Wrong Side of Heaven

by Riley, Gia

  “I won’t lie; I’m scared, but I think I might have to. If I don’t start making more money, I’ll never be able to get out of Tess’s house when I turn eighteen.”

  He smiles, and I notice the dimple on the corner of his mouth. His spiky, dark hair demands attention, but his eyes are enough to soothe the worry away. Probably because I’m used to angry blue eyes while she is screaming at me about one thing or another.

  “Will you at least agree to work the same days as me if you go back?”

  I avoid a bunch of rocks in my bare feet and bump into his side. He steadies me with an arm around my shoulders.

  “Why?” I ask him. “So, you can protect me from the big, bad bikers?” It’s meant as a joke, and it makes The Whip seem less intimidating if I can laugh about it.

  “Yeah,” he says, surprising me. “Ace won’t let you get in trouble, but he’s a lot busier than I am. He can’t make that kind of promise to you.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, wondering why he cares enough to want to help me in the first place. We’ve barely spoken before tonight, and when we have, it’s always been about math problems.

  “I can take care of myself, Jasper. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to,” he says. “I know you’re all alone in that trailer. I can see it from my room.”

  “You spy on me?”

  “Calm down,” he tells me. “I can’t see in your windows or anything.”

  “You are the strangest person,” I mumble. “Just please don’t tell anyone at school about The Whip.”

  “You’re so quiet in school; nobody will have a clue.”

  I’m quiet because it’s easier that way. The less people know about me, the better because we have nothing in common. While they’re all busy planning for college and talking about their new cars, I’m trying to figure out how I’ll support myself. All I have left is my senior year of high school and some impossible dreams.

  “But you won’t tell…if anyone were to ask.” I need to hear Jasper say the words.

  “I’d never tell,” Jasper says. “Not even my sister.”

  I believe him, but there’s a reason he’s staring at the dirt path, worrying his lip between his teeth. I’m not about to ask though. Sometimes, it’s better to keep your mouth shut. Especially when you have too many secrets of your own. The more I talk, the more chances the truth could slip out. And I’ll never be ready to let go of that.

  When we get closer to the trailer, I glance at him, and he smiles. It’s not forced, but I still don’t understand why he seems to care so much.

  “This is me,” I tell him. “But you know that since you’re a creeper.”

  Just as he laughs, something crashes against the wall in the trailer next door—the trailer that was abandoned until yesterday. We both stare at the porch like someone’s about to come flying out into the street, but the lights stay off, and other than the noise we heard, there are no signs of life.

  “Must have been a cat or something,” Jasper says, still looking all around.

  I can tell he doesn’t want to walk away from me after that—at least, not until I’m safely inside.

  He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gives me the most uncomfortable, awkward look. For choosing to walk me home, he sure looks like he regrets it.

  After another long stretch of silence, he says, “I guess I should get going.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I whisper. “Which one is yours?”

  He points over the fence to a white house with black shutters. In the front yard, there’s a big oak tree and a pretty weeping willow I used to think actually cried. The memory of my dad making up the story makes me laugh, and Jasper turns his head back to me.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing. Just thinking.” It’s the first time in a long time I’ve had a happy memory about Dad that had nothing to do with the night he died. Lately, that’s all it’s been—reminders of the needle, followed by a date with the blade.

  “I know it’s not much to look at, but thanks for walking me home. You didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to. What’s your number? I want you to let me know when you’re going back.”

  “I don’t have a cell phone,” I tell him, staring at the ground again. It’s bad enough he’s standing in front of the shitty trailer I call home.

  Jasper takes a step forward, and he’s so close, I can hear him breathing, but the porch door cracks against the trailer. Tess is standing on the top step, wearing nothing but a slinky black slip. The only thing keeping it on her bony body is her boobs.

  “Get the fuck inside, Winnie. It’s late.”

  She’s high, which means she was able to get what she’d needed while I went to work for her. Figures. But an angry Tess means she’s not messed up enough. It’ll only get worse when she finds out Ace has her money.

  “Will you be okay?” Jasper asks.

  His hand is protectively resting on the small of my back. And, for a minute, I wonder what he’d do if I said no.

  “It’s okay,” I lie. “She’ll calm down once I’m inside.”

  But the truth is, she’ll keep going until she passes out. There’s no telling when that will happen or how much more she’ll need to snort before she’s satisfied.

  Jasper digs into his back pocket and pulls out a wad of bills. He doesn’t count it; he just takes half and sticks it in my hand before Tess can see. “I heard what you said to my brother about the money, but she’s going to want it. Give it to her, and if you need anything else, come to my place. There’s a ladder on the side of the house, leading to my bedroom. Climb up. The window’s always open.”

  “Jasper, I can’t take your money.”

  But he doesn’t hear me. He’s already jogging toward the break in the fence. I make a mental note of where it is, just in case I ever need his help.

  He’s right though. I don’t even have time to count the cash before Tess’s hand is sticking out, demanding it.

  She spreads the bills out in her hand, shaking her head. “You must be a shitty waitress if this is all you made. I knew you’d fuck it up.”

