The Bodies We Wear

by Jeyn Roberts

  “What happened to the bad men?” I finally asked. I thought of the man with his leather jacket and his big smile and how much I hated him.

  “They left,” he said. “I scared them away. They won’t come back.”

  “I’m going to kill them,” I said.

  Gazer didn’t say anything. He pulled me tighter and we sat for a while longer until the ambulance arrived, the bright red lights flashing against my face. The EMTs came and Gazer convinced me to let go of him so they could take care of me.

  “Don’t leave me,” I said.

  “I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll be right over there. You’re not alone.”

  They pulled me away from Christian’s body and split us up. One of them stayed with my newly dead friend; the other brought me to the ambulance, where he sat me down on a stretcher in the back of the vehicle. Gazer came over and joined us, trying to fill the paramedic in on the details. He told them how he found us alone and managed to use CPR to bring me back. He didn’t mention the bad men

  The paramedic checked my vital signs and did a few other things that I didn’t quite understand. I was perfectly fine until he tried to pull my shirt up over my head. Only then did I resist. I was still scared.

  “Come on, miss,” the paramedic said. “I need to check you. If you’re uncomfortable, I can make the man go away. This will only take a second.”

  “I want him to stay,” I said. I had never met Gazer before; hell, I still didn’t know his full name, but I felt safe with him around. There was something in his eyes, a certain kind of sadness that made me feel secure. Without him by my side, I probably would have completely fallen apart, especially with what came next.

  When the paramedic peeled off my wet shirt, I saw the veins. A spiderweb-like pattern that started at my chest and stretched outward, stopping just below my neckline. Many of the veins crisscrossed up over my shoulder. They were dark red, almost purple..

  “Jesus.” The paramedic whistled. “What the hell are these kids thinking these days? They keep getting younger and younger.” He wasn’t even speaking to me anymore. “I mean, come on; she can’t be older than twelve. How old are you, kid?”

  “Eleven,” I whispered.

  “What on earth made you try Heam? Just how stupid are you?”

  “I didn’t,” I said. My lower lip quivered. The tears were threatening to push their way forward again. Why was I being blamed for this?

  “I believe she and the boy had the drug forced on them,” Gazer said, coming to my rescue.

  “What the hell were they doing out this late at night?” the paramedic asked. “Where are their parents? If these were my kids …”

  “But they’re not your kids,” Gazer answered. “And I don’t think you should continue this conversation. You’re clearly upsetting the girl.”

  “Whatever,” the paramedic said. “Not my problem. We’ll take her to Sacred Heart. You going to come along? You know her parents?”

  In the end, I didn’t go to the hospital. When they brought Christian’s body into the ambulance in the large black bag, I began screaming. I thought the shadows had gotten to him. No amount of coaxing by either Gazer or the paramedics could keep me under control. Besides, there wasn’t much more they could do for me. I’d survived the overdose; the only thing left to do was contact my mother. No hospital in the world would waste the bed space to keep a new Heam addict under observation. Gazer finally convinced them that he’d take me home.

  I stood there, holding Gazer’s hand, watching the ambulance take my best friend away.

  Christian was thirteen, two years older than me. We lived next door to each other and he often took care of me because our parents were never around. He was the most beautiful boy in the world in my eyes. I had such a schoolgirl crush on him. We had gone out that evening because both our mothers were working late shifts and we wanted to meet his father when he got off work. We had done it dozens of times; sometimes his dad would take us out for hot chocolate and donuts. I loved Christian’s dad like my own father. I was always welcome at their dinner table, especially since my mother was often working two or more jobs to try to put food on ours.

  We’d taken a shortcut through the alley that night and found more than we bargained for. Four men looking to get revenge against a man who died before paying off his debts. Funny how quickly life could change with a simple wrong turn down a darkened street.

  “Will they bury him?” I asked when the ambulance turned the corner. They no longer had the flashing lights on.

  “Maybe,” Gazer said.

  “Can I go to the funeral?”

  “You’ll have to ask your mother.”

  I nodded. My chest was itchy and burning at the same time. I kept touching the spot over my heart, tracing my fingers over the veins, thinking how odd it was that the skin didn’t feel different. There was a hollow feeling in my stomach and I was thirsty. I wanted something. It was as if my brain were screaming at me. I remembered the strawberry liquid, remembered how good it tasted on my tongue. I wished I had some more. If I had more, maybe the excruciating hunger in my mind would go away.

  I thought it was funny that I didn’t feel any emotions. I should be sad. I loved Christian. Why wasn’t I crying? I had bawled my eyes out a few months ago when the neighbor’s dog had been killed by a car. Christian had hugged me and told me everything was going to be fine.

  Now Christian was dead. Why didn’t I feel?

  I didn’t know it at the time but Heam numbs the body and brain, especially after a recent ingestion. I couldn’t cry. The drug wouldn’t let me. The tears would come later and they did come. An army of them over the next several years. Sometimes I thought my brain would melt out of my skull from all the grief.

  “Come on,” Gazer said. “Let’s get you home.”

  Home.

  Yeah, that didn’t work out well.

