“Yes.” He takes one step as I take one, so we're the same distance apart. All my organs turn into ice and I can't swallow.
“I've upset you,” he says, amused.
I guess that emotionless noctalis thing is reserved to Peter.
He gives me a smile that sends chills through my veins.
“You may go,” he says after a moment. Just like that?
I take a step backward, testing. He stands there serenely. Freedom is only a few steps away. Not wanting to fall on the steps, I turn around to ascend the rest of them, but something seizes me from behind, latching onto my neck. I thrash, making contact with someone's shoulder. I hear his voice in my ear as the air is squeezed from me by hands strong as steel bars. What is it with people strangling me?
“So fragile,” he says, releasing me.
I slam into the steps, trying to drag air into my lungs. I cough, holding onto my throat. The only sounds I hear are my attempt at breathing and the music. I raise my head, but he's gone.
I use my arms to get myself into a sitting position. What. Just. Happened? One minute I'm dancing with Peter in a way that makes me tingle and want him, and then his brother, who I've met once, is trying to kill me. Again.
“Peter?” I don't know why I say his name. It's not like I want to see him. The traitor. He let his brother use my windpipe as one of those squishy stress balls. Maybe they planned this all along. I close my eyes and lean on the porch railing, trying to put my scattered thoughts back together.
“Ava?” Tex's voice makes me flinch. I can't see her in my condition, but there's no way I can hide. Her steps clack against the wood as she approaches me.
Twenty
“Hey, Tex,” I say, smiling and coughing at the same time.
“Holy crap, are you okay?” She leans down so I can see right down her top if I want to.
I close my eyes again and clear my throat, which feels like gargling with mouthwash full of broken glass. “Yeah, I just came out for some air. I think I had one beer too many.” I give a fake laugh, which tears my throat apart.
“We should get you inside.” She trips as she tries to sit down next to me. Great, I'm going to have to drive her car. She reeks like a brewery. I wonder how much she managed to gulp down while I was getting interrogated and then strangled. Clearly plenty.
“I'm fine.”
“You need a drink, come on.”
She grabs my arm and gets me to my shaking feet. It's the drunk leading the traumatized, but she gets me inside and onto a couch where I camp out for the next hour. She goes off every now and then, but comes back to check on me. I hide from Jamie, who would certainly have a litter of kittens if he knew what condition I'm in. I'm actually lucky Tex is as drunk as a skunk and doesn't notice my condition. I feel safer inside the house, protected by a layer of intoxicated teenagers.
I watch the party as if I'm apart from it. The people get drunker and the dancing gets sloppier. The noise level rises and the bathrooms are full of people puking their guts out. I've had enough when a girl gets up on a table and starts taking her clothes off while screaming the lyrics to some song that no one can understand, and a guy tries to lie down in my lap.
“Ready to go?” I yell at Tex as she brings me another glass of water. Her top is askew, one bra strap hanging over her arm, and she's got lip gloss smeared everywhere. I don't even want to know.
“Yeah,” she says, handing me the glass and looking around, as if realizing where she is. She plops down next to me and rests her head on my shoulder.
Instead of getting louder, Tex gets quieter the more she drinks. More cuddly and emo. The last time I saw Jamie, he was loading a bunch of lacrosse players into the drunk van. I'd text him tomorrow.
After jumping at every shadow and voice, worried someone is finally going to follow through with strangling me, I haul Tex out to her car and push her into the passenger seat. It doesn't matter if she goes home wasted, since her parents are out at some booksellers’ conference and won't be back until Monday. Coby's off with their grandparents, but Tex is allowed to stay alone. Which, considering what went on tonight, was not the best idea. Her parents honestly thought that their punishment system worked, but Tex just got craftier at fooling them. They see what they wanted to see.
“Do you want me to stay?” I say when we get to her house. She looks up at me, her hair mussed and her eyes half-closed. She's quite a mess.
