by Jo Raven
She’s sweet, but a part of me is sad it’s not Micah asking me, concerned about me.
He’ll text, I tell myself. Micah cares for me. He isn’t a one-stand kind of guy. We shared more than just sex. Mind-blowing sex. Still. He cares.
Right?
Work takes my mind off things for a while. Around midday I check my phone and still nothing. Disappointment threatens to drown me. Bad things happen in clusters, and this day is going to hell.
But I refuse to let it end like this. I need to act, work for my happiness. With trembling fingers I text Micah.
‘Miss you.’ There. Short and sweet.
And he never replies.
I swallow past the thickness in my throat. Not you too, Micah. Not today. Please don’t decide to leave me today.
‘I need to talk to you.’ I send the message off and wait.
He doesn’t text back.
“What’s going on? Is it Micah?” Cassie asks.
I don’t answer. Maybe he just didn’t see my text. So I call him.
His phone rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. Bowing my head, I push the cell back into my pants pocket.
There must be an explanation. Maybe he left home and forgot his cell. Maybe his battery ran out. Maybe he’s busy with something, and he’ll call me back later.
Time passes. Cassie sends me concerned looks as I bang the shoes on their stands and rip the tape off boxes with unnecessary force. I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to see the pity in her eyes.
Before I leave work in the afternoon, she approaches me and slips a piece of paper into my hand. “This is Kayla’s number, the friend I told you about who’s looking for a roommate. Give her a call, she’s really nice.”
“Thanks.” I do my best to smile, and Cassie smiles back.
“If there’s anything you need…”
I nod. “I know. Thank you.”
Micah told me the same when we first met. Did he mean it?
***
My way to Joel’s apartment doesn’t take me past the donut shop and Damage Control, but I deviate. Somehow my feet take me down my usual path, and I find myself standing across from the tattoo shop. I don’t know why I thought I’d find Micah standing outside like I did almost every day in the past weeks.
After a small hesitation, I cross the street and push on the door.
It’s locked. The shop is closed.
Frowning, I take a step back, a bad feeling knotting up my stomach. What’s going on? It’s just a weekday like any other. I call Micah’s number again, and again, he doesn’t answer.
The bad feeling intensifies.
Movement inside the shop catches my eye, and I step to the glass door once more. I rap on it with my knuckles and press my face to the pane to see.
Two guys are sitting in the reception area of the store, in those ugly orange armchairs I noticed the one time I went in. One of them has short spiky hair and the other is blond with long purple bangs falling in his eyes. He’s saying something, shaking a fist in the air, when he notices me and narrows his eyes. He shakes his head at me and gestures that the shop is closed.
I rap harder on the door, rattling it. When that doesn’t work, I fish into my bag for pen and paper, write Micah’s name in big bold letters and press it to the glass, then rap again.
Come on, guys.
This time the man’s brows lift, and he comes to open the door. “Micah isn’t here,” he says without preamble. The other guy is staring at me from his perch on the orange chair.
“Where is he? He didn’t answer his phone all day.”
“And who are you?” He gives me a suspicious look.
“I’m Evangeline. And I…” What? I’m not his girlfriend, or even his friend. “I’m worried about him. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s…” He glances back, exchanges a long look with the other guy. “He’s at the hospital.”
“What? You just said he’s fine.” My heart is banging in my chest, trying to break through my ribs. That cough… I knew it wasn’t good. “Is he sick?”
“Hey, calm down.” The other guy approaches us, hands held out. “I’m Asher. I heard about you.”
The guy whose mother I’m going to meet—but who cares right now? I want to shake him until he tells me what’s wrong with Micah.
“Micah’s okay,” Asher goes on. “He’s only visiting. It’s Seth the one who’s in trouble.”
“What happened?” I lean on the door frame, my legs wobbly. Even though they say Micah’s okay, I need to see it for myself. “Where is he?”
