No Saint

by Jo Raven

  Dad harrumphs, stuffing his mouth with his burger, his eyes amused as I wrestle Josh for the remote and manage to wrench it from his hand with a triumphant squeal.

  “We’ll watch Thor Ragnarok.”

  “No, Luna, we said we’d watch Captain America!”

  “No. Right, dad? We said we’d watch Ragnarok because it was so funny.”

  “Gimme the remote!”

  “Uh-uh! Come and get it!” Laughing, I lift it out of his reach, and laugh harder when he tugs on my arm to bring it down.

  “Loon, stop bullying me!” he wails.

  Time stops.

  I freeze.

  “What did you say?” I manage.

  “Josh.” Dad puts his burger down, his brows drawn together in a dark frown. “Apologize to your sister right this instant.”

  “Dad...” I shake my head at him, not sure what I want to say. That word, that one word has stopped my mind.

  Bullying.

  “I didn’t mean anything.” Josh shoots me a wide-eyed look that he still manages to make accusing. “You just... you weren’t here all this time, you can’t just come back and... and take over again.”

  Take over?

  Is that what I’m doing? Is that... am I like Ross? Intimidating Josh, forcing him to do what I want? My heart is pounding too hard in my chest. I feel sick.

  Dumping my burger and fries on the table, I get up. “Excuse me.”

  “Luna... wait.” Dad starts after me. “He didn’t mean anything. Tell her, Josh. He wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m just going to make a phone call. Go ahead and start the movie.” It doesn’t sit well with me, to ruin their evening just because I freaked out.

  This is ridiculous, that I should react like this.

  It’s just a word, I tell myself as I race up the stairs to my room and close the door behind me, as I grab the phone to—what? Call who? Dena? My cousins? Aunt Emily? Just a word.

  Josh didn’t mean it. People use words wrong all the time, not realizing their power. Their real meaning. Their ability to hurt. Josh is still a kid. He doesn’t know any better.

  He’s a good kid.

  And I’m strong now. Stronger than ever before. Aunt Emily drilled this into me these past three years: I am enough. Good enough, beautiful enough, intelligent enough. Nobody can take that from me.

  So I take a deep breath, grip my phone so tightly the edges dig into my palm and return to the living room, take my seat between Josh and dad.

  Grab my food.

  Try on a smile.

  “Hey...” My brother fixes me with sad puppy eyes. “I’m sorry, Luna. I really am. Didn’t mean it.”

  “I know, squirt. I know.”

  Josh is not my enemy. My family has always stood by me, even if Josh has always been in his own world, most of the time. Better for him.

  And who is my enemy? Ross? Myself?

  Where is the line between bullying and teasing, between being mean and actually hurting someone?

  This is too complicated. Not even Aunt Emily could untangle it for me. I have to find out for myself, one step at a time...

  Chapter Six

  Ross

  My phone rings as I return my safety helmet and gloves, getting ready to leave work. I ignore it, focusing on getting the hell out of the goddamn construction site, before anyone corners me. These days, nowhere is it safe for the likes of me.

  How the mighty have fallen, right? Dad did well with his garage business, and I grew up with expensive clothes, shoes, a good phone, money to spend. On videogames, on booze. On bets and cards. Dad didn’t care. I had power in this small town, did whatever I wanted. Had everything I wished for.

  Everything, except what I really needed.

  Hey, it doesn’t matter. I fucked it all up, we all know that. Nothing new there. We know I’m a bastard, so let’s fast-forward.

  The phone is ringing, everyone’s giving me the stink-eye for, I dunno, breaking the sacred silence, owning a phone, breathing? All of that? So I hurry out to answer, knowing full well who it is. Who’s been calling and pestering me for days now.

  He won’t let up until I reply.

  Scowling, I trudge out of the gate and fish the phone out of my backpack. “What do you want?”

  “Hey, big brother,” Merc’s annoying, cheery voice comes down the line, a mosquito buzz. “What’s up? You’ve been avoiding my calls again, dude.”

  “What gave me away?”

