snores that I expect to look back and see his face: lips so perfect, tranquil, childlike. The image ain’t none of that, though. He is beaten and puffed up and his lips are a mix of colors that I wish did not exist inside his world and he looks like he could be a man inhabiting the body of a boy.