  “You’re right,” I tell her. “I’m not as good as you. Ace told me I have to come back and work until I make enough to pay for the glasses I broke tonight.”

  Laughing, she throws on some shoes and pulls her hair into a ponytail. I know she’s heading to see her dealer. God forbid she save some of the money for a change.

  “Then, you’ll go back and work the debt off. I can’t afford to pay for your mistakes, Winnie. And take my dress off, and wash it. I’ll need it tomorrow night.”

  I glance at the dress and wish I could rip it right off my body. When I go back to work at The Whip, I’ll wear something of my own. And, whether it’s sexy enough or not, I’ll be me. Not some Tess wannabe because nobody in their right mind would ever want to be her.

  Seven

  Winnie

  I’m only asleep for an hour when the front door opens and slams against the side of the trailer. Scurrying out of bed, I press my ear against my bedroom door and listen to someone tearing apart the living room. Glass shatters, tables sound like they’re being overturned, and then it all stops. But I’d know Tess’s scream anywhere, and when I run to the window, she’s lying facedown in the middle of the street. Whoever was inside the trailer hops in their car and speeds away, leaving Tess passed out in the dirt.

  I wait a couple of seconds, hoping she’ll come to and pick herself up. When she doesn’t, I run through the house in my pajamas and bare feet, forgetting about the shattered glass. A shard pierces the bottom of my foot, and I fall to the linoleum on my hands and knees, waiting for the stinging to stop. It doesn’t, and I’m bleeding all over the kitchen.

  But I’m so used to the blood, I ignore the crimson droplets, and I peel myself off the floor. All I care about is getting Tess out of the street before someone runs her over.

  When I get to her, she’s bre
athing softly, still knocked out with her lip split down the middle. She’s dead weight, and no matter how hard I try to pick her up, I’m just not strong enough. With two fistfuls of her satin slip in my hands, I drag her toward the trailer, praying the fabric doesn’t rip apart. It’s all I have to grab on to.

  “Wake up, Tess, please,” I beg.

  She doesn’t move—not a twitch of her fake eyelashes or wiggle of her gaudy, manicured fingernails.

  I only manage to drag her a couple of feet before I have to lay her back on the ground and catch my breath. I’m still working against the clock though. Because, at this hour, anyone who drives by won’t be paying attention. As soon as The Whip closes, this street will be full of wasted drunks.

  I’m adjusting my grip when the motorcycle pulls into the driveway next door. The guy dressed in leather sees me struggling, and without hesitation, he jumps off his bike and picks Tess up. He carries her lifeless body in his arms and lays her on the couch.

  Like this is a perfectly normal scene to come home to, he never asks a single question or bothers to call the cops. All I can do is stand there, grateful for the help and confused about who this man is and why he stays hidden during the day, seemingly taking care of all his business at night.

  For a few seconds, we stand, staring at one another. He sees all of me, and all I have is the scent of his leather and the reflection of my own face in his helmet.

  A slew of questions are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t have a chance to ask a single one of them. Because, as soon as Tess moans and rolls onto her side, he’s gone.

  I prop pillows underneath her head, so she won’t choke on her own vomit if she gets sick. And then I leave her on the couch to sleep off whatever it is she took. Come morning, she won’t remember the fight that landed her in the street, and I won’t waste my breath, trying to tell her about it. There’s no use; she’ll never change. Just like her messy life, the destruction around here will always be my responsibility to clean up and deal with.

  After I lock the door, fix the end tables and chairs, and scrub the blood off the floor, I wash my foot off in the tub. The bleeding has mostly stopped, and I stick a butterfly bandage over the cut to help it heal.

  And then I take one last look out my bedroom window, toward the neighbor’s trailer. His bike is still parked in the driveway, and there’s a light on in the room across from mine. Like he was waiting for me, the blinds part, and a piece of paper is shoved in between the slats, pressing up against the window.

  Does she need help? is written in black marker.

  I tell him, “No,” forgetting that he can’t hear me. I’m not even sure how well he can see me, but I grab my sketchpad and tear off a sheet of paper. With purple marker, the darkest color I can find, I scribble, No.

  His first question disappears, and another piece of paper is forced against the window. This time, he asks a much harder question, Are you okay?

  If he’s asking if Tess hurt me, the answer is always no. She’s never physically struck me; it’s only her words that sting. But, if he’s asking beyond that, it would take me an entire tablet of paper to explain it to him.

  Other than the cut on my foot, I’m still in one piece. Or as close to whole as I’ve been since I lost my dad. Without him, my heart will remain cracked down the middle, and my body will always tremble when I’m left alone in the dark. And, if the sun ever decides to shine within me, I’ll still continue to walk with my head down, protecting what little I have left.

  I print in all caps on the paper and hold it up to the window. I’M FINE. Then, I take it down and add, Thank you, and hold it against the glass again.

  The next one he holds up says, Get some sleep, and our conversation ends.

  I haven’t taken orders about bedtime since I was five, but for some reason, I listen to him and climb back into bed. My head rests on the pillow, and I stare through my sheer curtains at his window until he turns the light off and his shadow disappears.

