Dirty Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

  Wes dropped me at my front door and went to park around the corner. I let myself in and punched in the code for the alarm. The beeping turned shrill and the whole thing went haywire. I mumbled a few words I was glad no one was around to hear and then punched in a different set of numbers. It beeped once more and then fell silent. My mother had reset the password after Julie … anyway, I kept forgetting and setting it off.

  I went straight to my bathroom and turned on the shower. I cranked the water as hot as I could stand it and then leaned my head against the cold tile while the steam filled the space around me. Slowly, I felt my muscles begin to relax and loosen under the constant stream. I was enjoying the perks of a quickly healing body on days like this. Unfortunately, I was apparently so far out of shape that every new training session left me just as sore as the last, and my muscles couldn’t keep up. Still, the soreness faded faster than it should.

  The only wound that seemed to be healing at a normal human rate was the bite on my arm. I was careful to hold that arm out of the stream of water. The stitches would be ruined if they got wet. At least the oozing had stopped, thanks to the strange homemade salve Jack had given me. And it didn’t ache nearly as bad anymore. Fee had said to keep applying the medicine and once the stitches fell out, the healing would speed up and close the wound, just like every other scratch on my body. In the meantime, I was careful to wear long sleeves.

  When the hot water began to run cold, I finally shut off the knob and climbed out. I pulled on sweatpants and a long-sleeved Cat in the Hat pajama shirt. I opened the bathroom door to clear the steam off my mirror and ran a comb through my hair. When I was done, I heard my desk chair squeak. I walked out and found Wes at the computer, playing solitaire.

  “Hey,” I said, crossing to my bed and sinking onto it, carefully. My muscles weren’t screaming quite as loudly now, but there was a collective exhale throughout my body as I sank onto the soft mattress.

  “Hey.” He glanced over and then went back to his game.

  I sat there for a minute, feeling awkward in the silence. I pulled my phone out and scrolled through the names. The need for someone to talk to was something I was struggling with. I still felt torn about approaching my mom, knowing it could quite possibly do a lot more harm than good.

  She’d finally cornered me early this morning and demanded to know what was going on. She’d used words like distracted and absent and preoccupied. I’d somehow managed to ease her concerns by telling her I was stressing about life stuff, like the breakup with George, and college, and normal teenage dilemmas. I think she bought it. For now.

  And telling Sam or even Angela about any of it was not an option. Mostly, I just didn’t want to put that kind of stress on the people I cared about. It wasn’t fair to them. But the one person I wanted to talk to, the one person who understood everything that was going on, had no interest in speaking to me apparently. At least not about anything that mattered.

  My phone rang in my hand. George. I still hadn’t seen him or talked to him since his attack, and my concern won out. I decided to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Tay, what’s up?” He sounded like himself, maybe a little tired.

  “How are you? Your mom called me about what happened.” I felt Wes’s eyes on me, but I stared down at the floor and focused on George’s response.

  “I’m okay. It wasn’t as bad as she made it sound, I’m sure,” he said.

  In the background, I heard his mother say, “Eighteen stitches isn’t bad?”

  “George, that’s a lot of stitches,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m good. Just been takin’ it easy. Mom said I can go back to school tomorrow, though.” There was a pause and then he said, “What’s been up with you?”

  “Not much, um, busy with … helping my mom out at the store.” A pang of guilt shot through me at the lie. Partly because it was George, and there was a time not so long ago that I’d never had to lie, and partly because I just really wanted to talk to someone right now.

  He didn’t press me for more detail, which meant he believed me. He cleared his throat, and I sensed a change in conversation coming. “So, are you going to the dance tonight?”

  “I don’t think so. I forgot about it.”

  “Do you want to go? I mean, you’d have to pick me up, but we could go together. Just as friends,” he added, before I could answer.

  “George …”

  “We can be friends, Tay.”

  “I know. I just have a lot going on right now, at home. Things are stressful,” I said. Wes was looking at me again, I could feel it.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” George asked, in a soft voice.

  I hesitated. “Do you ever feel like you’ve been waiting your entire life for a specific moment when it’ll all make sense?” He didn’t answer. “Or like you’re right on the edge of it all making sense, but you know you don’t have all the pieces yet?” Wes’s gaze was like pointed arrows.

  “Tara, what’s going on?” he asked. George’s tone was worried.

  I sighed. This wasn’t going to work. No way could I tell him. He wouldn’t even believe me if I did. “Nothing, never mind,” I muttered. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll see you at school.” I stole a glance and saw that Wes had gone back to his computer game. Obviously, all he’d cared about was making sure I keep the secret.

  I hung up before George could argue and stared down at my phone. I continued to scroll through my list of contacts, knowing without looking that no one on that list was a realistic choice. I sighed and tossed my phone aside, rolling onto my stomach to stare out the window.

