by Nikki Roman
“Okay, we can go to the van.”
I get off of Harley but stagger on my feet; I bump into the motorcycle and crash to the ground with it. “I’m not feeling right,” I say.
Holden stands up the bike and then lifts me up. Finding relief in his arms, I let my eyes close, thinking they will open again on their own. But they don’t, not until Holden is shaking me awake in his van.
•••
“I’m tired,” I mumble. My eyes strain in the dark.
“I was just making sure you’re alive,” Holden says. “You’ve been out for a long time.”
“Can I sleep more?”
“I want to clean the cut on your arm first.”
“Did you take my heels off?” I ask, moving my feet around in the blankets.
“Mhm,” Holden says. “It’s not very practical to sleep in high heels.” His lips curl into a smile. “I’ve got to get a washcloth, you stay here.”
I unbutton my pants beneath the blankets and push them off with my feet. The mattress is hot and sweaty under my body. I turn and find a cooler spot to lie on.
Holden returns with a cold washcloth, he wipes my face and arm. He pours alcohol over my cut and wraps my arm in his hoodie. Grabbing his hand, I play with his fingers. He’s sitting in front of me, his lungs pumping out his bare chest.
“What’s wrong?” I trace the crags of his eyes and the bushy eyebrows above them.
“I’m angry.”
“I can see that,” I say.
“I want to kill your mom.”
“Go ahead.” It then occurs to me, that when a gang member says they want to ‘kill’ somebody, they probably aren’t bluffing.
“I’m serious,” Holden says jerking his head away from my hand. “You have blood under your nails.”
“It’s on my clothes too,” I say. “It’s just blood.”
“It makes me angrier.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I say, pushing his hair from his eyes.
“How about we get some sleep, it’s late.”
He puts his head on my pillow and turns his body to me; I smell the weed on his breath. “Where are your parents, Holden?” I blurt out. “Did they love you?”
“My mom killed herself and my dad left shortly after,” he says through his teeth. “That’s when I came to the Allie. That’s why we all come here: because we have nobody else.”
I focus on his drugged breath and crooked teeth as he talks. Occasionally, his lips hit mine. The tips of our noses and our foreheads come together. His face is beautiful, in an ugly way, his features not quite right, one eyebrow a little higher than the other.
“When you kill yourself, you go to hell.” My words go into his open mouth; he swallows them and brings a hand to his throat like they are poison.
“Why the fuck would you say that”
He starts to cry. I grab the back of his head and press our foreheads together harder; he closes his eyes, tears dripping off the tip of his nose and landing on mine. “Because I’m going to hell,” I say.
Neither of us moves.
“No you’re not,” Holden says, his eyes opening. “All little girls go to heaven.”
“That’s because they’re innocent, but I’m not innocent. You want to know why my mom hit me?”
“Don’t tell me, Bailey.”
He grabs the back of my head too; painfully knotting his hand in my hair.
“I have to tell someone,” I say. “I went to Indigo; I was stripping in my bra and panties. I was making money. The men love my body. Everybody loves my body. They want me when I don’t even want myself.”
“All little girls go to heaven.”
“I’m not going,” I say.
“Do you think she’s in heaven…my mom?” He sucks in a choppy breath. “Why did she have to kill herself?”
“You shouldn’t speak, either,” I say. “Let’s both be quiet.”
“I like you, really like you,” he says, moving his face from mine. “What the fuck is Spencer thinking?”
“He isn’t,” I say. “He never thinks.” Then how is he so wise?
“Promise you won’t tell Cairen that I was crying.”
“Hey,” I say. “What happens in the van stays in the van.”
“Then, can I kiss you?”
“Not now.”
“Will you put your head in my lap and sleep? I’ve always wanted a girl to do that…”
He leans against the inside of the van, and I pivot my body so that I am lying with my head in his lap. “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” he says. “Now, go to sleep.” His hands pull my hair like a ventriloquist does the strings of a puppet. He thinks I’m out cold.
