by Ashley Love
I swallow and try desperately not to think about Zane pulling the flaming trench coat off of me. Why did he do that?
"They set me on fire," I say to Tessa, picking at the bloody trench coat in my lap.
"The ones who threw the rocks at you?" she asks, trying to hide the shock in her voice.
"Yeah."
She huffs a small breath of disbelief as she walks back around me and searches for something in the drawers near the bed. "Is that what caused the blister on your arm as well?"
I nod, looking down at it while I prod gently at the bandage on the back of my head. She straightens up with a tube of burn cream in her hands, using a cotton swab to dab it on my arm and the back of my neck, bandaging both.
"You know, if you haven't already, you should really tell an adult at your school about this," she insists as she secures the last bandage. "I've never been in the situation personally, but my brother was picked on a bit back in high school too. Do you go to the local high school just down the way?"
"Yes," I confirm. "But I'd rather not make a big deal out of it. I just want to go to school."
Tessa chuckles a little. "You sound just like my brother. Never wanting to ask for help."
I don't know what to say so I stay quiet, looking at the bandage on my arm as she wraps up her used supplies and removes her gloves.
"Alright, all finished," she says, giving me a bright smile, her eyes twinkling in the fluorescent lights. "Just hang out here for a minute and Dr. Garrison will be over to check you out. Casey up front will take your insurance information when you're done."
"Thank you," I nod with a sigh. My fingertips are beginning to thaw out. I feel a little better.
She nods with another small smile. "Take care of yourself, Ms. Riley," she says before slipping out of the curtain.
I pull in a deep breath and hold it for a moment before letting it out slowly. I eye the medical supplies around me and pick up my father's trench coat, hesitating before throwing it into the trash next to the bed. I decide I just won't mention it to him, and if he happens to notice it's gone, I'll say it must have gotten lost in the move. Things gets lost when we move all the time. And I'd rather not explain the truth to my father.
Dr. Garrison swings by briefly and checks Tessa's work, giving me a burn cream and something for my split lip to bring home, as well as a prescription for some pain killers. I thank him and thank Tessa again and stand up, leaving and filling out whatever paperwork I need to fill out up front with Casey, the receptionist. Casey informs me that the doctor recommends that someone should come pick me up instead of having me walk all the way back to town. It's only about five miles or so to my house, but my head throbs.
Casey offers to call me a cab, but I decline and pull out my phone, sitting down in the blue plastic chairs next to the fish tank again and scrolling through, trying to decide who I can call in the middle of the week day. Mason and Charlie and Kira are all at school, and Bonnie is working. I tap my thumbnail against the phone screen, thinking of anyone else I know in this town who would be willing to come get me.
The only person I can think of is Alfred Singer. The man is very kind and a very good boss, but he and I aren't exactly buddies in the broader sense of the word. We share a professional relationship.
I bite the inside of my cheek, staring at Alfred's contact on my phone. It's the number for the craft shop, and if Alfred answers, that would mean he's working. But generally he's not the only one working. Abby had told me she works there sometimes when no one else can fill in, and sometimes I see this guy Chris leaving his shift when I arrive for mine.
I glance at the reception desk, pondering whether I should ask Casey for the number of a cab. But I can't afford a taxi right now, and so with a sigh, I press Call and put the phone to my ear.
Alfred picks up after three rings with a gruff, "Singer speaking," and I hesitate before clearing my throat.
"Uh, Mr. Singer? It's Ariel Riley, sir."
"Ariel, what'd I tell you about callin' me 'sir'?" Alfred says by way of greeting. "What can I do for ya, kid? Can you still come in to work tonight?"
Damn, I forgot I had a shift tonight from three to seven.
"Um, yes, I'll be there," I say. "I was just calling to ask you a really big favor."
"Yeah?" he replies. "What's that?"
I clear my throat, biting my lip, wondering if I'm crossing a line here. Sure, Alfred is my boss, and we've spent our fair share of evenings together at the craft shop, but it's not like we're friends. We don't meet up for drinks. We don't catch the game together. And we don't give each other rides.
