by G. Benson
Beside her, their shoulders not even touching, Dex tensed. She didn’t need to look over to know how his weathered cheeks tightened or the look in his eyes darkened. But she asked another question anyway, because they were beating against the roof of her mouth, a flood now that the tide had opened. “What if they don’t approve it?”
Sometimes Mattie stared at her with so much faith Carmen thought she’d shatter open from it. What if she failed him?
Still Dex didn’t say anything.
Carmen’s voice was tight. “I’ve already… I’ve fucked it up for him so badly already.”
Mattie moved through the streets like he had been born in them. He gathered supplies and had an intuition she’d never seen in others. School was a distant memory, but not so distant that he didn’t miss it. They lived somewhere with no real plumbing. No real security. Well past the fringes of society. He was so small and so unshaped. She didn’t want this life to be what molded him.
“We’ll figure it out if it comes to that, Carmen.”
The low rumble of Dex’s voice usually soothed her. Not tonight. Tonight it left her shaken.
“Stand still.”
Dex didn’t say those words. Someone with a low voice, rough and angry, did.
A clicking sound sent her hair standing on end; an unmistakable sound. The cocking of a gun.
She and Dex froze, the presence behind them looming. It was as if she could feel the gun’s presence hovering behind her as a tangible thing. As one, they inched their hands above their heads, their heads turning just slightly to catch each other’s eye. Dex’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and somehow, her heartbeat slowed to a calm rhythm against her ribs.
Adrenaline, Dex had always told them, never actually helped in a fight. You made mistakes with it pumping through your veins, especially in the first minute. People spoke of how it amped them, but really, it led to sloppiness. He taught them breathing in a fight, calming techniques, a way to ensure they didn’t lose their heads.
“Look ahead, no looking at each other.” The voice was still low.
Desperation tinged its edges, and if a hadn’t been pointed at them, Carmen would have empathized with the hunger she heard it in it. They did what they were told, and their hands brushed over their heads.
Footsteps brought the man closer, and the barrel of the gun pressed between her shoulder blades.
One shot. That’s all it would take.
“All right, big guy. The gun’s right on the girl. Empty your pockets. Cell phone. Cash. Cards.”
This man had picked the wrong people. The only thing they had was maybe a crumpled bill. Maybe. Dex had a cell phone, but he always left it at the bar.
“Reach into your pockets, nice and slow.”
Dex’s hand, the warmth of it, left hers and she could feel him inching it to his pockets. The push of the metal still against her back wavered, and Carmen took the moment. She spun, using her forearm to push the man’s, keeping the gun away from both of them, and thrusting her hand up to take out his nose.
Blood spurted, and the hair on her arms stood on end when she saw not one man, but two. A second had been quietly flanking the first. A fist connected with her cheek, the thump of it proof Rae had hit her months ago with only minor intention. Heat flared at the sensation. The force of it pushed her back a step, and she used the momentum to spin, kicking out twice—once between the legs and the second a sharp, vicious boot to the head when he fell. She gave a final kick to the gun, sending it clattering far away over the cement.
Carmen hated guns.
Dex had the other guy on the ground, and a firm punch knocked him out. Breathing hard, they looked down at them, both out cold.
What if Ollie had been with them? Or Mattie?
That thought echoed through her mind, and Carmen’s aching fists tightened as she sucked in air. She looked to Dex. “Recognize them?”
“You don’t?”
She searched their faces. They looked gaunt; the hungry look was one she knew too well. But who were they, actually? Their faces were young but with the hard look only the streets could give.
“No.”
“That one—” Dex nudged the one he’d taken out “—was one of the ones Jia turned away when you were first with us. He’d done some nasty stuff in a shelter, and she’d been warned about him. I’ve seen him around.”
Squinting in the darkness, Carmen cocked her head. There was something familiar there under the matted, strangely youthful beard. His eyelids fluttered.
“Let’s get out of here,” Dex said, his voice a low growl.
They turned as one and bolted. They didn’t stop until they were at the warehouse, until the door slammed behind them. Mattie must have been asleep upstairs in their room, and Rae had thrown herself over the sofa.
A sick feeling flared in Carmen’s stomach. She ignored Rae’s puzzled expression, leaving Dex to explain. She pounded up the stairs, panic flickering and her cheek throbbing. As quietly as she could, she pushed the door to their room open. Her body sagged at the sight: Mattie lay in their bed, bathed in orange light, and Carmen hovered in the doorway, watching the way his chest rose and fell.
Of course he was fine. But what if he’d been there?
Voices murmured below. Jia’s floated up, her syllables a whispered hiss. Carmen didn’t go back down, the tremble in her fingers having nothing to do with what had occurred but rather with what could have happened.
With a final glance backward, Carmen went upstairs and sat on the roof, her feet kicking against the wall where she sat on the edge. The sky was clouded over, the light of the moon weak behind them. She longed for them to part, to see the stars and trace the constellations with her gaze, to stare up until the rest faded away and it was like she was there among them.