“Could you?” I had a stash of clothes at her house in case of emergencies like this. Back when we were kids, she'd sometimes have me over and beg me to stay the night. Once she even cried because I had to go camping with my parents and couldn't stay. Plus, I'm scared to go home. I don't know if Peter or Ivan are waiting for me there.
“I just have to call my parents,” I say after I get her on the couch.
I get my mother and tell her that I'm staying with Tex. She sighs knowingly and tells me to call her if I need anything. I say I love her and hang up. I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow when I do go home. I'm worried about them, but I can't see Peter or Ivan hurting my parents. They've done nothing. My logic may be twisted, but I'm going with it. Otherwise, I'm going to spend the night clutching a machete and muttering to myself.
I have to pull the curtains so I won't look out the window constantly. I also lock all the doors, as if that could stop them.
First thing, I get Tex a glass of water and some aspirin.
“Drink,” I order. She does. I pull her shoes off and put a blanket on her. Even though it's warm in the house, she's shivering. She still stinks of the party, but so do I. She sets the empty glass down and closes her eyes.
“I'll be right back,” I say, taking the glass.
I make a detour to the bathroom to pee and check my neck. It's a little red, but otherwise I'm good. I take a few aspirin and splash some water on my face. I look like one of those hookers they find on those cop shows. The dead kind.
“How you doing?” She looks at me, eyes bleary, and doesn't answer. “I'm gonna make you something, okay?”
“Ugh.” That's as good as it's going to get.
I have to search the freezer, but I find some cheese in the back. Perfect. I make some nachos in the oven, checking every now and then to see how she's doing. I have to wake her up when the nachos are ready.
“Come on, you need to eat.” I pull her into a sitting position so she won't choke.
“I don't want to.” She slumps back over.
“Too bad.” I shove a plate at her. “I'm going to shove them down your throat if I have to. You're going to thank me tomorrow.” She glares at me and takes a chip. Cheese drips on her chin and down the front of her tank top, but she eats.
I help her demolish the rest of the nachos, and I think she's feeling a little bit better. That is, until she starts talking. I turn on the television so I can have something else to stare at other than how messed up and broken and sad she looks.
“I'm never going to meet anyone,” she moans as I take the plate back into the kitchen. Oh, we have been down this road, too. So many times we don't even need a map. I refill her water glass and press it into her hand. With a wet paper towel I start getting the smeared makeup off her face. I think I'm going to need a chisel.
“Yes you are. The perfect guy is out there waiting for you.” This is my standard line that I say in a soothing voice. She doesn't push me away as I wipe; the paper towel turns all different colors from the stuff on her face.
“Bullshit. That's all that fairy tale crap that doesn't come true. No one is ever going to want me.”
I stop wiping and try to think of what I can say to make this better. Tex made the unfortunate mistake of losing her virginity to a boy who broke up with her a week later last year. Let's just say that homecoming weekend, alcohol and a parade float were involved. She was totally head-over-heels and lost all sense. It happens to the best of us. To the worst of us, too. Tex was like that. She thought you could never have too much of a good thing.
/>
Whether it's peanut butter cups or boys, it's never enough for her. Apparently, she was too much for Blake. He had all the qualifications of perfect boyfriend material, so it should have worked out for longer than it did. I would rather have my entrails pulled out of my body with a rusty hook than admit that I think it's her fault that he broke up with her. She was too much for him. Clingy and possessive replaced Sarsaparilla and Anne as her middle names.
Thankfully, he graduated and went to college in Colorado so Tex doesn't have to see him, which is a blessing. There was also the rumor Blake started about Tex being bad in bed, which had pretty much died down in the year since, but people remembered things like that. They'll probably still be talking about it until we graduate next year.
“Come on, Tex.” I pout at her, hoping to make her laugh. This takes a lot of effort on my part. I'm not at my best.
“Blake didn't even want me.”
