Beneath The Skin(80)

Nell’s face seems to tighten at my words, staring off into nowhere.

I tilt my head, trying to catch her gaze. “You alright?”

“I don’t like to think about … high school,” she murmurs icily, her eyebrows pulling together. “Or what I’ve done or … haven’t done.”

“You’ve done a lot,” I say at once. “If your loft full of artwork is any indication, you’re gonna do a shitload more. Fuck, I can’t wait to see what it is you submitted for the End Of Year. Did you know there were other showcases and exhibits looking for work, too? I saw all these things in the hallway outside my digital media class, as well as a few posts on the Klangburg website. I seriously didn’t realize how many damn options we have. You could submit your work to—”

“The End Of Year Showcase is the only one that matters,” she interrupts. “The rest will charge you to show your work. They just want to milk you for your student dollars and take advantage of you. The art world is a cold world full of paintbrushes and teeth … teeth ready to sink right into your skin and never let go.”

I bring my body up against her side again. “I wouldn’t mind you sinkin’ your teeth into my skin.” She doesn’t respond, coolly staring off and seeming to be trapped in a dark thought. “You wanna tell me about the piece you submitted? I know you’ve been working on a lot of stuff lately.”

“I haven’t.”

My eyebrows quirk up. “Sure you have. You’re, like … the Nell. You always have fifteen works of brilliance in limbo.”

“No. Just the one.”

I stare at the side of her face. Maybe this so-called party is dragging her down. Maybe we need a change of location to get her out of that dark place I see her drift off to so much lately. “You wanna just get out of here?” I offer, rubbing her side as best as I can. “Seeing you in that uniform … mmm … It’s giving me ideas. Bad ideas. Bad, bad, bad ideas.”

She shrugs. “Well … I do have to get you to the jail, anyway,” she plays along. “Can’t risk having you out on the streets too long. You could get yourself in trouble all over again, mister indecent exposure.”

I’m hard. No doubt about it. She’s made me hard and now she’s making me smile. Keep bringing her out of that dark place, Brant. “You’re really into this, aren’t you, you kinky minx you?”

She moves forward suddenly, giving my “chain leash” a tug and pulling me along with her. The sound catches the attention of a couple pretty girls by the beer pong table, who laugh at my predicament. I give them a cocky smirk and nod at them, then realize with fear that I think I dated and dumped both of them back in high school, one at a time. They commiserated together and became best friends during a double date to the next Homecoming Dance. See? Some bad things are meant to happen; goodness sprouts from pain. I’m pretty sure my dad told me that after Clayton and I had our own big falling out of sorts, just before he lost his hearing forever. Goodness sprouts from pain, my father would keep telling me.

But sometimes, the goodness is difficult to find.

“BRAAANT!”

I spin around. In the dark den, a circle of people are sitting on the floor around a weird lamp that shifts through a gradient of colors, painting everyone’s faces in different ghoulish shades of green, orange, and purple. It’s a girl by the window who shouted my name, a girl I do not recognize. She sits there with a painted zombie-face and a tiara on her head, and she obviously recognizes me.

“Uh, hey,” I call back reluctantly.

Nell and I are stopped at the front door, seconds from leaving.

“Come join us!” She gives a short wave at the circle of people on the floor. “We’re telling ghost stories. But not corny dumb ones. Real ones. Horrifying ones. Blood-chilling ones not for the faint of heart.”

I give a look to Nell, who returns an unimpressed one of her own.

“Join!” the girl insists, her voice going so shrill, I literally have to suppress a cringe. “Or are you a pair of pussies?”

That seems to be the trigger for Nell. “I’m not afraid of anything,” she snaps back darkly, gripping my chain a bit too tight and pulling me toward her unintentionally.

“Then come and share a scary story. We just got done with a totally lame one,” she adds, rolling her eyes.

“It wasn’t lame!” protests some Star Trek character from the floor.

“Please save our Halloween,” the girl tiredly begs us. “Please save us all from being haunted by dumb stories. Give us a good one to haunt us instead, Brant.”