Delinquents (Dusty #2)

by Mary Elizabeth Sarah Elizabeth

  All my muscles strain to hold on as Heaven lights up behind my eyes, and I clutch onto love so tightly it hurts. I come in waves, the force of life coursing through me so sweetly I moan out loud. He drags his teeth over my skin as we move together, and I know he wants to mark me. I want him to. I want this boy’s mark all over me.

  Leaning back, letting him hold me up, I reach between us for his buckle, but he catches my hand. My heart pounds as I fight back, frustration and deeper want flaring between my ribs as trouble I've always loved locks both of my hands under his. Old brick grazes my knuckles and he presses all the way into me.

  The room spins, and I push and pull against his grip.

  His laugh is so low I feel it in my bones and I tighten my hands into fists. The impulse to hit him only grows as I open my eyes. Messy and beautiful in dirty basement light, my bad decision smirks and coke-filled blacks taunt my codependent heart.

  Dusty’s worst habit is all over him, slick under his skin and fucking with his pulse, and I hate Her.

  I fight harder, digging my knees into his sides, making him groan and curse under his breath. He pushes heavier against me; heart to mad-heart, we both slip.

  Thomas is stronger than me, but no more in control than I am.

  It’s in the sounds he can’t help and the way his uneven breathing shallows. It’s the slide and press of his fingers between my legs, handling me when he can’t steady himself.

  That’s the thing about this love.

  It’s a thousand times stronger than both of us, even together, and the deeper this boy pushes, the better falling feels.

  Thomas turns me around, and my legs nearly give out as he presses both hands between them under my dress. His chest swells against my back as he slides lace aside, giving me his fingers, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming.

  I love when he touches me this way.

  “Stop pushing me,” he says, his voice quietly pleading and rough without air as he curves his fingers, pressing and filling until I see stars.

  My fight gives out and I melt for him. I shake through coming so hard I leave the basement and school and whole world behind for a moment. Love holds me up, covering me as I fall apart until I’m nothing but his.

  Love’s.

  Loved.

  Love.

  My heart beats his name and there’s no part of me that doesn't feel it.

  I’VE JUST changed into sleep shorts and a tank and am looking in my dressing table mirror at my right arm. There are light red marks on my hands and elbows from fighting against a brick wall today. They might be bruises by morning.

  “I won't be able to wear short sleeves for a week,” I inform love, phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder while I rub lotion into my arms. “People are going to think I’m crazy if I wear cardigans in August.”

  “You are crazy,” Thomas replies easily.

  Putting lotion away, I glance at the clock.

  It’s almost one, and I said goodnight to my parents hours ago, but I can still hear the television going. They’re rarely up this late, and they’re making my boy wait.

  “I’m sorry,” I say into the phone. “I don’t know why they’re still up.”

  “It’s okay,” Dusty says. He sniffs, but his voice is brittle sounding and unrushed, and I know he hasn't used since I saw him last.

  Sighing and impatient, I shake out my towel-dried hair and turn off my light before opening my door. I strain my ears as I peek into the hallway, and I can make out voices but not words.

  “Let me go listen for a minute and I’ll call you right back,” I tell Thomas.

  Leaving my phone on my desk, I slink down the hall to the top of our stairs. A commercial for the History Channel echoes up, but their conversation is hushed and still too hard to decipher. Creeping down a few steps, I sit three up from the bottom and crane my neck so I can see my lifegivers’ profiles.

  Dad was just getting home when I was saying goodnight, and he’s still in his work suit, but his tie’s loose. His collar’s undone and his hair’s upset-messed, like he spent his entire drive home with his hand in it. Mom’s in her fluffy ivory-white robe, and she has her head sort of tilted, like she’s worried.

  She says something I miss, and I scoot down a step.

  "It was just pot," I hear my dad say, “but it wasn’t just a little bit."

  “Okay,” Mom replies.

  It’s one word, but in that one little word I hear real concern and new knowledge, the pitch of protection, dip of nervousness, and glimmer of hope. It’s a reminder of what sets people like my mom apart from the rest of the world. It’s the sound of wanting to believe there is good in everyone.