  “Can we talk?” I asked, hesitantly, a few minutes later. Wes turned to face me. He gave me a look that said he’d rather not, but he waited without protesting. “Look, I don’t know what happened the other day, or why you’ve stopped talking to me, but it’s getting old.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged.

  “Okay? That’s it. You’re not going to offer any kind of explanation?”

  “No.”

  I bit my lip, trying to push down on my irritation. “I just want to make sure we’re good. I don’t want to be fighting with you when we should be fighting Leo.”

  Something in his eyes flickered when I mentioned the name and his expression softened. “I know,” he said. “We’re not fighting. I just have a lot on my mind right now and I think it’s best if we keep things … professional.”

  “Professional,” I repeated, raising my eyebrows.

  He nodded.

  My eyes narrowed, and even though I was trying to stay calm, I could feel my temper getting the better of me. “So that’s how you’re going to play it? We need to be professional? Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? I mean, I don’t know what I did to change your mind, but at least don’t act like there was never anything going on.”

  My voice had risen a few octaves by the last part, but I didn’t care. The whole situation was grating on me, and I was sick of trying to always smooth things over or decode his mysteriousness. He stared back at me but didn’t answer, which only made me more frustrated. To my horror, tears gathered in my eyes, and I blinked them back, hoping he didn’t notice. I knew they were angry tears but still ... I blinked harder, but my eyes only became more watery, until his face blurred out of focus. I turned away, flopping over on my bed, hoping he’d take it as my temper and just go back to his computer game.

  “Tara.” Wes’s voice had gone quiet, and I realized with a sinking feeling he must’ve noticed the tears.

  “I’m done,” I said, careful to keep any emotion out of my voice.

  I heard the chair creak, and then the mattress sank a little behind me as he sat down. “Tara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he said.

  “Stop. Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” He looked genuinely confused, which actually made it worse.

  “Be nice. You always d
o that when I finally get fed up and lose it over you being cold or distant or I realize you’re keeping something from me. Between your mood swings and this stupid magnet thing between us, I can’t keep up. I’m done.”

  “Tara, I’m sorry—”

  I blinked a few more times, finally clearing my vision, and then whirled to look at him. “I said, I’m done. You don’t have to apologize. You just have to leave me alone. You can get someone else to guard me, or I can handle it on my own. But with you, with this, I’m finished. Please. Leave.”

  I jumped up from my bed without waiting for a response, and stalked out of the room and down the stairs. I found my bag near the front door and pulled the Draven out and took it into the living room, opening it to a random page and settling on the couch. I stared at the words, but I had no idea what page I was on, or even what 1

  My chest felt heavy and tight; saying the words, telling him to leave, had actually been painful. The thought of removing him from my life left me breathless with a panic that overrode anything Leo could do to me. But I just couldn’t take the back and forth anymore. Or the cryptic answers or the lies. He obviously didn’t feel the same way about me, anyway, based on his hot and cold—lately, mostly cold—attitude toward me. Then there was the whole magnet issue; what if that was the only reason I felt something for him? What if it was science, based on some physiological response and not real outside of how our cells were programmed? Thinking about that only made me mad again. Being mad was easier; it lessened the ache in my chest.

  I waited, but I didn’t hear any noises from upstairs. Several minutes passed and still, silence. My curiosity got the better of me, and I set the book aside and crept back to the front entryway, peeking up the staircase. Nothing. I padded quietly up the stairs and peeked into my bedroom. There was Wes, playing solitaire at the computer. Anger speared through me. I couldn’t believe he’d just gone back to his game, like nothing had happened, like I hadn’t just told him to get out of my house.

  He didn’t want to leave? That was fine. I would.

  I crept back down to the first floor. I went straight to the laundry room and shut the door behind me. It took me a minute, but I managed to find my black skirt—still in the to-be-washed pile—and brought it up to my face. It didn’t smell terrible; it would have to do. I found an off-the-shoulder blouse to go with it, luckily clean, and changed quickly. The only shoes I had downstairs were my ballet flats so I slipped those on and then used my fingers to try and arrange my hair into something that resembled combed in the bathroom mirror. The whole time, I kept glancing toward the stairs or the ceiling, but I still hadn’t heard a single noise, and every moment that passed made me more determined to get out of here.

  I grabbed my bag and coat and slipped out the sunroom door. There’d be no way to lock the house this way, but I wasn’t worried about it. The kind of people that wanted in wouldn’t be deterred by a lock, anyway. Wes was proof of that.

  I was afraid the sound of my car’s engine would alert Wes so the only advantage I had was time. If I could get out of the neighborhood before he got to his car, I had a chance of getting away before he saw which direction I went. So I blew out a breath and turned the key in the ignition, hitting the gas and throwing it into reverse at the same time. The car lurched backward, throwing me forward a little, and then back again as I hit the brakes. I slammed it into gear, stomped the pedal, and took off. I didn’t glance back to see if Wes had come out yet. Instead, I concentrated on getting out of the neighborhood and onto a side road as fast as I could.