His lips touch mine, they run away. His lips touch mine, they stay longer. His lips touch mine, they part—open doors. My teeth invite his tongue into my mouth. What happens in the van stays in the van.
•••
I wake up feeling the same way I do when I fall asleep on the couch and Dad picks me up and tucks me into bed—confused and disoriented.
I know that Holden and I have slept well into the day because the van is so hot that we’ve sweated through our clothes, and the blankets are all sticky. At least, I hope its sweat.
Before long, my stomach wakes up, gurgling and snarling. I step over Holden, who is hanging half off the mattress, and slide open the door. I hide my eyes from the sunlight with my hoodie-wrapped arm and throw up on the sidewalk. The tip of my braid dips into the puddle of vomit.
Holden staggers from the van, shielding his eyes too, and almost stepping my vomit. “Morning,” he says. “I think I’m drunk on sleep.”
“Me too,” I say. “Watch out, I threw up.”
He looks down. “Oh, that kind of ruins the whole effect of having a pretty girl sleep in my lap.”
“That was in the van,” I say.
“Oh yeah, I forgot. God, you look like hell.”
“I need a shower,” I say. “Do you think I could use the hose in the alley?”
“Mhm, but I don’t know what kind of water comes out of it, just don’t blame me if you turn into some kind of radioactive freak.”
“I’m willing to risk it to get vomit out of my hair.”
“That’s attractive. Real attractive.”
“So are your Scooby Doo boxers,” I smirk.
“It was a rough night. And your pink highlighter panties are no better.”
“You’re kind of like him, ya know?” I say. “Like Shaggy- a pothead with a large van.”
Shrugging off the comparison, he tosses my heels and clothes at me and then locks up the van. I unravel his hoodie from my arm and tie it around my waist. Tree branch, I think. Dirt and splinters run along the lacerated edges, blood intervening the wound like red jelly in the middle of a Christmas cookie. Holden didn’t clean it well enough.
Holden’s hands grasp my hips. I turn my head to the side. Triangular tips of his hair, dark with sweat, cling to his face and ears. I let my arms hang loose around his neck.
“Bailey, when you’re outside this fence you don’t have to pretend to be strong. You don’t have to be Indigo.” He kisses the underside of my chin. “Should we go in the van?”
“It’s too hot,” I say. “Scooby Doo is watching us.” We simultaneously look down at his boxers and back up at each other with matching grins.
“I’ve watched the cartoon before and no one ever knows what he’s saying anyways,” he says. “No one but Shaggy.”
“Can Shaggy keep his mouth shut?”
“If it is filled with your tongue.”
“No.” My arms fall from his neck. “I can’t do that. I still hurt from Spencer it’s only been a couple of days.”
“But you hurt from your mother, too. I could take away some of that hurt.”
“Your Band-Aids and morphine can do that. I don’t want your kisses.”
He flicks his hair and sweat lands on my cheek. “All right, Bailey, I know when not to push i
t.”
“Thanks,” I say, “for understanding.”
“’snot a problem,” he says. “Come on, let’s hop the fence. The Allies should be awake by now.”
I step into Holden’s interlocked hands, and putting one leg over, grab the top of the fence. Straddling it, I give Holden my hand.
“This fence is a real pain in the ass,” he says, sitting on the edge of it. “It’s chafing my balls.”
I drop into the Allie, and Holden drops beside me. “There’s got to be an easier way to get in here,” I say.
“There is, but hopping the fence is so much cooler.” Holden winks at me. He approaches Cairen, who is propped up against the refrigerator at the end of the alley.
Alana sits on a tire; her shoulders sagging and poking forward like two little spikes. My feet scuff Allie ground and her head snaps up. Two eyes the color of peacock feathers bore into mine. “Hey, Indigo,” she says, her lips a pink stain against her chalky face.
“Hey, ‘Lana.” My hand wipes through the air like I’m drawing a rainbow. “I’m just… um… going to shower. Don’t mind me.”
