by Nikki Roman
Holden gives me thumbs up. I smile a little.
“You can go to the party, but I want you to be my escort. My accessory,” Cairen says.
Holden frowns and gives me thumbs down.
“What if I don’t want to go?” I ask, remembering my run in with the Apocys. Bailey and Indigo had better sit this one out.
“You have to.” He takes his eyes off the watch and plants them on me.
“I really don’t want to.”
“Well, you’re going. That’s that,” he says.
I’m not paying attention to the change in his face, the change that would warn me to shut up. Holden is making silly faces that distract me.
“No, I’m not.”
Holden’s silly faces stop. He leans around Cairen and tries to push me back.
“Arguing with your leader?” Cairen says, striking out at me like the Cobra he is named for. Holden shoves me hard, sparing me from the attack. “You’re going to that party, Indigo. I didn’t ask if you wanted to.”
“Okay.”
“Yes, sir!” he corrects me.
“None of the other Allies have to call you sir!”
“You’re special. I don’t like any of the other Allies the way I like you. Call me sir or I will strike you down.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better. Now follow me into the store.”
I’m breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping through me like a rash. Holden pulls me aside. “Are you all right? You’re shaking.” Cairen goes in without us.
“I want to rip him apart,” I say. “I want to kill him!”
“Quiet. Don’t let him hear you.”
“I want to go home,” I say. “Please, take me home. If I stay here he’ll kill me and if he doesn’t then the Apocys will!”
“Cairen likes you, he isn’t going to kill you. Just obey him. Don’t talk back and you’ll be taken care of. No Apocy will be able to get their hands on you.”
“Why should I have to obey him? I’m a member of his gang, not his bitch. We should all be equal!”
“He doesn’t think like that. He thinks he owns you. Better to stay on his good side, do what he says, and you shouldn’t have a problem.”
“I just want out,” I say. “I wish there was a way out.”
“There is, we could jump you, box you, or stab you out. Which would you prefer? If you live, you’re out, and if you die…well, you’re out too,” he says. “I’m sorry, Bailey, I wish there was a way out for you. But it’s best you realize it early on, that way you can please Cairen, ‘stead off ticking him off. Save yourself a few unnecessary beatings.”
“You’re just like him. You know that? All fucked up in the head. Thanks, but no thanks, Holden.” I open the door and close it in his face.
•••
Grey plastic tables are piled with an odd assortment of items like ninety-nine cent tables at a department store sellout. Cairen is standing at one of them, showing-off the watch and bracelet.
“Grayson, what kind of faggot name is that?” Cairen says to an Allie who is bent over a tray of jewelry, polishing it like Spencer used to at Goodwill.
Spencer. Can’t think about him. Can’t fall apart. Can’t remember his lullabies and sweet, sweet voice. The touch of his lips on my neck. My mind doesn’t listen to orders. It wants to remember him as badly as it wants me to return the watch and bracelet to that woman and tell her what an awesome name her son or husband has.
“Cobra Cai, what kind of—” I start to dis him, catching myself in the act.
“What, Indigo?”
“Never mind.”
Holden stands quietly at my elbow, I hadn’t seen him come into the store.
“These are my busy bees, Indigo. They sort through all the things we get from people,” Cairen says.
Pft. He makes it sound like the stuff is donations, not stolen items.
“You don’t have to work back here because you’re a core member. They’re on the fringe- members I don’t have any interest in. You’re lucky; remember that the next time you start to run your mouth. Save the cockiness for the bedroom.”
Holden snickers. I suck air past my teeth and lock my jaws. We move past the jewelry table and follow Cairen to another, covered in sexy little pieces of clothing. Panties that are nothing but strings and skirts that could scarcely cover my backside.
“What do you do with all this stuff?”
“Whatever we don’t keep for ourselves we sell on EBay or Craigslist. I don’t know how they do it, but the money always ends up in my hands. That’s the thing about being king, Indigo; you take, take, take, and never have to give anything of yourself.