  He laughs. “You’re killing me, Smalls. Everything okay down in Destiny?”

  “Living life on the edge,” I mutter. “You know how it is.”

  “Don’t I ever.”

  My lips quirk in spite of myself. Damn Merc. Octavia may have been the one who first sought me out, checking on me, but Mercury is the one who insists on keeping in contact. She thought she could save me, but soon gave up. And you know why? Because I hurt her when she tried, mocking her, taunting her. It’s a fucking wonder she doesn’t hate me—or maybe she does.

  “Ross, you there? Ross.”

  My smile fades. “Look, I gotta go.”

  “Come on, dude, don’t do that. You don’t answer your fucking phone for days, and now you won’t stay and talk for five secs. Be honest: does it bother you that someone cares whether you’re dead or alive, is that it?”

  Goddammit. “I’m still alive, so you can cool your fucking jets.”

  A pause at the other end. Maybe I finally touched a nerve, pissed Merc off enough to push him away. Guess it wouldn’t take much.

  The only time I understood Merc, I think, was when he beat the shit out of me and we both ended up in jail, years ago. That’s all we have in common, that one moment of violence, and now he thinks we bonded, that we’re best buddies, just because we share some DNA.

  Or maybe the night he witnessed my mom being murdered. Who knows? It’s a toss-up.

  I’m about to end the call, but something won’t let me. I feel like I’m sinking, and I’m holding a lifeline. Clutching the phone to my ear, I walk down the empty street, waiting for him to speak. A cool wind is blowing against me, sending leaves and dust into my face, so I lift an arm to protect my eyes. It smells of summer. It reminds me of when I was a kid, reminds me of Mom before she left.

  Before Dad killed her.

  “Ross, you still there?” he asks, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Ross?”

  “I’m here,” I say, and my voice is rough. “What is it? What do you want?”

  A snort that gets under my skin. “Just take care of yourself, tough guy, is all. And remember we’re here if you need anything.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I mean it. I always mean it.”

  I open my mouth to deliver another curse, another “fuck you” but nothing comes out. I’m stumped. Dunno what to say.

  Kind. He’s being kind, and I dunno what to do with that. How to deal with it, how to react. In my life, every kind word came with strings attached, with a punishment looming behind. Dad’s kindness always turned out to be manipulation and sarcasm.

  “Did you do your homework, son? You did? Damn, what a good boy. Are you even my son? Wanna be a good boy for your old man? I’m gonna rip up your essay, kid, just you watch. And you’re gonna turn around and lift up your shirt so I can let the belt sing your praises, how about that? And not a sound, do you hear me? That’s how you make your old man happy.”

  “Ross?” Merc’s voice, slicing through the memory like a knife. “Did you hear me?”

  I shiver, the scars on my back pulling and aching, and lick my dry lips. “Stop this.”

  “What? Listen—”

  “I’m an asshole, man. You know that. You damn well know it, first hand. Why don’t you just give up?”

  Another pause, and I itch for a smoke, for some booze. For this test to finish, to stop bringing back unwanted memories.

  “You’re family,” he says quietly. “Not giving up on you.”

 
“Well, you should,” I inform him, my breath short, and hang the fuck up.

  Fuck this. Merc and his high ideals. Fuck this shit.

  My family, he says. I have no fucking family. I dunno what he’s trying to do, what he wants me to do, goddammit. Why he won’t let up, day after day, call after call.

  And then I think of the girl, that girl I thought I saw around town and wonder why my mind won’t let up, either, why it’s stuck on something it knows isn’t possible, something I can’t have.

  On all the fucking regrets and sadness, the lost hopes and the guilt. All that goddamn guilt. All the fucking-up of people’s minds and lives, and I... I was turning into my dad. I see it, clear as day. I feel it. And all I want is for it to end.

  Is that why Merc keeps calling? Can he hear it in my voice? This resignation, this capitulation. The defeat.

  The end of the fight.

  ***

  The end of fighting, didn’t I decide that? Many times over, stewing in my dark thoughts in a prison cell, later in the hospital after my dad stabbed me. Told myself to give in. Give up. Just throw the fucking towel in.

