***
I'm worried about returning all bloody again, but at least the only blood involved belongs to me. The scene this time is far less dramatic, since Jonas is the only one there to witness my arrival. He frowns and squints at me before realizing why I'm holding my sleeve over my mouth. Then he jumps up to check me out, pushing my arm away from my face.
"I'm fine," I mumble, though it sounds a little funny because my lip is swelling. "Where is everyone?"
"Oscar went hunting," Jonas says absently. Then I hear the water splashing. "Miranda's in the bath."
I don't really want to know about Miranda taking a bath when she and Jonas are alone in the house together. I glance around for something to stop the bleeding.
Jonas grabs a piece of rag from the table, bats my hands away, and presses it against my mouth. "What did you do this time?" He sounds annoyed.
I try to answer, but the rag is in the way. He makes a shushing noise, as if he didn't just ask me a question. So we stand there for a minute, not talking.
Finally, he says, "Are you OK?"
I nod as much as I can without displacing the rag.
His brow creases as he looks down at me, clearly pondering what kind of mess I've made. It sets me on edge, being scrutinized by him like this. I move my head away from the rag, hoping the bleeding has stopped.
Again, he bats my hand away as I try to explore what's happened to my mouth. "Let me see," he says, and dabs at me with the rag. Even though his touch is gentle, it stings. He sets the cloth aside and carefully pulls my lower lip down. I wonder if I've put a tooth through it, the way it feels. Trying to be tough, I look up at him expectantly, waiting for the verdict. But he's not looking at me. He's just staring. At my lip.
"Crap," I say, which comes out sounding nothing like the actual word. I jerk away from him, wincing from the sting. I grab up the rag from the table and stuff it to my mouth again, turning away.
"...What..." he says quietly, "...what was that...?"
I glance halfway back— not far enough to meet his eyes— and shake my head. Nothing, I'm thinking. Nothing. But here, with him, the letters tattooed inside my lip have a new sort of significance. Something nameless but heavy. I have a label written on me. I am someone's property. All this time I've been forgetting it, and here, Fate chooses to reveal it. To remind me. I am not my own. I am not anyone. New or old. I feel empty inside, and cold. Tired, and lonely.
"So what happened?" It's Miranda's voice as she emerges from the bathroom, clothed, but hair dripping.
I start to frown, but the act is painful. "Matt was going to kill Coyote Dan," I say, my voice wavering with emotion, muffled as it may be.
Miranda just looks at me.
Jonas snorts. "And you stopped him."
I nod. "At least—"
"Coyote Dan?" says Miranda, frowning and blinking.
I don't really feel like explaining the nickname I've given Dan in my imagination, so I ignore her.
"Oh my god, Eden," Miranda protests. "Matt's going to kill you. You have to stop."
I waver and nod, mostly to make her feel better. It's a little late now to be thinking about it.
She shakes her head and walks back behind the bathroom curtain.
Jonas perches on the bed. He's humming again, his eyes fixed on me. The tune bothers me, but at first I don't know why— just that I want to scream at him to stop. It fills my head, and I'm standing there, staring at him, counting backward from a hundred. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven. I'm at eighty-two when I recognize the tune. The flower peddler song. Roses and lilies, roses and lilies. It grows louder inside my head, chastising me, and Jonas keeps staring at me as he hums, like he means to watch me break down, bit by bit.
"Flowers are for the dead," I say, nonchalantly, cutting him off. I give him a look. "And I'll be dead soon. Right?" I figure there's no better way to deflate his point than to acknowledge it directly like I don't give a damn.
Jonas just laughs— nothing more than the sound of air coming out his nose. There's no smile accompanying it. Not even any movement in his face. He hops down off of the bed and walks past me toward the door. "Yep," is all he says as it clicks closed behind him.