"I'm, um, at the hospital," I tell him. "I was wondering if you're free to come pick me up. I just don't have anyone else I can call."
"You alright? What are you doing at the hospital?" Alfred asks, and I'm surprised by the amount of concern in his voice.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I reply. "They just told me it would be best if I didn't walk all the way back to town by myself, and my house is five miles way."
"Gimme a sec," Alfred says into the phone, and I hear him pull the phone away from his ear. He's speaking to someone in the background. "Alright, you still there?" he asks when he returns to the phone.
I nod before I realize Alfred can't see me. "Yes."
"Alright, I'll be there in about ten minutes. Chris here can watch the shop for about a half an hour just fine," he says. "That okay?"
I swallow down a wave of relief and gratefulness. "Yes sir, that's okay. Thank you so much."
"No problem, kid," Alfred replies. "And don't call me sir, damn it, I don't got a bow tie on."
I laugh a little, wincing at it stretches my swollen lip. "Sorry, Alfred."
He chuckles on the other end. "See you soon, kid."
The line goes dead and I sigh, tucking my phone back in my pocket and leaning back in the chair, staring at the fish. The clownfish is hanging out on my side of the tank again, swirling around through the anemone and looking out at me. I nod at it.
"I think I'm going to be okay," I whisper. The fish swims down to the bottom of the tank and pecks at the pebbles before floating back up level with my eyes again, little bubbles popping out of its mouth.
I spend the next ten minutes considering the possibility of getting a fish. I've never owned a pet before, and I don't know anything about taking care of one, but it's nice to have someone to talk to. I decide against it though. We move too much, and moving a fish is difficult. I'll get one in college.
Alfred walks into the hospital exactly eleven minutes later wearing his usual get up of a white t-shirt, a flannel, and worn jeans. His ratty hat is on top of his head over his stringy hair. He nods to me and I glance at Casey at the reception desk. She gives me a small smile and a wave and I smile back before following Alfred out of the hospital.
"You live in that old place on Coolidge right?" Alfred asks as he climbs into his truck, me climbing into the passenger side. It's one of those older trucks where the seats in the back face the middle of the cab instead of forward.
"Yeah," I reply. "Thank you so much for doing this, Alfred." It feels weird to call my boss by his first name, but I force myself to.
Alfred starts up the truck with a roar. "What happened to ya, kid?" he asks, eyeing the bandages on my forehead, neck, and arm. "You get mauled by a deer?"
I chuckle a little. "No...I just crossed paths with the wrong people."
"Kids from your school?" Alfred asks.
I nod, looking out the window, not wanting to get into this again. Mention that you're bullied once and adults think it's like the end of the world or something.
"Well damn, did you at least get a good punch or two in?" he asks with a chuckle.
I shrug. "Maybe one or two," I lie. I don't want to tell Alfred that I didn't fight back, that I never fight back. I may not like to hurt people, but it doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be a little embarrassed about the fact that I refuse to defend m
yself when someone is hurting me.
We spend the rest of the drive in comfortable silence. Alfred turns on the radio to some blues station and cranks up the heat in the cab until my fingers are fully thawed. My arms still prickle with goose bumps the second I open my door when Alfred pulls up in front of my house. I thank him and assure him I'll be to work by three, and then I hurry inside where it's about one degree warmer.
Dr. Garrison had told me not to wash my hair for a few days while the stitches on the back of my head heal, so I opt to take a hot bath to warm up. I briefly consider going back to school, but decide against it when I think about the fact that I might run into the Cancers again. I don't think I can take another beating today with the burns and bruises all over me.
I sink into the bath tub, shivering as the warmth engulfs my body, wincing when the hot water touches my burns. And as I lay there with my head tilted at an odd angle to avoid pressing my stitches to the ceramic edge of the tub, I count the little bubbles in the paint on the ceiling to keep my mind from wandering back to thoughts of Zane, and his panicked green eyes this morning as he saved me from going up in flames.
14
Noah has to practically carry Zane home that afternoon from Ghost Town, Zane's so drunk. He's so drunk he can't keep his eyes open. But the pain in his side is gone, the imaginary flames eating away at his skin doused. So that's a plus. Zane laughs at something Noah says as they stumble through the woods, and then forgets what he said two minutes later, only to start laughing at his accent. Noah just rolls his eyes.