“Tex, that was one guy and it was a year ago. You need to move on.” I wrinkled up my nose at her.
“But I loved him, and he didn't want me.” She starts to cry. Oh, damn.
“He's a douchebag.”
It's time for phase two. Trusting she won't slit her wrists while I'm gone, I assemble the Fix-Tex kit. Ice cream — probably not the best idea with alcohol, but still — nail polish, her old stuffed unicorn, our yearbook, and her favorite movie, Breakfast at Tiffany's. The combination of objects hasn't failed me yet.
She gives me a watered-down smile when I come back with everything balanced in my arms. She knows the drill.
“Tada!”
While we watch Audrey Hepburn have lavish parties in her crappy apartment and flirt with George Peppard, aka Fred, we go through the yearbook. For some reason it makes Tex feel better when we look through it and talk about who's changed, who has gotten fat and who has gotten a bad dye job. Shallow, bitchy and horrible, but it works. So does quoting the movie, which we do pretty much the whole time.
“I'm having the mean reds,” she says, pointing to the screen. “Only I don't have Tiffany's to make me feel better.”
“But we have Zappos and eBay.”
“True.” She sighs. We stay silent for a little while. I hope she's not still obsessing over Blake.
“Ugh, I feel like shit,” she says when the movie's over.
Uh oh. I know that face. I scramble to follow as she lurches to the bathroom. I hold her hair and avert my eyes. Nachos do not look pretty coming up, FYI. When she's done, I wipe her face with a cloth and hand her a toothbrush. What are friends for? I spray some air freshener and sit on the tub to make sure she's done.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” she says around her toothbrush.
We spend the rest of the night on a reality show marathon, Tex drinking ginger ale and eating saltines. She passes out around 3 a.m., and it takes me ten minutes to get her upstairs and into bed.
“Night, Tex.”
I close the door and realize I'm the only one awake in the dark and empty house. My original plan was to sleep in the guest room, but that doesn't seem like such a smart idea now. Given what happened to me tonight, I'm not going to sleep alone.
Before crawling into bed with Tex, I turn on all the lights and relock all the doors and windows. I also wipe myself down with some paper towels to get off some of the glitter and peel off my dress.
Between Tex being a horrible bed hog, and my terror of every creak and sound from the house, I don't get much sleep. I wake even earlier than I would on a weekday. Tex is still passed out, so I go to the kitchen to eat something. I make scrambled eggs and by the time Tex comes downstairs, I have a full plate.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I say, beaming at her.
“Not so loud.” She holds her head in both hands as if it's going to fall off. There's a lot of glitter still on her face. Her hair also looks pretty awesome.
“How you feelin'?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” She slumps over on the counter, banging her head. “Ow.”
“That's what you get.” I point my spatula at her and tsk.
“Yeah, yeah. You're perfect, blah, blah, blah.” She uses her hand as a mouth for the blah, blah, blah.
“I am not and you know it. I just have my limits and I stick to them.” I make her a plate and put tons of salt on her eggs. She stabs some and stares at them before stuffing the fork in her mouth.
“Good?”
“Yeah,” she says as she chews with her mouth open. “So what was with that guy last night?” Her mouth is still full.
“Chew and swallow before you talk, my dear.” I almost ask her which guy she means, before remembering that she is unaware of the second guy, who shall remain nameless.
“Bite me. And you didn't answer the question.” She goes for another forkful.
“It's complicated.” She rolls her eyes. “Really, it is. I don't really know what to think.” Anymore. I shudder and turn to mind the eggs. We have more than enough for the two of us, but I need something to do so I can avoid looking at her.
“It seemed pretty clear the way you were dancing.”
I blush when I think about it and then want to slap myself. She's raising her eyebrows at me suggestively when I turn around.
“Come on, it was just dancing.” I don't want to think about Peter. I don't want to think about him ever again. The traitor.
“There is no such thing. When it comes to guys, even eye contact is sex. Haven't you ever heard of eye sex?”
