by Wolf, Sara
Kneecaps. They tried to grab me, but I was fast, strong, stronger than they thought. Too young to fight back, or so they thought. The first and second had weak skulls. The third pulled out a gun to shoot me and shot the fourth, instead. I smiled and launched myself at the third, slamming the bat over his neck. There was a sickening crack and he went still. The fifth barely had his pants on when I slammed the bat into his side. He staggered, reached for a gun, but I swung again.
The man’s dark eyes widen as the bat connects with his arm. Elbow. I hit three times in quick succession and there’s a cracking noise. He howls, stumbling away from the bed. Isis’ mother crawls under it, sobbing. The man clutches his arm, bent at the elbow in an unnatural direction.
“You fucking bastard!” He screams, and lowers his shoulder, running for me. I laugh and step aside at the last moment, and he crashes into the dresser, disoriented for a few seconds by the impact. I use those moments well.
I cracked his gun hand. He was so shocked he just looked down at it, like it was a riveting TV show instead of something that was happening to him. And I swung again. The bones cracked, his hand split open, blood and meat spraying over the pine needles. He cried. He crawled away from me and cried, begging.
“Please, man, we didn’t mean – we weren’t gonna –”
“L-Listen, kid, I’ll just leave, okay? There’s no need for –”
I swing again, into his gut. And again, between his legs. He keels over, howling, and I step on his chest and look down at him.
“There are crimes. And therefore there is a need,” I say. “For punishments.”
“Please –”
I smile and tap his nose with the end of the baseball bat lightly.
“No begging. Die with some dignity.”
I raise the bat, level with his head, and he screams and shields his face with his good arm.
The thing in me laughs with delight.
-15-
3 Years
23 Weeks
2 Days
I wake up in Satan’s butthole. Everything is white – white walls, white beds, white light. Or Narnia. It could be Narnia. Did I die and go to Narnia? Because that would be rad. But then I see the IV attached to my arm and hear the steady ‘beep-beep’ of my heart monitor and all hope deflates out of me quickly. Nope. Satan’s butthole, aka a hospital.
I sit up from the pillows and my head tries to turn itself inside out and run off my neck. The headache splits me down the middle and sews me back up again with electric pain.
“Hairy monkeyballs!” I hiss. “Dogshit on a stick! Puke pancakes!”
A head pokes in. Wren, green eyes smiling, walks over to my bed.
“I knew you were awake. Who else spews such original and captivating swears?”
I feel my head. A massive, turban-like bandage wraps around it. There are flowers on the small table at my side, and a smiley-face balloon cheerfully watches me from a corner, slowly rotating just to get a better view of me. From all angles.
“Where am I? Other than hell.”
“St. Jermaine’s Hospital,” Wren offers, pulling up a chair and sitting on it. “You’ve been out for a week or so.”
“Mom!” I sit up. “Is Mom –”
“She’s fine,” Wren puts his hand on mine reassuringly. “She went to work today, but she said she’d be back at night. We’ve all been taking turns coming to see you. Me, Kayla, Avery –”
“Avery? Like, red-head Avery? Avery who hates me? The Avery we threatened?”
“It’s weird, I know. But she brought flowers.” He motions to a bunch of white camellias on the desk.
“What about Leo? The guy who broke in –”
“The police said he knocked you out, and then went upstairs. And then –”
Wren’s expression cracks with uneasiness.
“Then what? What happened?”
Wren’s eyes slowly move up to meet mine. “Jack. He said he came over to talk to you, and found you on the floor passed out.”
“Who?”
“Who what?”
“Jack who?”
Wren smiles. “C’mon, don’t play dumb. Jack. He came over, and he took care of Leo. Four broken ribs. A broken arm. A burst eardrum. Fractured skull.”
I suck in a breath. Wren shakes his head and tries to smile.
“You have one too, you know. Skull fracture. You hit your head pretty bad on the wall. For the first few days the doctors didn’t know if you were going to slip into a coma or not. But you pulled through. There was some internal bleeding, and bruising. But they patched you up and you pulled through.”
I look at my hands, and lift the sheet to look at my body. Almost-healed bruises cover my legs and arms.