  “But that doesn’t necessarily mean Thomas was connected to it,” she insists gently.

  My heart beats in my throat.

  Dad shakes his head.

  “They all run around together,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “I told you I saw him with the boys last week. Dusty was driving.”

  Mom tucks loose hair behind her ear. She leans her cheek against the couch so I can’t see her face anymore, but my nerves are all firing.

  I’m pretty sure they’re talking about Casper because he’s the only one that would be carrying more than just a little bit, and I swallow uneasily, measuring my breaths.

  Mom sighs as Dad drops his head back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling and then at her.

  “I mean... what kind of people are we letting Bliss hang out with?”

  “Let me come get you.”

  “What about Petey?”

  “He can ride with Ben.”

  “Thomas—”

  “Come on, Bliss. I’m straight.”

  “Dusty …”

  Baby sighs my name with regret in her voice, and I know I’ve lost. Cocaine tickles under my palms and incites from within.

  Come on, boy.

  “It can just be us,” I say to my girl, pressing my phone between my ear and shoulder as I tie my shoe. “I’ll skip the game. We can sit on your mom’s couch and drink fucking apple juice. I’ll talk to your dad. I don’t care.”

  Love is silent.

  It’s like this a lot lately.

  Since Casper got popped a few weeks ago, Leighlee’s parents have cut back on the time she’s allowed to spend with her friends. They’re more watchful when she’s home, and it’s made her extra cautious about keeping everything concealed. We steal looks in the halls, but we’re a world apart. I’m not fifteen anymore and I’m tired of being a secret.

  Keeping the phone that might as well be connected to dead air pressed to my ear, I tie my other shoe and grab my keys. Desperation crawls under my skin and I think about saying please, I need to see you, but love speaks up just to let me down more.

  “It’s a school night, Becka.” Her tone is hollow and her unwillingness opens painful frustration between my lungs.

  Lust slinks inside and spreads Herself out where it hurts most.

  I head downstairs and outside into the Lincoln while craving strokes every heartbeat, tugging and tempting. Knowing how much better She could make it just makes everything worse.

  “You’re not even trying,” I say into the phone. My voice sounds pitted out and thin, and I hate how susceptible and dependent love makes me. I know our chances are slim and the odds are stacked, but I didn’t ask for the stars.

  Silence lingers.

  Reaching into my pocket, I find bittersweet consolation and my pulse rushes just to touch Her. I empty my voice out like none of this matters to me either. Like I’m not falling apart. Like I’m not about to get chest-deep into my second choice.

  “Forget it,” I tell Leigh.

  Hanging up, I toss my phone to the passenger seat and use both hands to get inside bliss that never tells me no.

  “DON’T GO,” Love pleads, burying her face in my chest.

  She curves small fists tightly into my unzipped hoodie, hiding from crisp, early-autumn wind. Her tears soak through my shirt and every
drop cuts through my skin like a new razor, marking me with her cries.

  “YOU’RE FUCKIN’ up,” Valarie scoffs, shaking her head.

  Tossing messy black hair over her shoulder, she creeps her touch along my hips with backroom-temperature intent. She brings her mouth to my neck, but not even her breath has heat. Nothing about the devil is warm.

  LET'S GO, cocaine whispers.

  Hot in my veins and compulsive in my marrow, She fills and flows and pulls at me.

  They can’t love you like I do.

  CLENCHING MY eyes closed, I grip with everything I have. I clutch onto soft limbs so tightly my knuckles ache and my muscles scream. I cough, and inhaling sets my lungs on fire.

  “I can’t—”

  My voice breaks apart in the dark and I struggle, straining every raw nerve to just hold on. There’s a loud choke sound cut in half by a too-sharp breath, like a sob, strangled and drowning and lost, and my chest feels carved out.

  “It’s okay,” Leigh assures quietly, soothing and cool along my forehead.

  Gentle as Heaven, her fingers console me in the burning dark. She feels and finds everywhere I need her and she touches so easy. Pulling me up and out of the fire, love gathers me to herself while I’m still in flames.