“Seth was jumped this morning when he stepped out for coffee. He was dragged into an alley and beaten to hell.” Asher’s mouth twists in a grimace. “He’s in the ER. He’s conscious, and doctors say he’ll pull through just fine.”
Ice spreads inside me. “Jumped? Who jumped him?”
Asher shrugs. “He didn’t get a good look at their faces. Two guys, he says. Assholes wore masks. Didn’t steal his money or anything. Somehow they just wanted to beat the shit out of him.”
Blake? Is it him or just a coincidence? Doubt, doubt. “Did they tell him anything?”
“You sound like you know something,” the guy with the long bangs mutters. “If you do…”
I shake my head. “Which hospital?”
“The university hospital. He was in the ER, but it seems he won’t be needing surgery, so he’s being transferred to a ward.”
“Thanks.” I’m already turning away. “I’m on my way there.”
Chapter Eleven
Micah
I sit at the hospital cafeteria, an empty plastic cup at my elbow, and the remains of my cell phone spread in front of me. This cell is done for. I was hoping it was just the casing that broke, but no, it’s been literally smashed to bits, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to come back to life any time soon.
Fuck. Like I need more shit dumped on me. Ev’s number is in there, and I can’t get hold of it. It’s killing me. Everything’s killing me today.
Goddammit, Seth. My hands shake, and I shove them through my hair. Can’t believe how god-awful he looked, white as a sheet, face and body bruised and bleeding. Can’t believe this happened. I thought this crap was over. I thought the violence was gone from my life. Now all I see flashing through my mind is images from the past, bloodied faces, sneering mouths, raised fists.
Stop it. I tug on my hair to stop the obsessive thinking. This is life. You’re never safe. It’s never over. Get over it.
Hell, I want to punch something. I need to move. I push my chair back and lean on the table to stand.
Someone is walking toward me, a small, slight figure. I blink dazedly.
“Ev?” I whisper.
Without a word, she comes to me and tilts her face up. Fear and concern darken her gaze.
She’s here. I grab her in my arms, wrap myself around her, inhale her scent and the howl that threatens to tear up my throat emerges as a moan. “Ev.”
Slender arms curl around me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I have to clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“And Seth?”
“He’s beaten to hell, but he’ll survive.” Saying the words out loud makes them more real, and I sag against her. “He’ll survive.”
“Your phone,” she says, pulling away and glancing at the table. “What happened?”
I drag her back to me. Can’t bear to be away another second. “I threw it against the wall. The wall won.”
She snorts and lets me hold her. Her hands trace soothing circles on my back, and my heart finally stops its mad pounding.
“Micah…” Her hesitant voice makes me look at her, really look. The fear is still there. Why?
“Tell me. What is it?”
“Did Seth say anything else about his attackers?”
“No. What is it, Ev?”
“Nothing. I…” She takes a step back. “I just wanted to check on you. But you’re fine, so I’ll
just go now.”
A buzzing starts inside my head. “You need to go back home?”
She shakes her head.
“Don’t you want to see Seth?”
“No. Not a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because. I shouldn’t have talked to him in the first place.”
Again this? Ice grips my spine. It’s anger, I realize. Stone-cold anger, the worst kind. “Why the hell not?”
She flinches but stays her ground. “He was on the streets, and I shouldn’t—”
“Tell me right now, what’s wrong with people who’ve been homeless? You think you’re better than them?”
She takes several steps back, her face paling. “Please, don’t do this,” she whispers.
“Do what?” I follow, towering over her. The buzzing fills my ears. I feel as if my skull will explode from the pressure. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Why do you take it personally? I didn’t do anything to upset you—”
“Get out,” I hear myself say. “Just go.”
Her eyes shimmer, and for a moment I think she’ll cry, but then she lifts her chin and leaves, threading through the chairs and tables.
I groan and sink into a chair. There’s a pain in my chest I don’t understand. I rub my hand over my heart.
What the fuck just happened?