  Still, when two guys step in my way once again as I head toward the river later that night, I balk and shove between them.

  “Fuck off,” I mutter. “Take your turn another time.”

  A hand grabs my shoulder and drags me back a step. I twist in his grip, already poised and ready to strike—the back and forth with my dad for most of my life has taught me a thing or two about fighting, because I’m a stubborn bastard and eventually refused to just let him beat on me whenever he was in his drinks—only to stop myself.

  Let out a breath.

  I know this guy. Ed. Edward. He used to trail along with my gang at school, hiding behind the others, calling out slurs from the security of the shadows. He liked to deliver the last kicks, the parting lines.

  “What do you want?” I ask, my voice tight.

  I don’t owe this guy anything, no penance, and besides that, I don’t think I can take more beating today. Even if it hadn’t been Ed... for what’s worth—not much of anything, I guess—I never physically hurt any kid in school.

  But since that’s not worth a dime, I wait to see what they expect from me.

  “Look,” is all he says, eyes trained at a spot behind me, so I glance over my shoulder, more annoyed and tired than curious.

  “What?”

  Another guy is up ahead. His brother Jonas, maybe?

  And as he turns, I see a girl. The other guy is blocking this girl’s way, a cocky smirk on his face, arms folded over his chest.

  “What’s this?” I mutter, getting angry. “What is he doing with her?”

  “I thought you’d like this.”

  “I don’t. And it’s none of my business.” I’m trying for calm, really fucking trying. “Now get your hands off me.”

  “Are you sure? Take a look, go on.” Ed nods at the guy and sure enough, he’s turned back to her and is advancing on her, trying to corner her, back her up against the fence of a garden. “This is what gets your rocks off, ain’t that right?”

  Goddammit.

  “Look, I haven’t seen anything. I was just passing through.” I jerk my arm free of his hold. “I’ll just be on my fucking way.”

  But then the girl looks right at me, catching my eye, and I stumble to a halt. A jolt goes through me, a lightning bolt of recognition, because I know her. I know that pretty face.

  The face I keep seeing around Destiny, the face I thought I’d imagined.

  Ah fuck.

  “Of course.” Ed spits at me. “Course you don’t give a shit, you piece of assfuck. Never thought you would. But you enjoy it. Enjoy giving others pain, don’t you?”

  My mouth is bleeding. I lick the salty-sweet taste off my lips. “No,” I say. “It doesn’t do it for me.”

  “Oh really? How sad. What happened, can’t get it up these days?”

  “What’s it to you?” I mutter. “Did I ever fuck you? Can’t remember. Guess it wasn’t that memorable.”

  “You motherfucker!” He shoves me back, spit flying from his mouth. “Shut up.”

  “I don’t think so. What’s your beef with me?”

  “You twisted our minds. Turned us into bullies. We never wanted that.”

  “Seriously now?” I wipe at my mouth, fighting the urge to laugh in his face. “What, deep inside you’re all saints? That’s why you lay in ambush—to proclaim your innocence?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Nah, thanks. What’s up with the girl? Whatcha doing to her?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You know what? Fine. Peachy. Just let me go and I’ll be on my way.”

  I make the mistake to glance her way again and I catch her staring at me, hatred blazing in her pretty big eyes. Her face is pale, hands clenched to her sides, her chestnut curls gathered back in a ponytail.

  Luna.

  Looney, we used to call her as she passed by in the schoolyard. Looney Tunes, Nutjob Tunes. I said that to her face, didn’t stop my buddies from calling her these and other names, grabbing her backpack, emptying her books out on the floor. Didn’t care. Thought it quite funny. It meant I didn’t have to face what I really thought of her, how I felt. She always sent these weird pangs of longing through me, pangs I didn’t understand.

  Still dunno what they meant, but man, she’d been cute then. She’s sexy as fuck now, all curves and soft lips and bright eyes.

  “You know her.”

  I force my gaze away. “I said I don’t give a shit. Do what you want with her.”