  I felt like a getaway driver in some crime, the way I weaved around corners and turned this way and that, speeding down back roads and side roads and trying to lose a tail. Somehow, though, it must’ve worked because the Aston Martin did not appear in my rearview.

  About twenty minutes into my aimless maze of turns, I ended up in front of my high school. Cars filled the parking spaces in the student lot and I remembered the dance. I checked the clock. It was pretty early still. Maybe I could find Sam or Angela and hang with them. And going stag wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I hesitated briefly as I realized George would probably be in there, too, and ready to pounce the moment I walked in. But, right now, I don’t think I’d mind so much. It would feel normal, and right now, normal would be nice. Besides, this part of my life seemed to somehow be fading away as my new Hunter life took over, and I was willing to deal with George if it meant getting my old life back, in some small way.

  I parked my car in an open space near the back, hoping it would blend in, if Wes somehow got the idea to look for me here. Which, hopefully, he wouldn’t. I used my emergency makeup kit I kept in the glove box to smooth over some of the redness in my cheeks, leftover from my temper and the chilly air, and again did what I could to smooth my almost-dry hair into looking like I’d actually brushed it. Then, I headed inside.

  Just like any other high school dance, the theme was “crepe paper in the gym,” so it was hard to be impressed. The smell of sweat and rubber soles still hung in the air from earlier in the day. But it was dark and someone had strung colored LED lanterns on a couple walls, so everything glowed a little, which at least made it harder to notice the dirty floors. On the dance floor, couples swayed to a cover band version of Taylor Swift’s “Love Song.” I recognized Sam the quickest, since her dress was by far the shortest, and she was surrounded by at least three guys who looked to be hanging on her every word. I rubbed my arms against a tiny chill and headed that way.

  “Tara,” she called, when she saw me. “You came.” Her smile faltered a little when she saw my plain black skirt and eighties-throwback blouse, but she stepped away from her group of followers to talk to me. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  I shrugged. “Plans changed.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did something happen between you and that yummy-looking guy? Do we hate him now?”

  “No, nothing happened,” I said, putting emphasis on the nothing part.

  Sam gave me an understanding look, still frowning. “Well, he’s an idiot. Do you want me to have Eddie pay him a visit?” she asked, gesturing to the stockier of the boys still waiting for her to return.

  “No, I’m good,” I said, smiling a little. “Have you seen Angela?”

  “She was dancing with what’s-his-name earlier, but I haven’t seen her since then.”

  “Well, I’m going to wander around and try to find her. I’ll let you get back.” I gestured to her groupies and she grinned.

  “Duty calls.”

  I made my way through the crowd hovering near the food tables and decided to stick close to the wall, to scan the room easier. I went half the length of the gym without spotting her and sat down on the edge of the bleachers to wait, trying to decide if I should just leave. I’d seen several of my classmates but no one seemed interested in stopping to chat. Maybe coming alone made me look pathetic. Everyone just smiled politely and kept walking.

  A high-pitched giggle floated by and I turned towards it in disgust. I knew that laugh anywhere and I was not in the mood today. I expected to find Cindy standing there but when I looked, the space beside me was empty. It took another giggle before I realized it was coming through the bleachers, behind me. Cindy must be back there with someone who didn’t mind the threat of a good ol’ STD. Gross.

  I stood up to leave, but the sound of another laugh stopped me. This one was deeper, definitely male, and all too familiar. I froze and then turned slowly toward the sound. I had to bend down to peek through the slats in the bleachers to see them. It was darker and harder to make out faces all the way against the far wall, but there they were: Cindy Adams locking lips—and other body parts—with George.

  Apparently, his wounds were healing nicely, thanks to all the attention her hands were giving his body.

  I watched them in shock, disgusted but unable to look away since I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Cindy had her back to me, and her lips were stuck to George’s so ha
rd, it looked like she might be suctioning the life out of him. She pulled back, smiling and giggling a little. That was when George noticed me. His eyes widened and he pushed on Cindy’s shoulders, trying to get a better look at me. I was surprised by the amount of pain I felt as his frozen expression transformed to one of instant regret.

  Over these past few weeks, I’d missed our friendship, but other than that, it felt like my feelings for him had faded. I realized, though they might have diminished, those feelings weren’t completely gone. The wrenching pain of betrayal washed over me. It must’ve shown in my face because George’s expression softened; next to him, Cindy’s eyes glinted with an evil satisfaction as she finally figured out what was happening. That was it. Time to get out of here.

  I kept my eyes down, dodging dress shoes and hem lines. I heard George call my name once, but it was faint and it didn’t come again. I made it to the parking lot without knocking anyone over and then ran for my car. The tears didn’t start until I was safely inside but as soon as I’d shut the door, they welled up and overflowed onto my cheeks and all I could do was let them come.