"I haven't the slightest idea how you're even conscious right now," Noah grumbles, hoisting Zane up a bit higher so he's not dragging his knees on the ground. "You drank the whole bloody bottle by yourself."
Zane just giggles, and Noah rolls his eyes again.
"He set Ariel on fire, Ferg," Zane slurs through his giggles, "Like a wicker man." The words sound perfectly clear to Zane, but he can see Noah tilting his ear towards him in an attempt to understand, so he must not be speaking that clearly.
"Oh for the love of all that is holy, please don't call me Fergus," Noah groans. "My mother calls me Fergus."
"My mother doesn't call me anything," Zane points out, waving a finger in the air like he's trying to make a point.
Noah doesn't respond, grunting in his efforts to keep Zane upright. He's quite a bit shorter than Zane and Zane is practically draped over his shoulders like a towel, dragging his heels.
"Hey, Noah?" Zane asks, trying to keep his head up.
"Yeah?"
Zane looks over at him, practically breathing in his ear. He sees him cringe at the smell of his alcohol-drowned breath. "Didya see Ariel t'day?" he asks. He trips over a root and they almost fall, but Noah catches them both at the last second.
"The Riley girl?" Noah grunts. "No."
"I really need to talk to 'er," Zane says. "Slate lit 'er on fire. I don' think tha's very nice. D'you?"
Noah scoffs. "I don't think you need to be talking to anyone right now," he says. "I think you need to concentrate on walking. One foot in front of the other. Yes, that's right."
Zane looks down at his feet and then decides that's a bad idea when the world spins. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and swallows back the urge to spew.
"And besides, why do you care what happens to Ariel Riley? She's a loser," Noah points out.
Zane huffs a sigh, blowing out all the breath in his lungs through his lips. He doesn't have the energy to respond, so he just grips Noah's sleeve and forces himself to walk. The whole world feels watery and transparent. If he reached out and touched a tree right now, he's halfway convinced that his hand would go right through it like touching the surface of a swimming pool.
He ponders this, and the fact that swimming pools are the color of Ariel's eyes, or Ariel's eyes are the color of swimming pools, all the way back home. His house is right up against the forest, which is probably a good thing right about now. Noah leads him up to the back door, bless his heart.
"Hey Noah?" Zane asks again, huffing a little in exertion.
"Yes?" Noah is breathing hard too. Zane's not exactly a small guy, and Noah just practically carried him for two miles.
"Wha' d'you think of swimmin' pools?" Zane mumbles with a watery grin.
Noah drops him on the small back porch, propping him up against the wall and looking down at him with narrowed eyes. "I suggest you vomit before trying to sleep," he says, ignoring Zane's question. "Your body is going to hate you tomorrow."
Zane giggles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as Noah reaches out and opens the flimsy screen and chipped door. He disappears inside for a moment, and Zane doesn't think to warn him that Michael Peterson might be in there in an even worse state than he is.
But he returns with Liam by his side, and Zane squeaks ecstatically (actually fucking squeaks) when he sees his brother, giving a little wave and reaching for him. "Liam!" he exclaims excitedly. "Noah, this's m'brother!"
Liam raises his eyebrows as Zane grabs at his forearms, looking at Noah.
Noah pats Liam on the shoulder. "Good luck with him then," he says, and nods to them both before walking off towards the trees, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pea coat. Liam makes a noise of protest, glancing between Noah and Zane, and then stumbles when Zane pulls him down into a big hug.
"Good t'see ya, man," Zane slurs, his voice muffled in Liam's hair as he practically smothers him. Liam gives him a couple pats on the back.
"Yeah Zane, alright," he says. "Come on, let's get you to your room before Dad comes home. He'll be pissed if he sees you like this."
Zane straightens up a little at the mention of Mike, and it's as if it switches his body into action. He grunts with the effort it takes to get his feet underneath himself, and he has to use the wall and Liam to stand up. Liam struggles under his weight, the little twelve-year-old scrawny kid dragging his older brother into the house and down the hall to his bedroom.