  “I'm right here,” my soul whispers, brushing reassurance with her lips and solace with her fingertips, fastening us together with strong softness. She’s calming and clean and home, and I can’t—

  “I’m with you, Thomas. Be here with me.”

  PUSHING MY hand through hair that needs cutting, I drop my hat backward onto my head and unclip my keys from my belt loop.

  “Rebecka, come the fuck on,” I call from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Chill out,” she snaps from her room. “Ribbons are important. Why are you in such a rush?”

  It’s baby’s sixteenth birthday, and I haven’t used in over a week.

  Standing around, waiting, chilling out is easier said than done. I shake my keys against my hand and rub my eyes. I mess with my hair and turn my hat around while my pulse beats unsteadily. Becka finally comes around the corner.

  “Grab Mom’s presents,” she says, carrying a box that used to hold banana popsicles, now tied in rainbow ribbons.

  I step into the dining room and shake my head. Gifts are piled two on top of three and bags sit in front of them. Mine and my sister’s birthdays have always been like this, and as far as my mother’s concerned, Leigh’s shouldn’t be any different.

  Grabbing the pink envelope and the box right behind it, I leave the rest for her to open this weekend and head outside. It’s early evening, but the sun’s already setting behind gray clouds, and late October wind blows through layers of clean cotton, slightly calming my nerves.

  Rebecka plugs her phone into the Lincoln’s stereo, searching for music while I drive with love in mind.

  Leigh shined at school today. She was surrounded by my sister and their friends at every turn, but every time she chanced a look in my direction, unallowed devotion and eager longing lit up her eyes.

  Maybe she doesn’t say yes to me because she’s scared.

  Maybe that’s smart.

  Whatever the reasons, love still won’t try for me, but she’ll lie for us without missing a beat. She sneaks and distorts and covers unflinchingly, and it’s flawless now. It’s laughable how unaware everyone is at this point. It’d be funny if I wasn’t the secret.

  Need thumps behind my ribs, weak and sore for my girl, while my sister presses play on a song Pete’s had on loop for days.

  Tightening my right hand on the wheel, I roll my window down with my left and throw my hat into the backseat. Fresh air that smells like cold concrete and dying leaves blows in. Tinted with the scent of fires and damp decay, it gives the slightest kind of comfort and keeps me from telling my little sister to cut it the fuck out with my friend.

  I take a deeper breath and try to make cold air enough.

  I want a joint, or a cigarette, something to cut the edge, but I don’t need the judge or his wife looking at me with any more questions or assumptions than they already do. I want to be walking instead of driving. I want to be with Bliss. I want to walk down the street with her, but we can’t, and I wish she’d just leave with me already.

  Breathing out, my stale lungs ache and my sinuses feel brittle-unwell. My skin crawls under my sleeves, and inside, my heart’s anxious for a rush. I sniff without thinking and Becka snorts under her breath.

  “Don’t fuck around,” pale pink, pissed off and protective says. She doesn’t say anything else, but I hear her wordless warning: Don't destroy my best friendship by being a screwup in front of her parents.

  Don’t take her away from me.

  I turn onto Leigh’s street and shut the stereo off. Unplugging Rebecka’s phone, I toss her shit to her lap and shake my head like I’m the only one in this car keeping some damaging secrets. But I don't say that.

  I say, “Alright, kettle,” because we’re all a bunch of hypocrites.

  I say, “Sure,” with a smirk, because there’s no arguing with a mind made up and dead set on defending someone it knows as family. As love. As all that’s good in the entire world.

  I don’t argue with my sister, because I know.

  I love the same blissful wonder she does, and neither one of us is doing it right.

  Parked in front of the little white house love lives in, I sit back while Becka gets out without another word. I fix my hat-matted hair and gather myself together.

  I want to use so badly I feel it in my teeth.

  As I get out of the Lincoln, Teri McCloy opens the front door with a welcoming smile.

  “Come in, come in,” she says as Becka passes and I approach with a nod.