  My mother took one look at the veins on my chest and no longer wanted me.

  That’s how I ended up with Gazer. There was nowhere else to go.

  Six

  “So what’s with the anti-socialness? Are you always this stuck up or are you simply challenged in the life department?”

  I look up from my book, not overly surprised to see Jesse standing at my table. Paige is behind him, leaning around his shoulder. It’s obvious she’s set him up to try to change my mind.

  “Maybe I just don’t like you,” I say.

  It was easier when they left me alone. I didn’t have to constantly be on my guard. I didn’t have to be mean.

  This whole bitch process is wearing me down. No matter how much I try to convince myself I’d rather be alone, there’s a small voice in my brain that calls me a liar. Maybe it would be nice to hang out just once and try to be normal. But then the itchiness in my chest reminds me that I’m here on this earth for a short time. I have a purpose. Just one. And I will go to my grave once I fulfill it.

  Having friends would just complicate things. It might end the loneliness but it would only prolong the sorrow. Which is worse?

  “Yeah, I don’t believe that,” Jesse says, and he pulls out the chair across from me and sits down. Paige continues to stand but she smiles at me. There’s something odd in that grin. They’ve come here for a purpose other than friendship. But what?

  I glance around the room but once again the teachers are all off in other directions. I can’t help wondering if I’ve been so good at following their rules that they no longer feel they have to watch me. Or maybe they never cared to watch me in the first place. Have I been paranoid all this time over nothing?

  “Paige has been telling me a pretty incredible story,” Jesse says. He takes one of the fries off my plate and eats it. “She told me that you had a run-in with Trevor. Left him in nasty bloody shape too. I saw him at the club last night. He looked like he’d been run over by a truck.”

/>   I shrug.

  “So it is true?” Jesse looks impressed. “She said you were like some sort of ninja.”

  “Hardly,” I say.

  “How’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “Just did.” I’m not about to out Gazer to the two of them. Even though Gazer hasn’t been a cop in more than a decade, it still might not look good for him if people knew he’d been training me. People tend to question it when a grown man teaches a girl how to throw a knife properly.

  “You can do that all the time?” Jesse takes another chip and chews it thoughtfully.

  “Yeah.”

  “I may have a business proposition. Could be a nice little change for you.” Jesse doesn’t hide the fact that he’s checking me out. His eyes go up and down my body. I know what he’s looking for. We may have to wear uniforms at the school but it’s still obvious who is rich and who isn’t. Jesse sees that I don’t have any jewelry. I don’t have a pair of expensive shoes. There are no designer sunglasses on top of my head. My backpack is old and worn, most definitely secondhand.

  He knows I’m broke. It’s not like I’ve ever tried to hide it.

  “What kind of money are we talking about?” I ask.

  “A lot.”

  I wonder what Jesse would consider a lot. He’s one of the only students who drive a car and it’s impressive enough that even I’ve turned to watch him as he drives down the street.

  Don’t get me wrong. I don’t care about money. The old saying is “You can’t take it with you” and I’ve always thought about it that way. I’m not saving for retirement since I’m fairly certain I’m not going to live past twenty. So what’s the point of worrying about it? Gazer gets enough money off his disability pension to keep us afloat and that’s all that matters. So what if we live in a rundown church that doesn’t have hot water half the time. So what if I wake up in the mornings unable to feel my toes sometimes. I don’t need nice things. I’d probably just ruin them anyway.

  But as I sit there, I realize that a bit of extra money could go a long way. I could leave it to Gazer, a thank-you for helping me all these years. I could even give it away; put it toward one of the rare privately funded Heam support centers. God knows they could use the help. I could even use it to buy myself something nice, a sort of farewell gift for me when I leave this world. I’ve always wanted to eat in an expensive restaurant. I’ve never had fancy food. Just like the prisoner gets his last meal, maybe I could do something similar?

  I glance around again. I can see Mr. Erikson across the room watching me. Not out of concern though; he seems happy to see me socializing.

  “I’m listening,” I say to Jesse.

  Paige’s grin grows wide and she finally sits down next to us at the table. “It’s not a big thing,” she says. “We just need a little protection.”

  Jesse waves his hand in her direction, obviously meant to shut her up. It works. She closes her mouth and waits.

  “As my girlfriend blabbed,” Jesse says, “we do need a bit of help. We did something really stupid and now we’re afraid that certain people aren’t going to leave us alone.”

  “You mean Trevor?”

  He nods. “Yeah, stupid dealer just doesn’t get it. We’re not interested. See, that’s what happens when you’re too polite to the hired help.”

  “Isn’t that what you want me to be?” I can’t help smirking. Hired help? Me? The thought is almost funny enough to make me laugh out loud. But I’m professional enough to keep a neutral face.

  “God, Jesse.” Paige punches him on the arm. “What’s wrong with you? It’s this sort of crap that got you in trouble in the first place.” She gives him a shove and turns to me. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a jerk. Will you do it?”

  “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Show up at the party on Friday night. We’ll have a list of who gets to come in and who doesn’t. Trevor isn’t on the list. Neither are a few others. All you have to do is make sure they don’t come inside.”