“Leo’s in custody,” Wren says. “Jack’s mom got him a lawyer. He’s not locked up or anything, but he’s on watch. The police say he’s got a really good chance of getting away with no charges if you and your mom testify, but Leo’s going to jail, definitely.”
“I should hug this Jack guy. Show him my gratitude. Give him, like, a gift card to Starbucks at least.”
Wren snorts. “Really? I thought you and Jack were at war. Do they typically give hugs during war?”
“War? No, I’m not fighting anybody. Well, I have to fight on a daily basis not to marry myself, but no. I’m not at war with anybody,” I laugh. “And definitely not with this Jack guy. I’ll figure out a good way to thank him. He saved me and my mom’s butts after all. Is he old? Is he young? Does he go to our school? ”
“Okay, Isis, cut it out. It was funny the first time.”
“Cut what out?”
“You know Jack Hunter. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“Jack Hunter, huh? What a name. Sounds like the kind of name a pretentious asshole on Wall Street would have. But, uh, he saved Mom. When I couldn’t. So I guess he’s more of a really remarkable not-asshole.”
The door opens and a doctor comes in. He smiles at me, and checks the monitors.
“Good to see you awake, Isis. Are you feeling up for some cognition tests?”
“Do I get an unbearably bright light shined in my eye?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome.”
“Doctor,” Wren says, and pulls the doctor away by the elbow. They whisper in the corner.
“Hey, I am right here! That is kind of really rude!” I shout. They ignore me and keep talking. I huff and put my arms over my chest and look out the door.
There, in the doorway, is a hot pretty-boy. I say that with equal parts disgust and admiration, one, because pretty boys are usually insufferable, and two, because he’s so good looking even someone like me who dislikes pretty boys has to admit he’s hot. He’s tall; six two? Six three? He’s lanky, not built, but the barest muscle definition stands out under his black shirt and jeans. His bone structure is something out of a Roman pantheon, but his nose is perfectly straight and his lips softer-looking. His hair is golden-brown, cut to barely grace his narrow, ice water eyes that pierce right into me. Even if they’re cold and unreachable, I can see dark shades of sorrow in them.
We stare like that at each other for a good four seconds before I yell;
“Okay, I know you want me all to get better, but ordering a stripper is going too far!”
The guy, instead of getting offended, smirks. The sorrow in his eyes softens minutely, and he walks in. Wren looks up from his place in the corner, and he rushes over to the guy.
“Jack, there’s something you need to know –”
Jack pushes past him and offers me a black rose.
“I figured you’d hate flowers, so I decided to get one that matched your soul,” He says. I take the flower, careful not to touch any of his long fingers.
“Gee, thanks.” I smile. “You must be Jack. Nice to meet you. Also, thanks for saving my butt. And my Mom’s butt. From what I hear you went pretty apeshit on the guy. Claps to you.”
I applaud. Jack’s smirk fades slowly. The doctor hurries over to my
bedside and checks the monitor, scribbling on a clipboard.
“Isis, we’re going to get you into the CAT scan for a few checkups. You’ll need to drink something, so let me get that for you. Sit tight.”
“Okay! Thanks, doc.” I wave at him as he scurries out. Wren is pushing Jack gradually away from my bed.
“Jack,” He says with a desperate kind of urgency. “Jack, they’re going to find out what’s wrong, okay? They have to do tests; he said it’s probably not permanent –”
“Isis,” Jack says over Wren’s head. I look up.
“Yeah?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what? Being so sexy? I know, it’s hard, but I just can’t –”
“Stop it,” He growls. “You know me.”
“Uh, yes? We met like, thirty seconds ago,” I chuckle. “So I guess, yeah, technically I know you.”
“You’re lying,” He snarls.
“Lying about what?” I frown. “Look, buddy, I’m grateful for what you did, but calling a hospitalized girl a liar is going a little far, don’t you think?”
Jack’s eyes go wide. His fists clench. Wren pushes him back father.
“Please, Jack, just go home. I’ll call you when they do the tests, okay?” He whispers.
“You’re lying! You’re still mad at me so you’re lying to see me squirm!” Jack shouts. Male nurses walk over to my door to see what the commotion is about.