***
“He’s gonna be just fine,” the doctor says as we stand around Seth’s narrow bed in the ward. “We’ll monitor him tonight and expect to release him tomorrow.”
Zane is lounging against the wall, chewing on a toothpick. “Hear that, buddy? You’re gonna be pissing blood for a while, but otherwise you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
Seth grunts from the bed. He looks like hell. Two black eyes, his nose broken and bandaged, stitches on his swollen jaw and a sling for his dislocated shoulder. Nothing they can do for the cracked ribs.
Anger flares inside me, burning hot. He’s lucky he got off without a concussion or damaged organs.
Shane is sitting on the bed, his long hair loose on his back. He hasn’t spoken a word since his cousin was brought in and patched up. Sometimes I really worry about that guy.
The doctor leaves and quiet settles in the room.
“Don’t worry, Seth, they didn’t mess up your pretty face too much,” Jesse says and grins. “Guess I should go, let you rest. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I should go, too,” Ocean says, raking a hand through his blue hair. “Gotta open Damage, see if I can salvage any of the appointments.”
“Coming with you,” Zane mutters. “Call us if you need us.”
I watch them go. I know I should follow—I’m not an apprentice like Jesse, Shane and Seth. The shop needs me—but I can’t, not yet.
“You sure you didn’t see their faces or any other clue?” Jesse asks again, and I wait for Seth to grunt again and glare. After all, we’ve asked this question like ten thousand times already.
But instead he does something weird. His dark eyes flick to me, and his forehead creases. “Micah,” he rasps, “why don’t you go? I’ll be fine here with the guys.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“Seriously. Just go.”
The alarm bells are back in my head, deafening. Seth and I aren’t best friends, but we live in the same apartment, and we look out for each other. Always have. Until now. “I’m good.”
He closes his eyes for a second, looking exhausted. Does he really want me to go? Is he hiding something from me?
Dammit, I don’t need more bad shit today. “Spit it out, Seth. I’m not in the mood for games.”
“And you think I am?” He opens his eyes but doesn’t look at me.
“You know something. Who beat you up?” I stand at the foot of the bed, scowling at him.
He sighs. “Promise that you—any of you—won’t go on a rampage to avenge me or some such shit. I’m alive, and I’m fine. Promise me.”
I exchange a look with Jesse. Shane isn’t meeting my gaze. Fuck this.
“Who was it, Seth?” I fold my arms over my chest.
He scowls back, obviously not missing the fact we didn’t promise him anything.
We wait him out. I can see he needs to talk about it in the way his hands clench and unclench on the bed. But I don’t expect what he says, not one bit.
“Evangeline.” Seth breathes out slowly.
“What did you say?” I must be going mad. That’s not her name he spoke. Or maybe it’s another Evangeline. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“After they beat me up,” Seth says, “they told me, ‘this is from Blake. This is for Evangeline.’ And they laughed.”
The world goes gray for a second. “Are you sure?” I ask and my voice sounds hollow and thin in my ears. “Are you sure they said that?”
“I’m sure,” Seth says, and that’s it.
I’m gonna fucking lose it. This Blake had people beat up Seth for Ev, my Ev? Because she was afraid of Seth?
“Micah…” Seth’s voice seems distant.
Blake. Her ex-boyfriend. Or maybe not so ex?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I realize I’ve been backtracking when I hit the wall. This can’t be happening. Ev was the one person I believed in. This is my fault. I chose to ignore the clues, thought she’d explain her fears. That she’d be honest with me.
Oh God, not Ev. Not this.
I distantly hear someone calling my name. Seth. Or Jesse.
Not now. Can’t deal. I open the door and stagger out. I’ve no idea where I’m going or what I’m gonna do.
And it doesn’t matter one fucking bit.
***
I walk the streets like a ghost. I pass through my usual haunts, and I hear people greet me, but I have no voice left in me. No coherent thought.
Ev.