  I pick at the last remaining chips on my plate. Mostly for show. I was done eating five minutes ago. “Doesn’t sound that interesting.”

  “It’s worth five hundred.”

  I get up, collect my tray of cold food, and start to walk away. “Make it a thousand and I might consider it,” I say back over my shoulder.

  Always leave them wanting more. That’s probably the only thing my father ever taught me before they hauled him away. I wonder if it worked for him. Will it work for me? Time will tell.

  I have to admit I’m a little disappointed. Even though I had to reject Paige, it was nice thinking that someone wanted to befriend me. Christian was the last friend I had besides Gazer, and Gazer doesn’t count because he’s in his late thirties. It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have someone my own age around. I sometimes wonder if Christian and I would have remained friends if he’d lived. But I don’t think about it often. It hurts too much.

  They haul my ass into the office right after lunch. The vice principal comes and gets me personally. She leads me straight to the principal’s office and shoves me through the door.

  “I understand there was a bit of a disturbance this morning?” Mrs. Orman, the principal, asks me once we are locked away in her office.

  “No, not really,” I say. I’m trying to remain calm but I’m worried. This is the first time in three years that they’ve had to come and talk with me. I’ve done so well. It would suck to get expelled now, especially when I’m so close to graduating. Only a few months to go. I quickly glance down at my outfit to make sure everything is in order. No buttons missing. My skirt is pressed and wrinkle-free. No scars poking through the cotton. I look like the prim and proper schoolgirl I’m supposed to be. If I smile sweetly, I might even look innocent enough to fool her.

  She looks at the file on top of her desk. “Screaming? Disrupting the entire classroom? I’d hardly consider that a small thing.”

  “I had a bad daydream,” I tell her. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

  “You’re not using again, I hope.”

  I shake my head vehemently. “No, of course not.”

  “Good, because I’d hate to have to remove you, considering you’ve done so well here. But you understand how important it is to keep a low profile.”

  “I have been keeping a low profile.”

  Mrs. Orman nods in agreement. “So far, yes. Let’s keep it that way, shall we? Consider this a warning. Make sure you get enough sleep from now on. We need you nice and rested, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She closes the folder and nods at me to leave.

  My last class of the day is physics and I coast through it by sitting at the back of the class and pinching my leg every few minutes to keep myself awake. I don’t need a repeat of this morning. Most of the hype has died down but there are still a few students giving me unusual looks.

  Paige is waiting for me at my locker. I knew she was going to be there. She’s alone. I guess they figured Jesse was getting on my nerves. I’ve got to learn to keep a better poker face.

  “A thousand is acceptable,” she says. “Will you do it?”

  “Okay,” I say. “But I’ve got some conditions.”

  “Which are?”

  She waits. I open my locker and shove my books in. I grab my jacket. “I’m not going to hurt anyone unless they try to hurt me first. So I won’t fight someone just because you tell me to. Consider me more of a peacekeeper.”

  She agrees. She actually looks relieved. I have a feeling this wasn’t her idea. Hiring me. Hell, she probably didn’t even want the party.

  “And I want to be paid up front. And I’m not staying the whole night. I think till two a.m. is acceptable.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Tomorrow is Thursday. I’ll giv
e it to you then.”

  I grab my backpack. “Deal.”

  “It’s funny,” Paige says as I get ready to walk away. “I thought the reason you don’t take gym is because you have asthma.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “You sure didn’t seem winded when you beat up Trevor. In fact, you look to be in pretty darn good shape for someone who can’t breathe.”

  “What can I say?” I slam my locker. “I hate competitive sports.”

  Gazer isn’t around when I get home. So I start on my homework and then head down to the basement to do a little training before grabbing something to eat. First I empty the water buckets from where the rain has leaked through the cracks in the walls. We have more leaks than buckets to collect them. There is a drain in the middle of the basement where most of the water ends up. The floor is constantly wet and slippery, which is good. It mimics the real world and gives me an advantage. I’ll never have to worry about slipping on wet cement and giving my enemies an advantage.

  I don’t know what the basement was originally used for. Maybe to keep records. Maybe a place where the nuns used to sleep. It’s hard to tell. Now it’s just a large room filled with all sorts of exercise equipment that Gazer has managed to salvage and fix over the years. A treadmill is in the corner but it doesn’t work anymore. No amount of tinkering can save it now. Gazer keeps saying he’s going to throw it out but he doesn’t get around to it.

  There are mismatched weight sets. A stationary bicycle that’s slightly lopsided. In one corner is a small room where we keep the weapons. No guns. Neither Gazer nor I believe in them. Guns are too loud. They bring too much attention.

  But we do have the knives. Those are the weapons I work with every day. My goal is to master them. And I’m already very good. Even Gazer admits I’m better than him.

  To be a fighter, I need the ability to clear my mind of all thoughts and burdens. Gazer makes me do yoga and meditation. Personally, I hate yoga but I do it because I need to be the very best. But today I’m not able to achieve a clear head, no matter how long I try to maintain downward-facing dog. I can’t stop thinking about everything; too many thoughts do circles inside my brain. So after half an hour or so, I grab my towel and head upstairs.