  Inside, love's lifegiver pulls my sister into a hug, kissing her pink hair and then hugging me too. Simultaneously strange and needy, her sincerity is warm and unconditional, and the second I come into contact with it, I feel undeserving and starved.

  “Bliss is on the phone with her aunt,” Teri says, gesturing for us to follow her. “She’ll be down in just a minute. Do you guys want something to drink?”

  While my sister accepts and they small talk, I hang back, filling my chest with the smell of vanilla-cinnamon candles and baking carrot cake. Simon and Garfunkel float from the record player in the living room, and laughter scratched by decades of lives well-lived drifts from the kitchen. We’re about to turn the corner into it when the prettiest voice stops me.

  “Hey,” Leighlee Bliss calls from the staircase, smiling birthday-bright as she takes the last few steps.

  For a second, she’s the only thing that registers.

  My heart beats, and everything I wanted before this fades out.

  “Hey, birthday baby!” Rebecka bounds straight past me to wrap her arms around L, greeting her like they haven’t seen each other in years instead of hours. My girl smiles from ear to diamond-poked ear over her friend’s shoulder, and love courses through me as I look. Soul-deeply rooted rights flow with my pulse, and I’m jealous of acceptable contact, but it doesn’t diminish the truth behind my ribs.

  From every distance, regardless of what’s between us, this person is mine.

  “Hi, Dusty,” she says, glossed lips curved up. Wrapped in skin-tight denim and a powder-blue sweater so oversized it hangs off her shoulder, she radiates excitement and happiness so warm I feel it where I stand.

  “You got me something?” beautiful in blue asks, holding her hand out for the box and envelope I forgot I was holding.

  “Um, no.” My sister laughs derisively before I can answer. She tugs my girl’s hand. “Those are from my mom,” she says, leading love away. “Wait until you see what I got you.”

  I follow with longing tucked deep in my heart.

  In the quaintest kitchen ever, I shake hands with Leigh’s father’s father and bend my knees even more than I do with her to hug her grandmother. Judge McCloy nods as he comes in the side door and I return the salu
tation, leaning back against the counter while my sister takes the last seat at the table. Teri pulls cake from the oven and while it cools, I sip from the mug of coffee she hands me, watching in hidden adoration while her miracle opens birthday gifts.

  Between presents, laughter, and sweet gratitude, Teri ices the cake while it’s still in the pan. Thaddeus gathers silverware and dishes, while his wife gets sixteen candles into place and passes me a lit one.

  “Help me out?” she asks with a generous smile.

  Setting the last few little fires, I step back and flip out the light when the cake is ready, and when Teri places it in front of her daughter, love glows.

  It’s perfect for a second before Rebecka starts to sing.

  Everyone joins her, and after baby blows out the candles, I turn the light back on and we eat homemade carrot cake while the judge’s mom tells us about when Leigh was little. High spirits, the scent of candles just blown out, and the sound of everyone my girl loves laughing and carefree are easy to get caught up in. Everything about the house around me feels like a home, spiteless and worriless, cozy with prudence and cherished memories.

  Then the birthday girl and my sister head upstairs to a room that as far as everybody knows I’ve never seen, let alone made Bliss come and sigh and cry in.

  Without her, I feel less at home and intensely out of place.

  Thaddeus McCloy glances at me as he sits at the table. His look is quick, but loaded with everything it carries. It’s a glimpse of the same way my dad looks at Smitty, but this is far less lenient. There’s judgment in the square of his shoulders and decision in the set of his jaw, and in the two seconds he looks at me, there’s warning.

  Rights and defenses stand up under my skin.

  Love is mine, but nothing stops cumbersome discomfort from sinking in.

  I pocket my suddenly restless hands.

  I’m the cleanest I’ve been in a while, but I’m certain in this moment that everyone in the room can see Her all over me.

  Turning around, I put my dishes in the sink. I pick up Leigh’s and place them there too. I think about washing everyone’s just to keep from having to be still, but hands that look older than my own mother’s stop me as I reach for my sister’s saucer.