He deposits Zane onto his bed, making sure he's on his side before standing up to leave, but Zane giggles and grabs Liam's arm, pulling him down with him and wrapping one arm around his shoulders, grinding his knuckles into his head with the other hand. Liam yells out in complaint.
"Zane! There's a strict No Noogie rule in this house!" he protests, slapping at Zane's face at an awkward angle. Zane just laughs and relents after a good thirty seconds of noogie attack, collapsing back on his bed and releasing him, breathing hard, grinning from ear to ear.
Liam crawls away, rubbing his head and glowering at Zane, his shaggy hair all messed up and sticking out at odd angles. "What the hell happened today?" he asks him, smoothing his hair down a bit. "Why are you toasted?"
Zane just pulls in a deep breath and then blows it all out, rubbing his stubble with one hand. His face feels clammy. "Wha' d'you think of swimmin' pools, Liam?" he asks, ignoring Liam's question.
Liam's eyebrows press together. "What? Why?"
Zane turns his eyes towards the ceiling and stares at Chewbacca thoughtfully. "Ariel has swimmin' pools for eyes," Zane insists. "Like...swimmin' pools, man."
"Who's...?" Liam asks, and then his eyes widen, "You mean Ariel? That girl from Hartley's Bend?"
Zane grins. "Yeah."
Liam chuckles a little. "What, do you have a crush on the girl or something?"
Zane just stares at the Return of the Jedi poster above him, chewing on his lip. Liam stares at him for a long moment, and then sighs, running his hand through his messy hair one more time before standing.
"Where ya goin'?" Zane asks.
"Just gonna get you some water," Liam replies, disappearing from the room. He returns a minute later with a full glass and pulls Zane upright by the collar of his shirt. "Drink it all," he orders, in a voice that doesn't invite argument.
Zane forces himself to drink the entire glass, slowly but surely draining it, and by the time he finishes it, he feels pregnant, and his stomach sloshe
s when he lays back down.
"On your side," Liam says, and Zane grumbles but obeys. He knows the drill. They've done this too many times with Mike, it's like a regular show in this house. Liam drags Zane's trash can over to the side of the bed.
"If you have to puke, do it in there," Liam says, pointing at the small can. "I'm not cleaning up any of your insides."
Zane chuckles, eyes already falling closed. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbles.
Liam looks at him for a moment, and then turns to leave the room again.
"He lit 'er on fire, Liam," Zane calls after his brother, and Liam stops at the doorway, looking back.
"What?"
Zane rubs his face again. "Ariel was on fire," he says, and suddenly he's not laughing anymore. He just stares at Liam, and he suddenly feels so fucking empty it's borderline ridiculous. He feels like he's going to melt, or vomit, or both.
"Ariel was on fire?" Liam repeats, looking confused and surprised. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Zane waves his hand a bit. "'S'okay," he says. "'S'okay, I think everythin'll be okay. We're okay, right?"
Liam just looks at Zane, half-confused, and half-sad, and Zane isn't sure why Liam is sad right now, but he's suddenly too exhausted to ask. Liam stands there for a long moment, and then he wanders over to the foot of the mattress. Zane doesn't look at him, focusing most of his attention on the trash can beside his head, reminding himself again and again to aim for it in case he pukes.
He feels Liam unlacing his boots and yanking them off one at a time, and then his little brother is tugging his Batman blanket out from under his limp, heavy form and draping it over him, tucking it around his shoulders.
"Get some rest, Zane," Liam says, patting his cheek. He leaves and comes back once with another full glass of water, setting it by the bed, and then takes one last lingering look at him before switching off the light and closing the door.
Zane is drunk. Very drunk. But he still somehow manages to hold onto consciousness for a good hour or so after Liam leaves his room. He hears Mike come home, and he sounds just about the same as Zane, stumbling around, crashing into a wall. He hears something clatter to the floor in the kitchen, and Liam's small voice talking to his father. He's glad Mike just stumbles to his room and slams the door. He doesn't think he could have gotten himself up and out there to protect Liam if Mike was in a pissed off mood tonight.