“Oh, it sounds wonderful… but sometimes I get tired of it and wish I could load the responsibility off on someone else.”
We all get tired of you, I think.
“Anyway, Ashtray!” he says, snapping his fingers. Ashten comes from one of the tables. “Indigo will be going to the party tonight and I need her to look like a bombshell. Makeup, hair, the whole shebang. Don’t fail me, Ashtray, it’s very important. She represents us.”
Ashten casts her eyes down on me. “She’s going to need a lot of work,” she scoffs.
“Then let’s get to it,” Cairen says. “Take your clothes off, Indigo.”
“Wh-what?” I look to Holden, who is in the middle of a defeated shrug.
“Take your clothes off so I can dress you!” He yells, raising the back of his hand at me.
My hands snag at my shirt, I pull it off so quickly that my shoulders ache.
“Your shorts!”
My fingers shake; the button is stuck. I go for the zipper but it also gets caught. Holden’s hands roll into fists; he paces, not sure of where he should stand. I throw him a look of desperation and fear.
Cairen steps forward and rips my shorts open. The button flies off in an unknown direction. I fall and Cairen stands me to attention, his satanic glare burning me like the tail of a meteorite trailing against my skin.
“You don’t have to be so rough with her,” Holden says.
“Next time, you do as you’re told,” Cairen says to me.
“Yes, s-sir,” I stutter.
“I want you to wear this.” Cairen holds up a parakeet-blue corset with see-through, black lace roses running up and down the sides. “Take your bra off.”
I step out of my shorts and boots, keeping my eyes on my toes. I turn my back to Cairen and unclasp my bra.
Indigo is burning with anger; she only takes her clothes off for paying men. Bailey’s skin is crawling, like it’s covered in every species of insect in the world.
A smile creeps onto Ashtray’s face and, like an ugly caterpillar, it crawls across to Cairen’s, too. “Make sure you hide that cut on her arm with makeup, its nasty,” says Cairen.
My arms are crossed, covering my chest as best I can. Instinctively, I look to the cut on my arm; it’s puffy and streaked with red pinstripes.
“Lift your arms up,” he says, coming at me with the corset.
I put my palms to the sky and he tugs it over my breasts and ribs. He ties the silk laces that loop in and out of the back in X’s. Tightly. Too tightly. My chest is crushed; I take in tiny, shallow breaths.
“That looks nice,” he says, “very nice. Now, put this on.”
He holds a black skirt made of fake leather, out to me.
“But I can’t breathe…sir,” I say.
“Good, I was afraid I didn’t pull your corset tight enough!” He grins at me, his dull green eyes sparkling like shined pewter.
I take the skirt from his hand; pushing the hair from my eyes, I yank it over my thighs. Holden brings a chair over for me to sit. I thank him and ease myself into it, my corset becoming ever tighter as I bend my torso. Ashtray leaves and returns with a load of makeup-fake eyelashes studded with crystals, black eye shadow, and pens of electric blue and gold eyeliner.
“Play up her features,” Cairen says. “I always make sure the ladies look
their best.” He winks at me.
This is me at my best? Do I normally dress three notches below a drunken hooker who put her clothes on in the dark?
“He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. And the way he just turned into a homosexual fashion designer is totally freak,” Ashtray says, motioning for me to close my eyes. “Anyway, your eyes are going to freeze men in their tracks.”
Ashtray with a sharp object near my eyes—how could this get any worse?
The sharp point of the eyeliner streaks across the edge of my top eyelid, she is pushing too hard and her force is directing the pencil past my lid. I try to blink it away and she ends up stabbing me in the eye. I close both eyes and cover my face. She attempts to move my hands but they don’t budge.
“You’re going to poke her eye out!” Holden says, coming to my rescue. He puts my hands down and carefully inspects my watering eye. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” I say. “She scratched me!”
“Oh, puh-lease, you blinked. It’s your fault!”