  No matter how hard I squeeze my lashes together, I still can’t sleep. All I see is him, dressed in black leather with his fingers holding the white letter. I’ve never had a cell phone, and this simple form of communication is the closest I’ve come to text messaging. And, after what he did for me tonight, I realize that I’m not as afraid of the neighbor as I thought I was.

  Even though I’ve never heard him speak, he has a voice. A voice that cared enough to ask if I was okay.

  We’ve never been close enough to touch, but his fingertips held me safety, helping me when I was struggling to pull Tess out of the street.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to whoever is listening to me in heaven. I like to think this was Dad’s doing, that he sends guardian angels to places he can no longer be.

  Eight

  The Man in Leather

  Sitting on the edge of the bed in this piece-of-shit trailer, I watch as Winnie crawls underneath her blankets and pulls them up to her chin. If she’s still worked up like she was in the middle of the street, then her hands must still be shaking.

  I saw the smudged makeup underneath her eyes and the marks on her thighs when her pajama bottoms rode up. And the scars—years of pain tracked by little white pieces of flesh that’ll never blend into the rest of her olive skin. They’ll stay a couple of shades lighter, reminding her of the hell she’s endured. Every line tells a story of its own, showing her how weakness can be replaced with pain and pain can be replaced with control.

  Tonight wasn’t the first time I’d seen marks like those. All my life, I’ve known girls just like Winnie. Girls with nobody to hold their hand or tell them they’re worth more than the pain they’re trying to mask. They are.

  But, like all of the ones who came before her, Winnie’s just a small-town girl doing the best she can with next to nothing. I watched so many of my friends fall victim to the same damn path. They either ended up dead or pregnant before their twenty-first birthdays, lives thrown away before they had a chance to make something decent of themselves.

  It’s always the same story. Drugs. Alcohol. Addiction.

  Look at me; I’ve been busting through windows and doors to get paid, living a life I hate so that I can keep other people out of trouble. I know all the tricks and secrets. But I’ve never seen someone as determined as Winnie is to break the cycle. Tonight, she fought so hard for a person who didn’t even deserve a second glance.

  She could have left Tess lying in the street where she belonged, but her conscience was even stronger than her heart. She’s a lot like me in that aspect. But, if she doesn’t escape she’ll end up trapped and vulnerable, wishing her life away instead of living it—same way I have.

  And what kind of influence has Tess been? If it’s this bad now, I don’t even want to think about how bad it will get. Rock bottom is ugly, and Tess is headed toward round two.

  Winnie is scared.

  Being alone is terrifying.

  But she’s not alone.

  Not as long as I have oxygen filling my lungs.

  Helping her tonight was risky—a chance I couldn’t afford to take, especially if I got caught. But the last thing I wanted to do was see her struggle. I couldn’t handle watching Winnie trying to drag Tess’s dead weight inside.

  I thought I’d scared Winnie. But, when she stood in her living room and looked at me, she didn’t scream or run away, and I felt like I’d made the right decision.

  She was too fixated on seeing what was beneath the leather and helmet to speak. And nobody ever sees beyond the obvious. Nine times out of ten, I’m judged before spoken to. Sometimes, I deserve the criticism, especially since I’ve gotten so good at fucking things up and disappearing.

  I’m human though—a man with a heart and a desire to live without boundaries. I’m so sick of boundaries. Other than the stint in the city, I’ve never lived in one place long enough to get comfortable or attached. And the only real relationships I’ve forged are almost all gone.

  Except for her.

 
Like a fool, I messed it all up and gave in to the tattoos on my skin. The ones that dictated my future because I’d let them mark me. If I wanted to stay alive, I had to go where I was told. There was no other way to live my life.

  But time’s on my side now, and I’m ready to walk away from that world.

  Carillon is my redemption.

  My chance to finally get it right and show the kind of loyalty I possess.

  I did her wrong, but I’ll make it right. I’ll prove to her that I’m not that person anymore, and if she ever finds out the truth, I’ll take whatever punishment she gives me.

  Because that girl is mine; she always has been. Deep down, she knows it, too.

  She’s beautiful, just like her mother was.

  Nine

  Winnie

  When morning comes, the first thing I do is check the couch to see if Tess is where I left her. She is. Tucked into a ball, she’s hugging her pillow like her life depends on it. Chances are, the room is still spinning, and she has no recollection of how she got to the couch or why she’s not waking up in her bed.

  “Who was here?” she asks when she raises her head and notices me standing in the doorway.

  “Nobody,” I tell her. “I came home, changed, and went to bed.”

  Still wearing the black satin slip and nothing else, she points to a boot mark across the room on the kitchen floor. The trailer is anything but clean, thanks to her never-ending parties, yet she’s managed to notice the new dirt spot.

  It’s my own fault though. I was concentrating so hard on wiping up all the blood from the cut on my foot, I didn’t see the grease mark left behind.

  “Which one of the guys did you bring home? Don’t lie to me, Winnie. I’ll find out as soon as I go to work.”

  If I’m the talk of The Whip, it’s because I almost fell on my face in those awful heels, not because I climbed on some guy and had sex.

  “Tess, I wasn’t with anyone. This guy from the park was driving by and helped me carry you inside. That’s all.”