“Okay,” she says. “We have conditioner if you want; I can get it from inside the store. And a change of clothes…” She looks down at my feet and then up at the heels in my hands, a smile crosses her lips and reaches into her eyes. “And I bet I can find a pair of boots in your size.”
“Yeah, thanks, that’d be great.” I grin, but I am sure it looks as forced as Mom’s bogus smiles do.
Holden already has the hose on and is washing off in his boxers. I take my tank top and his sweater off; they drop at my feet, as does Cairen’s gaze. “We’re family, right?”
“I remember your body,” he snickers, turning his eyes, filled with green evil, up.
My face burns as red as Alana’s unwashed hair. I turn my back and take small steps toward Holden. His head is bowed as he stares at the water rushing over his feet. “Ignore him, Bailey,” he says.
My chest tightens up like I am receiving a hug from a boa constrictor. “Let me shower first so I can get dressed,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Okay, don’t worry, I got your back.”
Holden stands in front of me. Cairen chuckles at our small attempt to hide my body. “You have a birthmark the size of a pea on your right hip,” he says. “Your waist is so small I can fit both my hands around it.”
The stream of water shakes and splashes against the store wall. I wet my face and hair. Alana comes around the side of the store with clothes, boots, and a bottle of conditioner. She squeezes some of the soap into my hands and remains by my side. “Thanks ‘Lana,” I whisper to her.
“Just keep your eyes and ears on me. Don’t let Cairen into your head. He gets that way, sometimes. Likes to screw with people,” she says.
With Holden guarding my back and Alana at my front, I start to relax again. I finish washing myself and dry off with my shirt. Holden turns off the hose.
“We’re going to a party tonight, Indigo. Want to come?” Cairen asks.
I can’t look at him until I’m fully dressed, and even then my eyes find more interest in the concrete walls than they do his pasty face. “If Holden’s going,” I say.
“Holden’s going, we all are. All of the Allies. Some of the Apocalypse might be there, too, but we’ll deal with that when the time—”
The dumpster lid is thrown open, Ashten peers out. “The initiation,” she says, her voice echoing against the metal.
“Huh?” I ask.
The group becomes quiet; water dripping from my hair and onto the cement, the only sound aside from their breathing. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to hear her.
“Oh,” Cairen finally says, “Ashten was just reminding me you can’t be seen with us until you’ve been jumped in. You aren’t really official.”
“But I was,” I say. “Miemah almost killed me. I have the scars to prove it. I can show you.”
Cairen grins smugly. “I’ve already seen them,” he says. “Anyhow, Miemah is an Apocy. And I didn’t witness it, therefore, it doesn’t count. You have two options, Indigo, you can mug someone or we can jump you in.”
I look to Holden to see if what Cairen is saying might be a joke. His face is as frozen, as if he were trying to ward off a grizzly bear. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“At the time you entered, I considered Ashten cutting you as being jumped in. But she has convinced me otherwise, and I must follow the Allie rule book—strictly.”
“So,” I say, “you jump me in and for how long do you beat me?”
“You want to get jumped in?” Cairen asks taken aback. “Might kill you. Better to just mug someone.”
“I’m not going to mug someone. This is my predicament, I’m not going to hurt an innocent bystander just to save myself from a bloody nose and some chipped teeth.”
“You’d be lucky if that’s all you walk away with…you’d be lucky if you could still walk at all, after Cairen’s done with you,” Holden says. “Your life is worth as much as someone’s Rolex watch or pocket change, at the very least. I can teach you how to mug, there’s nothing to it.”
“Holden’s right,” Alana says. “I’m still sore from my initiation. I wish I would’ve just mugged someone.”
Cairen sighs. “I was looking forward to knocking your head into concrete. Really, I was. You guys suck. You always do this, talk new members out of being jumped in.”
“You don’t need a reason to hurt her,” Holden says. “You do it for fun, anyway.”
“Damn, Cobra Cai,” I say, “I was totally looking forward to getting jumped but now that I see how happy it would make you, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to pull out.”