“What?”
“It's when you make eye contact for three consecutive seconds with someone. Like this.” She puts down her fork and stares at me as she puts up one, two, three fingers.
“See?”
“See what?”
“That was eye sex. Was it good for you, baby?” She pretends to smoke a cigarette as she leans backward in her chair. She seems to have bounced back from last night's heartbreak.
“Amazing,” I say, also pretending to smoke.
We do that for a little while and dissolve into laughter. Being with her does help me feel better after the night before, but not for long.
So fragile. The words echo through my head and I shudder. I am and I always will be. I've been kidding myself if I think hanging out with Peter is a good idea. It's bad, bad, bad, and it was going to end. Now. Both Peter and Ivan said I have power. How can that be?
Peter
He hurt her. I wanted to kill him. I'd wanted to kill him before, but this was different. I wanted him gone, wiped out. Eviscerated. But he would kill her without hesitation if he knew. Or maybe not. With Ivan, you couldn't predict what he'd do. I would not take that risk.
I hovered to make sure he left her alive. I knew he wanted her. It was impossible not to, with all that adrenaline and excitement that shot like fireworks around her, but he did not take her. Not in that way. He told her that she could destroy me, which had become more and more possible. I did not know how long he would wait before he got impatient and decided to use her as a means to an end. He had waited many years and now had a chance.
She looked around, as if searching for me. It was all I could do not to go down, sweep her up and fly away. To Budapest or Paris or Rio de Janeiro. Anywhere. Such thoughts were dangerous, so I pushed them aside and watched. Ivan left her, changed his form and ran through the woods. I saw the satisfaction in his run.
Ava's friend came out and found her crumpled on the porch. She was able to stand and they went back into the house. Texas. What an odd name for a person.
I followed them to a house that belonged to the friend. I thought about sending her a message, but didn't. This modern technology lacked the means of picking out the right words to say.
We didn't have much time before things would end. It would be the end for one of us. Either she would end me, or I her. I wanted it to be me. There was nothing that would stop him from going after her before that happened, and only one thing I could do to protect her until then. After that... we'd cross that
bridge when we got there.
I flew to her house and landed on the roof to wait for her to come back. Short of killing her, there was only one other option and it would require a sacrifice from me, but also one from her. One I was more than willing to make to keep her safe from him for the time being.
Mine.
I did not know if she would be as willing.
She was not going to like what I needed to do, regardless of the sacrifice. I was not sure I liked it much either, but there was nothing else to be done, even if it increased the chances I was going to kill her. I would rather it be by my hand than by anyone else's.
Twenty-One
“Have a good night?” My mother gives me a knowing look as I come through the door after Tex drops me off. I pull the neck of the hoodie I borrowed from Tex up so it covers the bruises.
“Oh yeah.” I roll my eyes and rub them, hands coming away with glitter and mascara. Waiting on the kitchen counter is a strong pot of earl grey tea and a plate of sugar cookies. I slump down in a chair and give her the quick and dirty version of what happened, leaving myself, Peter and Ivan out of it. I tell her about Tex and she laughs. Her skin is a little gray and she looks like she stayed up all night, but I still look worse.
“You didn't worry, did you?” I put another spoonful of sugar in my tea. At this point, it's half liquid, half sugar, but I need it.
“Of course not. You're a smart girl. I know I can trust you.” I'd be a horrible person if I betrayed my cancer-stricken mother's trust. Oh, wait...
“Where's Dad?” I ask to change the subject.
“He had to run in to the office to do some paperwork.” She brushes sugar off the counter. I know she wants him to be here all the time, but would never ask him to.
“He'll be back.” I give her a hug and wince. I tug the strings of the hoodie tighter, almost strangling myself. I also stole some of Tex's intense cover-up that she uses for monster zits. I hope it works on noctalis-inflicted marks.
After I've finished my tea and cookies, I say I'm going to take a shower.