“I wouldn’t have blinked if you hadn’t been pushing too hard. You wanted to hurt me.” I accuse her. “I can’t breathe, and now I can’t see. You and your brother are piecing me out like a junked car!”
My words echo against the walls of the large store building, everyone freezes. Cairen looks up from the table of Nike T-shirts and Puma sneakers he is working on; throwing a shirt down he comes away from the table and advances on us, in that long strided, threatening king walk, an imaginary red, velvet robe billowing behind him and bejeweled scepter in his hand.
Pressing a shank to the tip of his nose he says, “You poke her one more time and I’m going to poke you with this!”
“But she was whining that she can’t breathe!”
“Is that so, Indigo?”
“Yes, but…” I say.
“Yes, sir but,” Cairen corrects.
“Yes, sir! I can’t breathe!”
“Let me loosen the corset for you then,” he says, putting his shank away. I feel his hands on my back pulling at the strings and undoing the knot he made. But then he pulls tighter, as tight as he can—as tight as my ribs can stand without breaking—and knots the strings together again. “Better?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, through gritted teeth.
Ashtray laughs inside herself, her shoulders rising and falling. “Close your eyes,” she says. Her fingers wipe away makeup smeared by my tears.
I know Holden is dying to say something, dying to put the both of them in their place, yet he says nothing. And it’s as if, with his silence, he is trying to teach me something; don’t stand up to the master for fear he should put you off your feet.
Ashtray glues lashes to my eyelids. She brushes on eye shadow and spots my lips with a pink gloss. I rub them together. Next, she pulls out a curling iron and goes to work on my chlorine-damaged hair. Curls pop into my field of vision as my hair is transformed. Ashtray is a hair genius, although it pains me to give her credit as one.
Finally, all my curls are set in place, my eyes made violet by the help of smoky eye shadow, and my ensemble as trashy as if I were employed at a whorehouse. Holden grins and I force a smile for him.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“No, I’m not,” I say.
“You didn’t let me finish…you’re beautiful without all the makeup and curls. Cairen is too stupid to see that.” His hand splits my curls and they multiply, ringing my face like a lion’s mane. “The party is far, it’s in Tampa. We have to leave soon. Why don’t you eat something? There’s a fridge full of food against the back wall.”
“Okay, that sounds good… thanks Holden… for always looking out for me.”
“It’s nothing, Bailey.” He half smiles.
My corset binds tighter as I rise, but I can breathe better when standing. I take slow steps to the refrigerator. I need all the air I can get and running will only take my breath away quicker.
Crossing the large store building, inspecting tables of designer clothes, games consoles, small kitchen appliances and mp3 players, an idea is sparked like the lighting of a match. A flame setting light on a problem that has bothered me for some time. Thomas and Starkey.
These stolen items could help them. They could live here in this cool store building with fans blowing from every direction. Eat from this refrigerator and keep Starkey’s milk cold. I want to make up for mugging the old woman, even if I’m not the one who physically did it. One good deed to cancel out the bad.
•••
I slap together two Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches, one for me and one for Holden. I was going to make a third for Alana, but there was only one slice of bread left. If she’s hungry she can have half of mine.
Holding two water bottles under one arm and squishing the sandwiches under the other, I walk back to my prepping station. Alana is sitting in my chair while Ashtray fixes her hair for the party.
“I made you a sandwich,” I say to Holden. “’Lana, are you hungry, we can split mine?”
“No, I’m full, but thanks, that was sweet of you,” she says.
“You made me a sandwich? God, you really are an angel on Earth! Spencer some type of psycho, or something? Dumping a woman who makes sandwiches for him.” He rips into the sandwich with his teeth and I do the same.
We watch Ashtray work her magic on Alana, making tiny comments about how well the eye shadow brings out the green in her eyes, or that her bangs should be clipped away from her face.
Holden and I are still trying to get the last bit of peanut butter off the roofs of our mouths when Cairen comes over and tells us it’s time to leave for the party.
“I want to take your bike, Indigo. I’ll drive,” Cairen says.
