Please, Pretty Lights (Pretty Lights #1)

by Ina Zajac

  She heard Nick screaming up to her from the bottom of the stairs. “Via, you getting up? You’ve got to go kick some bible study ass—kids today really need Jesus.”

  Damn it, of course. She’d need to make a run for the ferry. Would Beth notice she hadn’t come home again last night? If so, she would ask about the shelter. Via dreaded the thought of it. Beth praising her for her good works, her compassion for women and children in need. The devil’s hands were doing double duty. His knuckles kneaded into her neck and solar plexus. She got up and found her clothes from the night before, folded neatly on top of the dresser. Matt had offered her a drawer of her own, but the implications made her queasy. What was she going to do? Blowing off January was becoming more and more difficult.

  “Is Matt here?” she yelled down to Nick as she started stepping into her jeans.

  “He’s teaching this morning,” Nick answered. “He didn’t want to wake you.”

  God, how she wished he had. She was snuggle deficient. They hadn’t gotten much connection time because she was all about staying high. It was a losing battle, but somehow a part of her thought she could win it. Be the one person in the history of mankind to snort a line, just one, and stay high forever. Regret was kicking her ass. The holidays were coming. What day was it anyway? Somewhere in the thirties? She wondered. That was great news—she had lost track of her countdown. At least she had that going for her. Her life of deviance had helped her with that. She had been catching glimpses of good lately, here and there. Matt told her to focus on the good, on what she wanted more of. But positive thinking felt so unnatural. It was tiring.

  She went to the bathroom and washed her face. She cupped some water into the palm of her hand and sniffed as hard as she could. Water up her nose was far from pleasant, but she needed the last of last night’s blow to go as deep into her brain as possible.

  She reached for her clothes. If only she could stay high forever. Or at least through the holidays. But then, Dan would be back. What was she going to do then? She checked her phone; there was a message from Carlos. He always called, never texted, which was unfortunate because it was hard to tell him no over the phone.

  CHAPTER 25

  VIA

  WALKING INTO YOUTH GROUP late was now the norm. She did her best to look innocent, just another rough night at the domestic violence shelter. Hiding behind the big-ass tray of cupcakes helped. Coming to church the day after a coke binge was the worst. Paranoia gripped her and she knew a quick booster line would help, but she had none. She should be done with it. Matt was right. She wanted to get her shit together, but it was hard. Coming down was evil.

  Carlos had left two messages. He wanted her to come in early for her shift tonight, so they could hang out. She hadn’t called him back for fear of saying yes.

  She put the cupcakes down on the back table, retied her big sweater a bit tighter around her waist, and turned to face the room. As she had hoped, most everyone was sitting on the floor listening to Greg begin his lesson. There were two obvious exceptions, however. Beth was sitting with her group in the front but had her curious face turned back and was trying to make eye contact. Via acted as though she didn’t notice and nonchalantly walked toward the other exception, Nate, who looked thrilled to see her. He and the rest of her kids—her Jesus kids, as Nick called them—meant the world to her. They weren’t always easy—they asked dumb questions and squirmed and required a lot of patience—but they made her feel needed and worthwhile. She sat down between Nate and Taylor and then unzipped her leather bible, but she couldn’t remember what verse they were on.

  “Let’s break up into our small-group time,” Greg said. “You can recite your verse of the week and then discuss with your small-group leaders.”

  She offered what she knew must be a stiff smile and opened her bible, “Okay kids, lets go to this week’s verse. Who wants to go first?” They had all opened their study bibles to Luke 18: 13-14. She would only have fifteen minutes to get through everyone and then go over the question of the week.

  “The parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector,” Nate began.

  Without thinking, she sniffed hard and rubbed her nose. “Sorry,” she said. “Allergies again. Go ahead, Nate.”

  “The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed. ‘God, I thank you that I am not like the other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’” Nate paused, took a breath and continued. “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ Jesus said, ‘I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.’”

  “Awesome, Nate,” she said, so proud. But his words had latched onto her guilt receptors. She sniffed again. She was worse than any tax collector.

  Taylor leaned over and pointed. “Miss Via, what is that? On your bible? Is that blood?” They all looked over toward Via’s lap. She slammed it closed before they could see it. She stood up as fast as she could with her hand over her face. Head held high, she went straight into the small bathroom at the end of the hall and locked herself inside.

  “No, no,” she scolded her reflection. She kept her right hand over her nose, but unrolled a foot or so of toilet paper. It was the worst bloody nose ever. Gruesome and absolutely her fault. She tilted her head back and sat on the floor.

  “Via, open the door. Let me in please. Via?”

  “I’m fine, Beth,” she said through her toilet-paper-laden face. “Just a nose bleed. I’m fine.”

  “Via, sweetheart, I’m worried about you. Please come out.”

  Sweetheart? Her mother had called her that. Except Mama had always been the one locked inside the bathroom. Via had always been the one on the outside, begging her mother to come out and talk.

