My mother, being more observant than usual, looked from Yoss to me shrewdly.
“So how do you know my daughter?”
“We’re old friends,” he told her, smiling softly.
“Friends, huh?” She cocked her head to the side. “I swear I’ve seen you before. Did you ever come over to the house when Imogen was younger?”
Why was she hammering this point? There was no way she could have met Yoss.
“Mom, seriously, we’ve got to get going. I’ll call you.” I kissed her on the cheek and maneuvered her to the car.
“Okay, sweet cheeks, but don’t forget. Even though you have this hot piece of man candy here, you still need to call your mama,” she lectured, giving me a lascivious grin.
I groaned. “Goodbye, Mom.”
She got into her car and with a wave puttered down the street, her old Ford spewing exhaust the whole way.
“Sorry about that,” I grimaced, walking to my own car.
Yoss got in the passenger side and quickly closed the door.
“Don’t be. She’s not at all as I expected,” Yoss said, putting on his seatbelt.
“She takes some getting used to,” I muttered, reversing out of my driveway and finally heading towards the river.
Fifteen Years Ago
Too many nights had passed since I had first arrived at The Pit.
It was November.
Cold and dark, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt truly warm. We huddled together for safety, sticking together while the world around us screamed and cried.
The Pit was a dangerous place. Another girl had been attacked last month.
Awful things clung to the shadows.
The constant threat of possibility made me clingy and desperate. Yoss tried to keep the bad stuff away, but it was becoming harder and harder to shield me from the world Manny dragged him into night after night.
I knew too much. I tended to his cuts. I kissed the bruises. I held him while he raged in his sleep. He couldn’t lie to me. So he stopped trying. And every time Manny came for him a part of me died.
And I became more and more angry.
Because I wanted to leave.
Yet I wasn’t sure Yoss would ever come with me.
One afternoon Yoss and I found Di and the others sitting with a larger group towards the back of The Pit. A fire was burning in a trashcan casting flickering shadows on the wall.
Shane was drinking from a flask that Bug handed to him. Karla was laughing at something the guys were saying. They all looked a pretty loaded. Bug’s bulging eyes were glassy and red. Shane’s smile was a little too wide; Karla’s laugh a little too loud.
I noticed Di lying on her stomach, her shirt pulled up to her shoulders, a large man with tattoos all over his arms was leaning over her, pushing a needle into her skin.
“What are you doing, Di?” I gaped in horror at the sight of her blood dripping down her side.
Di grimaced, obviously in pain. “Bruno’s giving me a tattoo, what does it look like?”
“It looks like he’s torturing you,” I observed.
Bruno glanced up at me and grinned. He was missing a few teeth and it gave him a sinister look.
“I can do you next, sweetheart. Maybe a tribal around your thigh? A bunny rabbit on your tit?” he sneered.
My cheeks flamed hot and I wanted to smack Bruno. But he was a little on the scary side.
Yoss stepped forward and put his arm around my shoulders. “Watch your mouth, man,” he warned the bigger guy. I expected Bruno to laugh at Yoss’s posturing. The tattoo artist easily outweighed Yoss by a hundred pounds. But he didn’t laugh. Instead he looked a contrite. His smile faded and he appeared apologetic.
“Sorry, Yoss. I didn’t realize she was yours.”
Yoss scowled.
“Yeah, okay, I get it. Sorry, Imogen,” Bruno said, sounding sincere.
“No problem,” I replied, not wanting to hold a grudge. Particularly with a guy who looked like he could break my arm with his pinkie. Bruno wiped the needle with a cloth and dipped it in what looked like black ink from a broken pen. Then he pushed it into Di’s skin again.
“Shouldn’t he be using a gun? Or sterile needles,” I whispered to Yoss.
“Bruno uses clean needles. No one has ever gotten an infection from his tattoos. He’s pretty amazing, given that he doesn’t use any traditional tools,” Yoss said, watching Bruno work.
“African tribes don’t use fucking tattoo guns,” Bruno grunted, wiping a bead of blood from Di’s back. He leaned down over her. “You okay, Di?” he asked her.
Di nodded her head, her face buried in the crook of her elbow.
“I have time when I’m done with Di’s to do yours, Yoss,” Bruno said.
I looked up at Yoss in surprise. “You want a tattoo?”
Yoss shrugged. “I’ve have an idea for one.”
“What do you want to get?” I asked.
“Your name on his butt cheek!” Bug yelled, then fell onto his back, laughing hysterically.