“Fuckin’ pricks,” says Cairen, getting up. “I’m goin’ in the store. You guys piss me off. Holden, you accompany Indigo, make sure she does what she’s supposed to, or her face is going to be kissing concrete later.”
I shiver, whether from the threat or my wet hair I cannot tell.
“You got it Cobra, now go inside; this heat is not kind to snakes. You need a rock or something to hide under and keep you cool,” says Holden.
“Yeah, yeah…” He goes around the side of the store and I can no longer hear him.
“Hot headed bastard,” Holden says under his breath.
•••
I share Alana’s tire while Holden goes into the Allie store to look for a change of clothes. Maybe something a little more intimidating than his cartoon underwear.
I gather my hair on one side of my shoulder so that it will not drip down Alana’s back. We knock heads together and exhale.
“You and I,” Alana says, “always were a bad duo.”
“Tell me about it,” I say.
“I’m going to, Bailey,” she says. “I’m going to tell you how much I miss us being friends, even though we brought so much trouble upon us.”
“We didn’t need each other to create trouble. It was only me. It was by chance that you clung to me and got infected.”
“Well, I miss it. I want you to get me in trouble again.”
“I could arrange something…”
“Are we straight then?”
“Straight as the underside of a watermelon. Yeah, we’re straight.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Alana slips her hand behind her back and I wrap my fingers around hers.
“I’m scared,” I whisper. I hadn’t told anyone this. Of how petrified I am of the Allie, and Cairen, and Ashten, and all of it.
Dad couldn’t even manage to save me from my own mother, so how was I to think he could save me from the Allie? And Spencer dropped me like a hot potato when he found out about my affiliation with the gang.
I think the only person who might share my fear is Alana. “Are you scared, too?”
“Never been as scared as I am now, being in the Allie,” she admits.
“But if we stick together,” I say, “maybe we can make it a little less scary?”
“Stick like wet leaves to a car,” she says, kissing our hands. “Yeah, we’re gonna stick together.”
My heart heats up like someone is holding a soldering iron to it. If the tire Alana and I are sitting back to back on were connected to rope and swinging from a tree, I would feel even more heart warmed. But with the gutted out refrigerator in the foreground, the green dumpster, and the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline in the air—it’s impossible to pretend I’m anywhere else but the Allie.
Chapter 32
She’s dressed in a shirt sprinkled with pink posies, and a wide brimmed sunhat embellished with artificial roses. A walking flower garden.
Khaki shorts cover cellulite-filled thighs and varicose veined, saggy kneecaps. Her plain brown eyes and sparse, rough hair, like wood shavings, enters me—my spongy brain trapping her in.
Holden saw her white gold bracelet and platinum watch. That is all. His mind appraised the pieces within seconds of seeing them. And I started preparing myself for a make out sesh with the Allie ground.
“She’ll be easy to get hold of,” Holden says.
“I changed my mind; I want to get jumped in!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this one.”
“You mean you’ll do it for me? But what if Cairen finds out?”
He turns off the van and takes the keys with him. “I’m Shaggy, remember? I can keep my mouth shut. The question is, little girl,” he tilts his face next to mine, “can you?”
“I’ll be Scooby Doo,” I say. “Now, hurry up, your fish is swimming away.” The garden lady in Teva sandals is pulling her large body across the parking lot faster than I imagined she could. “Hurry, Holden!”
“I’ll be back in a few. Stay here and don’t watch out the window. And no matter what happens—do not come out.”
He pushes the door open and slams it shut behind him. My eyes track his yellow bandanna - the same hue as his mustard seed hair. He turns around and looks at me; his hand, wrapped around a five-inch shank, pushes air. He wants me to get down and out of sight. I huddle in the back of the van, swathing myself in sheets and blankets. If I do decide to take a peek at him, it will be a struggle to untangle myself.
A shrill, old-lady scream pierces the quiet parking lot. I can almost hear Holden’s voice pulled into that low disturbing whir- that threatening Allie thug voice that will convince the old lady to stay quiet while giving up her precious accessories and whatever money she has on her. I cover my ears with two pillows and breathe in deeply.