The door opened, and Carmen didn’t need to check to know it was Rae who sat next to her, her feet still while Carmen’s moved restlessly.
“You okay?”
Carmen shrugged.
“You’re going to have a great black eye.”
And a great bruise over her cheekbone. She hoped the bastard hurt his hand. “Better than the one you gave me.”
Rae snorted. “Damn. You’re right.”
Carmen wanted to tell her to go away, to leave her to this feeling compressing her chest. The words wouldn’t come, however, so she didn’t force them.
“Mattie wasn’t there,” Rae said.
“He could’ve been.” Carmen didn’t take her eyes off the light filtering out from behind the clouds, fascinated at how it split into something like beams. She wondered where the light hit, what it led to, if the universe was highlighting the parts of the world it approved of. Her rooftop was cased in shadows, shrouded in darkness.
“But he wasn’t.”
“They had a gun. What’s a kid to that?”
Rae sighed. “I know. But that’s why we’ve taught him to be fast. He’s on the street, as much as you’ve tried to shelter him from that; he’s seen shit. But kids at school and in nice fancy homes see shit. Get shot.”
That did nothing to make Carmen feel better. “That’s different than actually having him out here, wandering around at night.”
Rae nudged Carmen’s shoulder with her own and didn’t speak until Carmen turned to look at her. “You have no idea what situation he’d be in if he wasn’t with you. He’s happiest with you.”
Was that enough?
“You should put some ice on your eye.”
That finally made Carmen huff a laugh. “Sure, I’ll just go to the freezer and get some.”
“We could call the butler.”
“Yes, please do ring for Charles, and while he’s bringing forth ice, request some tea, please. Tepid.”
“Tepid?” Rae raised her
eyebrows.
Carmen shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to use that word.” The tense feeling in her shoulders eased a little, and her feet slowed to a gentle sway.
God, what a mess.
It seemed like forever ago that Carmen had been lost in Ollie. Though, thinking of Ollie, she had asked Carmen about something she had no answers for.
“Rae…”
“Mm?”
“How do you know Sara?”
The shoulder brushing hers tensed. “I told you, same foster place.”
“Yeah, but why the few times I’ve seen you together are you…you know.”
Tense. Angry. Glaring. Carmen had only seen Sara and Rae together once or twice more, but it was like they circled each other, snapping, eyes narrowed. Something sparked between them. They barely spoke a word, yet Carmen watched them and couldn’t understand it.
“Nothing.”
Carmen waited her out, the distant sounds of cars and the darkness creeping in.
Finally, Rae offered, “We were always like that. But it was fun. We’d rib and piss each other off, but it wasn’t… It was fun.”
Carmen just continued to wait, the sound of a truck rumbling far away behind them and the clouds shifting overhead.
“Then one night, we stole some vodka. We were, I don’t know, young. I was twelve. So Sara must have been eleven. And I kissed her. She kissed me back. We were kids. The super-religious dad found us and screamed and yelled, and she got moved, and I ran. For, like, the second time. But this time was permanent.”
“So why the hatred?”
Rae shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t defend me when he blamed me. I didn’t defend her when he locked her in her room, calling her an abomination for being trans. He didn’t, you know, say that word. He said other things. It was a fucking mess.”
Their school was not a quiet place. When Carmen had ended up back there, a year behind—more, really, after their mom had moved them around for a while—and clinging to the walls as if they could swallow her whole, she’d heard about another girl from the system. Sometimes, Carmen had watched Sara, something akin to jealousy flaming in her as she wondered how she had managed to find a foster family who actually took care of her.
So that jealousy turned out to be misplaced, and guilt rolled in her stomach. Life hadn’t always been like that for Sara.
“Have you thought about, you know?” Carmen shrugged. “Talking to her?”
Rae turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised. “Does Ollie know about this? About Mattie?”
Carmen blinked and turned away.
“There’s a whole world of things we all should talk about, Carmen.”
“I’m off.”
Her father’s voice was timid, a ghost of the commanding, booming man Ollie had grown up with. He had no idea what to do with his seventeen-year-old daughter anymore, and it was clear in the way he hovered.
When Ollie looked up from the cereal she was crunching through for dinner, her father was trying to look at her. But his gaze kept flitting away, stuttering on Ollie like a glitch. Like he didn’t trust himself. Or Ollie. Her ribs ached, as if something were swelling within them and she was about to choke on emotions she couldn’t name.
Did her father see her mother in her eyes? Ollie did. Mirrors hurt. When had her family become this?
“Okay.”
When had Ollie been unable to offer more than short syllables that seemed to grate past her teeth?
Sometimes, when Ollie was at her worst, when all the air leeched from the room, she pictured the paramedics having to pull her father off her mother, having to force his acceptance that she’d been gone before his hands had even landed against her sternum.
A moment stretched on forever before them. It expanded and contracted like the world had no thought but for the father and daughter in a room that was too small and too big all at once. And all they could do was stare at each other. Her father swallowed, snapped the moment in two, and Ollie could feel it shatter as he nodded and turned to go. In a moment of panic, Ollie wanted to pull the pieces into her lap and drive them back together, to use the look in her father’s eyes as glue to make sure they didn’t fall apart again.