  She gave her mother twenty minutes. It often took that long for the sound of her sobbing to slow down. Then Via knocked again. “Please come out. He’s gone now.” The door creaked open and her mother came out with her hands over her face. As she passed, Via handed over the washcloth she’d carefully wrapped around some ice cubes. Her mother sniffled and said, “I just need to lay down for a while, sweetheart. Really, it’s fine.” Via pulled up the blanket from the foot of the bed and cuddled up with her.

  That had been the time he had gone through her mother’s purse, on the hunt for proof of God knows what. He’d thrown out her lipstick. It had been too whorish. Was that why the taste and feel of lipstick made her want to gag? So many memories had been coming back lately, too many to deal with.

  Beth had stopped knocking.

  Via went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. Blood still seeped from her nostril. She didn’t recognize the hollow girl in the mirror. Must be Vixen, which was cool because Vixen didn’t give a shit. Vixen would run home and get a quick shower before going back over town. She would go into Hotties a bit early.

  ***

  CARLOS

  “IT’S GOOD TO see you,” Carlos said. He walked behind his desk, opened a side drawer, pulled out his white goody box, and brought it back to the coffee table.

  “You sick?” he wondered. Her typical smile was absent.

  “No, it’s just been a hard day.”

  He pulled out one of three plastic baggies. It was his private stash—pure, not the lower-grade shit he would have served the average skank. He knew she was used to the good stuff. Word was, she was banging Mattais, which would explain why he had no interest in the club girls anymore. Via looked enough like Sonia to make her appealing anyway, but knowing rock star wanna-be was so sprung on her made her even more attractive as a plaything. Mattais was too busy to hang out after his shift like back in the day. Too many shows. Too many options. He seemed to be growing a bit cocky and needed to be reminded who really ruled the roost.

  He stood up
and walked over to the bar. “Want a drink?”

  “What do you have?”

  He looked down at the array of bottles underneath the bar and shook his head. “I don’t know, baby. I only have forty-five bottles back here.”

  “Vodka and tonic, please. With lime, if you can.”

  He tried to suppress his smile. She was hot and everything, but he wasn’t going to cut up a lime for any chick. He needed to check himself. Soon, he would have her fetching the drinks. He gave her a splash of 7UP instead. Girls seemed to like that.

  She had wandered over to the side of his desk and admired the picture of Maya’s kindergarten graduation. It was uncomfortable, seeing her so close to his gun drawer. She leaned over and examined the coffee cup, the one he used for pens, scissors—the one with the photo of Sam on it. From that sunny day at the aquarium. He missed them so much. It wasn’t fair.

  “Your son?” she asked.

  He motioned for her to come join him on the couch. “Yes, but that’s an old picture.” He tried to regain his psychological balance while he poured out about a gram onto the middle of the glass-topped table. “I haven’t seen them since March.”

  She came and sat next to him, but not close enough. With her hands clasped together in her lap, she wore a relaxed smile and remained quiet as her eyes searched his. Not launching into a story of her own, she sat so attentively. Just waiting. Waiting for him to talk. He felt like he could tell her his real story, but he fought the urge. He felt an odd connection with this girl, like they were watching the same channel, the same psycho show. She was like a counselor, except he felt safe talking to her. She was not focused on a notepad in her lap. She was not wrinkling up her face into a scowl. Her soft expression was full of acceptance, approval even.

  “I don’t normally talk about them,” he said. “It’s been a rough year.”

  “Please, forget I asked. I didn’t mean to—”

  He waved her off, casting his best smile. She was embarrassed now, had some color in her cheeks. He imagined it would be fun to get her a little sweaty. The thought of taking her home occurred to him. None of his girls had ever seen the inside of his house, but this one, maybe she would end up being more than a couch girl. He would answer her questions.

  His hand fell into the familiar rhythmic motion of arranging the blow. He loved line-tending, the power, the attention it garnered. His heart began to beat faster, anticipating the rush. He had been doing a lot lately, even hitting the pipe from time to time. He used to think doing coke alone was for losers, but he hadn’t been bullshitting her; it had been a rough year. The roughest of his life, and that was saying a lot. He sectioned off half of the pile and started moving it into generous bumps. He smiled—the sexier the girl, the fatter the line.

  “You come from a big family?” he asked as he handed her a fresh straw.

  She brought her hand up to her nose and sniffed hard. He laughed when she had to stop midway. She threw her head back and sucked deeper into her innocent little head.

  “Good God,” she said, before gasping. She was pleased, he could tell. He was going to rock her world. She was going to be so much fun to unravel.

  “You know that I don’t fuck around,” he promised. “The best shit, always.”

  He wanted to rub her back while she composed herself, but didn’t dare. Not yet. “Now finish, you’ve only done half of it.”

  She leaned over to the table, but hadn’t changed nostrils.

  “Wait.” He would help her. “Use the other side. You need to switch it up. Consider it nostril training.” She laughed. She was so fucking high already.

  “Your family,” he reminded her.

  She finished her line, sat back, and sniffed hard, twice. “My parents died when I was a kid,” she said. “No brothers or sisters, just an uncle back east, but he was more of a legal guardian.”

  Ah, the glory that is cocaine, he thought. She’ll talk about anything now. She would tell him everything he wanted to know.

