I ignored the bill and stood. “I’m not going home.” I slammed the door and waited for him to drive away.
He got out and leaned on the roof. He waved the money. “How much would it take to get you to try it?”
“More than you have.”
“All right, give me something else, then.” He counted out a hundred. Held it out to me. “You can have this if you let me see your back.”
My blood turned to ice. “Go to hell.”
He added another bill to the stack. “Now?”
I stood.
He added another. “Now?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the money.
He put another twenty on top. “Now?”
I watched him. Would he keep going? What would I do when he stopped?
He must have sensed me waiting, driving the price up. He pocketed the rest of the bills, leaving the big stack fanned in his hand.
“And that’s my final offer.” He dragged the bills under his nose. “Don’t you love the smell of it?”
A hundred and sixty dollars, and all I had to do was turn around and show my back.
My hand twitched. I walked around the car and stood next to him. He smiled, that pedophile-on-a-church-picnic look in his eyes.
A coil of nausea burned in my stomach and threaded up into my throat. I told myself the money was compensation, because who paid to see a scar?
It didn’t mean anything.
It was just too much money to walk away from.
I took off my shirt. Turned around. Accepted the use.
I stared at cigarette butts flattened on the pavement and thought about Janie.
I put my shirt back on and faced him.
Michael handed the money over. “Interesting. Not quite what I’d expected.” A doctor at the freak show.
I glared at him. My voice wouldn’t come. I didn’t look for it.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, getting into his car.
I watched him peel out, feeling the lump of cash in my hand. The parking lot was empty. A gang of crows wheeled overhead—diving and falling, chasing a lone outcast across the sky.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sometimes you can feel yourself sinking. Black water sucking at your heels, and it gets harder to move, harder to fight.
I felt it starting when I took the money—hate sucking at my heels, self-destruction not far behind.
And underneath that, the knowledge that it didn’t matter when I finally went home. Now or tomorrow or the next day. My dad would be waiting.
At least if I got it over with now, Janie wouldn’t be there.
I went to the old gym. Lifted the window and climbed through. Stood in the dank shower room.
Felt the wad of cash coal-hard in my pocket.
The black water settled in my chest. I pulled the money out and spread it on a bench. Two hundred and eighty dollars.
Tore through my locker, and brought out a boxing glove. Wadded up the money and shoved it inside the glove before putting it back. My dad would be waiting, and I wasn’t about to hand over the cash after all the crap I’d gone through.
I turned back to the window. My reflection in the clouded mirrors, wild-eyed. I climbed out, closing the window behind me.
On the walk home, I had to stop myself from breaking into a run. Black tissue spread through my chest, tumorous fingers squeezing my heart. I took the porch steps two at a time.
The sound of the slamming door brought him out.
I felt myself smiling. The blackness buzzed in my ears, whispered, screamed. So I cursed him.
He came at me, lips curled onto his teeth. Fang-groove creases arrowing down over his mouth.
The black tide covered me, bubbled up in my chest like laughter. His fist drove at my face in a straight line, rolling as it came—perfect and true. Beautiful.
I stepped in, dodging his first punch before the second one caught me. Lightning flashed in my skull. My legs gave out and I was falling. The black water rushed over my head before I landed.
? ? ?
“Jason?” A little voice, mouse-gnawing on the sparking wires in my brain. A hand shook my shoulder.
“Jason, sit up.”
I realized my eyes were open, although one was nearly swollen shut.
Janie’s cheeks were wet. She helped me stand. The floor tilted like a ship.
“You provoked him. And you told Clay you weren’t coming here.” An accusation. Janie wedged herself under my arm, too tight against my ribs.
I hissed.
“Sorry,” she breathed. “But you probably deserve that. Jerk.”
“Don’t be mad.” My voice was slurry and cotton-packed. “Honest pay for honest work.” I laughed.
We stumbled up the stairs. In the room, she helped me fall onto my bed.
I felt full and light, a balloon swelling to pop.
“Okay, what’s two plus two?” Janie asked. “What did you eat for breakfast?”
“Four. Knuckles.” A giggle fizzed in my chest. Nothing hurt. “It’s fine, Janie. It’s better this way.”
“Yeah. You look better.”
“Bitch.”
“Shitbird.” She sighed and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Planted hands on narrow hips, skinny elbows daggering the air by my head. Her eyes scoured my face. My laugh bubbled out again. Endorphins and relief and low tide.
“See”—I shook a finger at her—“never forget the evil bastard is a sadist. If you seek it out, he pulls his punches.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Well, that’s abundantly clear.”
The laugh came out a cough. It was like unstopping a can of soda that’s been knocked down the stairs. I started laughing and couldn’t stop. I laughed because I wouldn’t be going to school tomorrow or the day after that, and that might screw up Michael’s plans. I laughed because Cyndra had pills that were extra strength. I laughed because she wasn’t mine, and Michael was the future prom king. Laughed because the new clothes finally felt right.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Janie took care of me. Changed out bags of frozen peas on my eye. Propped my head on her pillow and mine. Popped migraine medicine down my throat at regular intervals. The caffeine, cold, and elevation were her attempts to reduce bruising and swelling.