“I’m not lying! I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” I yell back. My head throbs with a fresh wave of pain and I clutch it, wincing. “Can someone just get him out of here? He’s hurting my head.”
Jack’s face goes slack, all emotion draining from it in a split second.
“Sir, if you’d come with us,” one of the male nurses says.
“I’ll be here with her. I’ll call you if anything changes, so please, please just -” Wren assures him.
“Isis,” Jack says softly. I look over at him.
“What?”
“Do you remember me?”
“Uh, no, I was sort of knocked out when you came in and saved us. Sorry. But, you know. I’m awake now. We can get to know each other. I can buy you a puppy or something. You deserve it, for helping a total stranger.”
Jack doesn’t blink. He stares, the sadness back in his eyes. Sorrow clogs them, makes them dark and heavy. And then he’s gone.
He doesn’t come back.
The doctors do their tests. Mom sees me awake for the first time and collapses, sobbing, her arms wrapped around me for hours, apologizing. We fall asleep like that. Wren stays around me the most, and Kayla does, too. She thinks it’s weird I don’t remember Jack, but I keep telling her I wasn’t even awake when he came in the house. She doesn’t get it, though. Avery doesn’t visit as much, either. She comes maybe twice. The first time I pretend to be sleeping. She stays for only a few minutes, sitting in a chair and watching TV with me. The second time I open my eyes and start to talk, and she darts out of the room.
The doctors prescribe me medicine, and physical therapy. I do treadmill twice a day and some lady comes in and talks to me about what happened in the house, but I don’t want to talk about it. Mom says I should but I hate shrinks and she says she knows, but that it will help heal me. But I’m not broken! I’m just cracked! Down the middle. On my skull. It’s healing pretty well, but the doctors keep me for observation and recuperation, whatever that means.
One day, I take my lunch tray and eat in the second floor lobby. There’s a balcony that opens up to fresh air and a few plastic tables. The city thrums around me, the sky overcast and the wind chilly but refreshing. I poke at my jello and chicken patty and try unsuccessfully for the millionth time this month not to die from boredom and or terrible reconstituted astronaut-grade protein.
“Hi there,” A girl’s voice comes from behind me. I turn. A pretty, short girl with pale blonde, platinum hair smiles at me. Her skin is milk-white, and her eyes are a steely, dark blue. She’s thin, wearing a sweater and a flowery skirt. But there’s a hospital band around her wrist. She looks so delicate, like a white dandelion, or a beautiful spirit.
“Hey,” I say. “Nice day.”
Her button nose wrinkles as she smiles. “Yeah, but if it rains again I’m going to lose my mind.”
“I hear ya,” I stab my patty and motion at it. “You can sit, if you want. Watch me eat space-chicken.”
She laughs, the sound melodious and sweet. She settles across from me and picks at a dead leaf on the table. I offer her my apple, and she takes it gratefully but doesn’t eat it.
“I’m Isis,” I say. “What’s your name?”
She smiles, the weak sun catching her hair and making it shine white-gold.
“Sophia.”
Acknowledgments
~To the reader; Yes, you. You’ve just finished reading a piece of my heart. Keep it safe, will you? Thank you.
~To Laura, Sarah, the LBs – you are the stars in the sky that light my way.
~To Katie Ashley, Emily Snow, Michelle Valentine, and all the other wonderful authors-friends I’ve made in the romance indie community along the way – thank you. You have been nothing but kind and loving, and I can only hope to show you the same love and support.
~To the community, reviewers, book bloggers, goodreads librarians – I’ve never in my life felt more accepted and appreciated. You are a wonderful group of people, with wonderful hearts. You are each a part of this story. You help it become real. Thank you so, so much.
About the Author
Sara Wolf is the author of LOVELY VICIOUS, a dark Young Adult about the war between a fiery girl and an icy boy, both equally damaged. She’s currently working on the next book in the LOVELY VICIOUS series. Her other books include the ARRANGED series – two books about a college-aged arranged marriage, and it’s novella. She’s addicted to the Vampire Diaries, loves chocolate and romantic angst, and can’t get enough of damaged heroes. For additional books, news, teasers, and giveaways, visit her at sarawolfbooks.blogspot.com or facebook.com/sara.wolf.3304