Could I be wrong? Could there be a misunderstanding? Didn’t she say she was scared of her ex-boyfriend? Was that a lie?
Or was it the truth? Am I missing something, a big fat clue staring me in the face?
I finally end up at Damage, and Zane gives me a wary look from his booth as I enter, half-frozen and numb. He talks to me, but I can’t make out the words.
I grab my tools and turn to look at the reception desk, trying to remember what I’m supposed to be doing here—then Zane takes my arm and shoves me out of the shop.
“Go home,” he says, sounding as tired as I feel. “Get your head straight. No inking when you’re lost inside your mind, fucker.”
Maybe he’s right, but I could have used the distraction. So instead I walk more. I walk and walk, trying to feel something, anything. Even my anger has leeched away, leaving behind an aching cold.
Don’t trust anyone. Don’t believe things will turn out all right. Don’t expect anything. Not if you want to survive and remain sane.
Night has fallen, thick and heavy. The air smells of rain, and then it comes, pelting down, drenching me to the bone, and still I barely feel it. The wet only adds to the cold inside, filling me up with nothingness until I’m close to bursting. Like a balloon. Like a soap bubble.
This doesn’t feel real. I’m not really here. I don’t know where I am.
I glance around and try to orient myself. The rain is like a great plastic curtain, blurring the streets and buildings. I think I’m not far from home, and I force my steps that way. A wind whips down the street. My teeth are chattering. A coughing fit grips my chest, and I bend over, hacking.
“Micah?” a woman calls. “Micah!”
Goddammit, I’ve really gone around the bend. I’m hearing voices. She really sounds like…
Ev. I straighten. She’s hurrying over to me, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes luminous in the faint light from the lamppost overhead.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice hoarse and my head throbbing.
“I need to talk to you.”
I want to yell at her, shove her away—but her face is so sad I just can’t. Bes
ides, I don’t feel the anger. The cold has filled me from side to side.
She seems to sense something is off because she tilts her head to the side and studies me for a long moment. A frown creases her brow, and she reaches for me. Her fingers close around my bicep.
“I reported him,” she says. “To the police. Not sure what they can do, but maybe if Seth can testify… Maybe they can get him.”
I stare at her, uncomprehending. I lift a hand to her face, and it’s shaking like an old man’s. My nails are a deep shade of blue. Pretty color.
“Shit, you’re freezing,” she hisses, and it’s funny that she cusses like this. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her cuss.
I chuckle and brush my hand over her smooth cheek. She flinches, and my grin falls.
“Micah.” She takes my hand and her touch burns. “You’re ice-cold. Let’s get you inside.”
“Gonna save me again?” I whisper.
She doesn’t reply. Maybe she hasn’t heard. She’s tugging on my hand toward what I realize is my building. It was closer than I thought.
I dig in my pockets for my keys, then fumble with the building door and drop them. Ev grabs them and opens. The air in the lobby feels unbearable warm. I let her pull me up the stairs, let her open the apartment and drag me inside.
I drop onto the couch as she buzzes around, turning on the heater and bringing me a towel from the bathroom. When it drops from my hand, and I can’t find the energy to lift it, she takes it and climbs next to me to dry my face and hair.
“You should be careful,” she says quietly as she puts the towel aside and brushes her warm hands over my face. “You have this nasty cough, and it could get worse if you don’t get it checked out.”
“I’m okay,” I say, a bit dazed and already reaching for her. I need her. I know I should be angry with her, but right now I can’t remember why, and I need her like I need air to breathe.
“There was this man…” She pauses with her hands on my cheeks. The contact burns, but I don’t care. I want her touch. Need it. “A young man living on the streets. I met him only a few times. And the last time I saw him he was so sick… Pneumonia, I guess. I think he was dying. So I called an ambulance. I was going to go with him to the hospital, make sure he got through it. But a bike ran me over before the ambulance arrived. I broke my leg, and it was all hazy for a while.”