“Sean and I broke up.”
Her father paused in the doorway, and there was something stooped about his shoulder as he turned. He stared unblinking at Ollie, as if anything more could fracture what Ollie was holding out with trembling fingers.
“Ages ago.” Her voice cracked over the words, not having anything to do with what she was telling her father but that she was telling him anything at all.
Her father stepped forward so he was only feet away. It felt closer than he had been in months and months.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The voice wasn’t timid now but soft, with a sincerity in it that did nothing to assuage the aching in Ollie’s chest. “Do…do you want to talk about why?”
His lips were quivering, and Ollie wondered at the emotion her father was repressing, had been repressing, since he’d told Ollie her mother was dead. Parts of Ollie were pulling away, screaming with white knuckles to stand up and leave, and another part was slamming her forward, urging her to fall against her father and breathe him in.
“I met someone.”
No surprise lit up her father’s face. He was watching Ollie with an intensity that seemed borne of a fear of chasing her away.
Ollie’s heart pounded, sped up to beat a rhythm in her ears, and left her dizzy. With no warning, the lump dissolved and left her throat tight, prickling. Ollie wanted to tell her mother this. To see her reaction. To know if she would stand up and walk away in disgust or smooth her hair back with cool palms. “A girl. From school.”
The parts that wanted to run almost won out, Ollie’s foot twitching where it sat against the rung on her stool.
Her father took another step forward, the kitchen island separating them. With his hands on the edge, he cocked his head. “What’s her name?”
“Carmen.” The name whispered from her lips, and her eyes were intent on her father. Her vision went blurry, wet, and she had no idea why. Even more horrifying, her father’s eyes looked the same.
“Does she make you happy?”
Ollie nodded, her lips pursed.
Haltingly, his arm jerking, her father raised his hand, hovering just against Ollie’s cheek, waiting until Ollie ducked her head and pressed her skin against his palm. Like it had always been, it was rough in places. Calluses caused from always clutching something to draw with. Something sighed over his body, and he smiled, shaky with obvious, painful relief all over his face. “That’s all that matters to me.”
A snap in Ollie’s chest, and a sob broke from her mouth. “Mom would have liked her.”
Her father’s eyes were still glittering and red. “I’m sure she would have.”
Chapter 17
“What happened to your eye?”
Hands quickly cupped Carmen’s cheeks, and she leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. She had never wanted someone to be concerned about her. That was her job, to worry. To pull Mattie close and cover his eyes when she could, or distract him if she couldn’t, or run with him when things were dire.
Ollie’s concern, though?
It was nice. Sweet.
Like something that shouldn’t be hers. This belonged to a girl who spent her time walking to and from school. To a girl buried in studies who stumbled over a girl who looked touched by the stars. A girl who somehow turned that star-filled brightness onto her.
Remembering where she was, Carmen pulled back, the bar separating her from Ollie. Her eyes were intent on Carmen’s face. Carmen knew she looked a bit of a mess. The bruise had darkened to black, to something speckled with a purple that seemed unnatural on her skin. “Don’t fr
eak out.”
Ollie blinked at her, her brow furrowed and her hands still against Carmen’s cheeks.
The touch was keeping Carmen in that moment, keeping her rooted to the ground when she thought she could float away. The divide between their lives should have been more prominent than ever, but instead, Carmen felt as if they’d melded together even more.
“What happened to your eye?”
Carmen sighed. She couldn’t lie. She was fed up with lies, the ash of them. “Dex and I almost got mugged the other night.”
Ollie looked horrified.
Carmen hurried to finish. “But we’re fine, seriously. Nothing happened.”
Walking behind Carmen with a box, Dex huffed, “Yeah, because you knocked the gun out of his hands.”
Carmen closed her eyes.
“There was a gun?” Ollie’s voice was definitely high-pitched, and her hand fell away.
The rush of cold air against Carmen’s cheek was bracing, and her stomach fell. If she didn’t think it would just bounce off his overly bulging muscles, Carmen would throw something at Dex. She opened her eyes and was greeted by Ollie’s wide-eyed stare. “But, uh, I knocked it out of his hands?”
Ollie was looking at her like she didn’t know her, and that made Carmen’s stomach ache. As much as Carmen hated it, Ollie really didn’t know her. And that was Carmen’s fault.
“How?”
“Fast reflexes?” Carmen tried.
She wanted to kill Dex. Though at the same time, she wanted him to spill everything for her so she didn’t feel like she was holding it all back.
“But you’re really okay?”
“I am.”
“You shouldn’t walk alone. Can’t someone from the group home pick you up or something?”
If only that was the biggest of Carmen’s problems. That divide filled with everything Carmen kept from Ollie grew a little at the issues and problems Carmen had submerged herself in, at the lies she’d muttered when she’d thought she’d been saving herself, protecting Mattie. But how could Ollie ever understand it if Carmen never gave her the chance?