  “I can relate,” he said as he snorted up a line. He sniffed hard. The bitterness both pierced and soothed his brain. “I was a foster kid.” She looked at him with such earnestness that he decided to go on. He would be straight up with this one. “My old man strangled my mother when I was three. I don’t remember her.”

  “No other family?”

  She would understand him. It was evident in the way she held eye contact. She hadn’t looked away or shaken her head in pity. Her eyes displayed what seemed like empathy. She hadn’t said she was sorry.

  “You don’t think that’s insane?” he asked. “Found out she was cheating. He’s doing life in Walla Walla.” He was talking too much. He needed to check himself. “What about your parents?” he asked. Her supportive smile faded. She looked down into her lap. He knew he must be onto something good.

  “I used to never talk about it. Guess I need to get over that, and...”

  “And?”

  “And since you shared,” she said, eyes still downcast toward her hands. “My father shot my mother, then himself. They died together, just like that, on the living room floor.”

  He couldn’t believe her confession. He didn’t feel so alone. He started feeling as though he wanted to tell her everything. “We’re the same then,” he said. “We know what it’s like to grow up alone.” He wanted to pull her close, but thought better of it. She wasn’t there yet. He would lighten the mood instead. “Like siblings of the same past. Except I want to have sex with you, of course.”

  She looked away.

  “I’m dead serious.” He leaned in. He wanted a better look at her eyes. They were nice.

  “You know about Matt, don’t you?”

  “Sure, sure,” he said, as he pulled back. He would break them up soon enough. It would be a piece of cake. But he needed to know more about the other one.

  “And you’re engaged too, right?”

  “I don’t know. Can we not talk about him? More about you.”

  “My wife, soon to be ex-wife, is with an old associate of mine down in Portland.” He couldn’t bear to say the bastard’s name. “He can have her, but I want my kids. Maya is almost nine now and Sam is six. We go to court down there in a couple of weeks.”

  He stopped to take a breath and felt a sense of relief. It did feel good to get this out. He looked over to Via again and she was smiling at him encouragingly. It was starting to unnerve him, the way she was so patient. Why wasn’t she trying to talk over him, laugh her way into her own stories?

  “I’m sure they can’t wait to see you again,” she said.

  He should take this girl with him to Portland for his court date. Sonia would get one look at Via and realize how replaceable she was. He could introduce her as “New Sonia.” He cracked himself up. It was definitely time to snake this little gem away from Mattais. All he had to do was mention his private time with Via to Kaytlyn when he saw her later that week. He realized he should have the rock star go out on the road more often, too.

  CHAPTER 26

  NICK

  NICK PULLED UP in front of his house. While he was happy to see the absence of raccoon activity, he was not pleased to see phone books had been left on the porch again. Phone books were a travesty of environmental justice.

  This talk with Matt would have to happen right away because he felt like he was digesting a wrench. He had already taken six antacids. He didn’t want to believe Kandy Cane. He wanted to blow off her gossip because he wanted to believe Via was the girl Matt needed her to be. No doubt she was a sweetheart, a great listener who never gossiped, she was never critical or catty—so unlike most of the girls they knew. She brought over beer and groceries. She kept trying to give them money for the blow they shared with her. Rare. Girls never did that. But then again, the coke was the problem. Matt seemed so happy with her around, maybe even mellow. Nick knew his best friend liked her, too much. He tried not to wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t been such a gentleman that first night.

&nb
sp; He came into the foyer. No turning back now, he thought. Time to do this. He leaned his body up toward the top of the stairs and shouted, “Hey, bro! You here?” He heard nothing, but a mellow reggae groove coming from the kitchen. Matt must be cleaning.

  Let’s get this out of the way, he thought as he came through the kitchen doorway. Or, maybe not. Matt’s boxers were down around his calves and he had Via on her back on top of the island. He was giving it to her in time with the reggae backbeat. Super slow. Apparently, they didn’t have enough room because Matt had a hand under her head, sort of cradling it over the edge. They were kissing so intently they hadn’t heard him walk in.

  Nick turned away, but not before noticing two things. First, that kitchen island was steady as hell. There would be no need to worry about standing on it while changing the smoke detector battery. Good to know. Second, it was obvious from the sweet intensity of their display that they were crazy about each other, probably even in love. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it still sucked to see. He had to talk to Matt, pronto.

  He averted his eyes up toward the light fixture. Shit, was that dust? Everything was so messed up. What had this girl done to his best friend? He was able to back up into the living room without them noticing. He wished to God he could un-see his friend’s naked ass. He was going to lose his breakfast. That island was where he and Via baked cupcakes for Christ’s sake. How was he even going to look at her now?

  He slid open the cabinet under the flat screen. His favorite bong was still loaded from the night before. He pulled it out, along with a lighter, and sat on the couch. He turned on the television, bowed his head, put his lips into position, then flicked the lighter and sparked up. The room was filled with the sound of Elmo’s laughter and the smell of Super Silver Haze. Watching puppets recite the alphabet was about as much as his brain could handle, so he didn’t bother changing the channel.