  She jerks and spits—at me? At them?—and the guy who’s blocking her curses. He stumbles back, and she shoves past him—but he catches her and drags her back.

  A red mist descends over my eyes. Goddamn fuck, I can’t. Can’t leave her with them.

  “Let her go,” I say, and without waiting for them to reply or comply, not expecting them to, I set off and barrel into the guy, punch him in the jaw. “You son of a bitch.”

  He twists and punches me in the stomach, so that I double over, coughing. My ribs are always bruised to hell these days, and the flare of fire radiating through my chest stops my breath for precious seconds. No time to gather my wits, though, as the other two come on my right, fists cocked. I make myself straighten up to take them on.

  Where’s the girl? Is she all right?

  Before I can turn around to look, they charge me headfirst, like bulls, faces red with anger, bodies tense with the promise of violence, and here I’m right at home. More at home than with whatever temporary insanity made me stay and fight.

  We grapple, fingers digging into flesh, boots kicking at shins, fists plowing into every surface—arms, chests, jaws. Pain flares at every point of impact. One of them, a blond, stumbles and falls under my punch and I kick the other one away from me, vying for a second to catch my breath.

  But they fall back, eyeing the one on the ground. Clearly they didn’t expect that to happen. One against three, and all that. What are the odds?

  “Motherfucker,” Tony spits a gob of blood on the dusty street and wipes his mouth with his hand.

  “Oh yeah, I fucked your mother.” I sneer as I swallow blood. “She’s a fucking bad lay, let me tell ya.”

  “You...” He starts toward me again, face purpling with rage, but Ed grabs him, holds him back.

  “Come on, Tony. Let’s go.”

  “Yeah, Tony, take your cunty friend who’s moaning way too loud off the street and fuck the hell off.” I bare my bloody teeth at them. “Run home to mommy.”

  “Oh shut up,” the guy on the ground hisses as he struggles to his feet.

  But I’m the expert in this game. Hell, I invented cruelty in this town. Perfected it.

  Or so I thought, until my mom’s skeleton was found buried not far from here. Whoever killed her... if dad killed her... Everyone is convinced it was him, but there’s been no proof yet, no definite proof, and Merc’s dreams or memorie
s may be pretty damn accurate, but still it doesn’t—

  “Look out!” Luna yells and I jerk when hands shove me back so hard I stagger and almost fall.

  Son of a bitch. I let myself get distracted again. Not a good idea in a town where the hunter has become the hunted.

  I shove right back, even as I try to regain my balance. Two more punches, and they back away, grabbing the guy from the ground whose name I still don’t know and don’t care to know unless it is to bash his face in, and leave, muttering curses.

  My middle finger lifts in salute as they stagger away.

  “I had this,” a small voice says.

  I blink and turn around. “What did you say?”

  “I said I had this,” she says with a lift of her chin that is inexplicably... hot. Sexy as fuck.

  What the hell, right? Now, of all times?

  “You shouldn’t have come back,” I growl at her, my hands curling and uncurling, my fists aching to hit something, my heart still racing. “You should have stayed away from this town.”

  She winces.

  “I won’t do this ever again, you hear me? Save your ass. I didn’t do it for you,” I feel the need to add. “I was just walking by, and they were in my way. You were in my way.”

  “Okay, Ross, look...”

  “I did it for them, not you. So go home, go away, stay away, just don’t...” I shake my head at her wide-eyed expression, not sure how to finish the sentence.

  Don’t... what? What am I saying? Don’t make me choose, don’t make me take sides? Don’t make me fight when my penance says I should lie down and let them have me any way they want. I’m no hero. I’m guilty.

  Why am I trying to explain this to her?

  Or am I explaining to myself? It makes no sense, why I didn’t walk away like I intended to. I’ve no illusions. I’m not the good guy in this story. Not the hero.

  “Thank you for helping me,” she says quietly as I turn away, so quietly I’m not even sure that’s what I heard and not the wind in the trees behind me.

  Didn’t she realize they used her as bait to get to me? That this is all because of me, and she just thanked me for it?

  Chapter Seven

  Luna