“It’s out of gas,” I say happily. No way am I letting his nasty-ass sit on my bike. And, I’m certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of my arms wrapped around his waist.
“Okay,” he says, “we’ll take my car.”
I lean against one of the tables, flip my hair behind my back and look to Holden for guidance, as I often do now. I nod my head at Cairen, beckoning for Holden to say something.
“Ummm,” he says, buying time as he thinks of what to say. “How about you take Ashten, Alana, and Don in your car? Bailey and I can take the van.”
“How about you stop undermining me!” Cairen barks. “She’s my escort, she needs to arrive with me.”
“She will escort you; I’ll give her to you as soon as we all get there. You can walk through the door together.”
Cairen rolls his eyes and closes in on Holden. “Fine, but if you don’t have her there in time…I don’t even need to tell you what I’ll do. You already know.”
“I know,” he says. “She’ll be there. We will be the ones waiting on you.”
Cairen leads us out of the store; several Allies, Holden and I included, converge into a conga-type line. We climb up the fence like a lounge of lizards. Feet pound against the street and slap away. Each person going a different direction, except for the core Allies, who cluster together and walk to Cairen’s car, parked in an abandoned lot.
Holden and I get into his van. I look out my window at the Allie and wish that this time we leave it, that we wouldn’t have to go back. I lie my head on the driver’s seat armrest. Holden tousles my hair and says that I can sleep if I want to.
I’m dead tired but refuse to sleep, for fear I should wake up confused and be thrust into a party full of Apocys. No, that feeling is too frightening to wake up to—it’s better I face it with eyes wide open. That’s how I banish all my nightmares, with eyes wide open.
Chapter 34
Holden thinks I’m sleeping, but actually my eyes are open. I’ve been hiding behind my blue bangs for most the ride. I sit bolt upright, like I have been jolted awake by the van running over new ground. We stop on the front lawn of a house that I assume is frequented by drug addicts on a daily basis. All the way up to the front door, the grass is littered with beer
bottles and crushed red Solo cups. It’s as if the party inside exploded and spewed out the windows and door.
We spot Cairen parking his car in the neighbor’s driveway. I squeeze Holden’s hand as he makes his way to us. “Don’t worry, you’re not leaving my sight,” Holden says.
A lump starts to form in my throat, my mouth filling with saliva and eyes with hot tears, and then I am jerked from Holden, Cairen’s meaty palm like a blood pressure cuff tightening around my arm. I squeeze my own hand around itself; my blood pressure is soaring.
Cairen tells me to relax. I take in as big a breath as my corset will allow.
“It’s only for a few hours, Indigo. You can stay with Holden after I show you off. Just stop looking so miserable. Smile and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
“Okay, sir.” I seek out a smile, an old one I might have used earlier in the day, when I was actually happy.
I kick Corona bottles and watch them spin like I’m playing Spin the Bottle with myself. Cairen pulls me along. Holden and Alana hold hands behind me. I look over my shoulder and register the fear on Alana’s face, indistinguishable to anyone who hasn’t known her for years. That tiny turtle-like smile that others would blow off as overexcitement.
The windows are boarded up and painted black. Stairs, which once led up to the door, fall straight into the ground—a staircase to hell. Cairen lifts me over the rickety steps. He opens up the door and I half expect the party to come spilling out on top of me.
I take in the party scene, my eyes settling on one type of filth only to be picked up by another. Graffiti crawls up the walls and decorates the ceiling like a renaissance church mural. I imagine the crack heads standing on scaffolding with spray cans in their hands and blunts pinched between their cracked lips, dressed in renaissance era clothing. I can’t help it; a faint smile works its way onto my face.
Hooking his arm around my waist, Cairen draws me over to a cluster of men. “This is my girl, Indigo,” he says to the cross, faded men slumped on a stained, plaid couch. If they hadn’t been holding burning blunts to their lips, I would’ve mistaken them as part of the frumpy couch cushions.
