Slow Burn(8)

    I winced, thinking about Rough Hands this morning. I’d told him all about my dad and the phone. I should have kept that to myself. “It doesn’t hit me nearly as hard since I got the serum. I don’t get nosebleeds anymore. And I don’t even do it that often.”

    He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve yet to hear of someone who got nosebleeds from snorting coke who wasn’t doing it a lot.”

    “Just give it back. This is none of your business.”

    “Keeping you safe is my business,” he said. He stalked over to the kitchen sink and began moving dirty dishes out onto the counter.

    “What are you doing?” I said.

    He dumped the bag into the now empty sink and turned the faucet on.

    “Have you lost your mind?” I screamed. I dove for the sink. Maybe I could save some of it.

    He caught me by the wrists and held me back. Jesus, he was strong.

    “Stop,” he said. His voice was a quiet growl.

    “Fuck you,” I said. “Who do you think you are?”

    He pushed me up against the refrigerator. He let go of my wrists, but his body blocked me from moving. He rested one hand against the fridge, bending down his face so that it was close to mine. “Your father didn’t want anything to happen to you. He gave his life to keep you safe. He couldn’t have known that you were throwing your life away on a really dangerous, stupid drug. A highly addictive piece of poison.”

    “Shut up,” I said.

    “He wouldn’t have wanted that for you.”

    “You don’t know anything about it.”

    “I know the way he talked about you. I know how his wallet was filled with pictures of you, from the time you were a baby, clear up to now. You should be glad he never saw you like this. It would have broken his heart.”

    I put my hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could.

    It didn’t do anything. He was as solid as Suit had been earlier. But he did back up and let me move.

    I was crying again. “My father never gave two shits about me until I almost got myself killed in that car accident. Then, suddenly, he’s risking his life to keep me alive. If he would have just noticed me before that, maybe I wouldn’t have had to get so drastic.”

    “Hey, I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I guess I could have said that in a different way.”

    I yanked open the freezer and took out the bottle of vodka. Screw the shot glass. I went to my bedroom and closed the door.

    Even the marshmallow flavor didn’t seem to taste that good right now. I clutched the open bottle, leaned up against my bed, and cried.

* * *

    He was knocking on the door.

    “Go away,” I said. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in here, but it was dark outside, and it hadn’t been when I closed the bedroom door. Probably a long time.

    “I’m sorry.”

    I put the lid back on the vodka. I held up the bottle. After all that, I didn’t think I’d really managed to drink that much of it anyway. I got to my feet and opened the bedroom door. “Sorry?”

    He was leaning against the wall opposite my bedroom door. He was good at leaning. He looked absolutely gorgeous. He was a jackass, but he was a pretty jackass. “It’s been awhile since I spent much time with anyone who wasn’t either trying to kill me or helping me stop the guys who were trying to kill me. I kind of forgot how to be polite.”

    “You think?” I said.

    “Not that I’m saying it’s okay for you to be doing coke,” he said. “It’s not. But I was out of line with what I did and what I said to you.” He looked down at his hands.

    And I realized that he had blood on him. I grabbed his hands. “Is this from Suit?”

    “Who?”

    “The guy you killed earlier,” I said. “I called him Suit in my head.”

    “Oh.” He pulled his hands back. “Yeah, I guess so.”

    Now that I was closer, I could see that there was a fine bit of spatter on his arms and shirt. “You need to take a shower.”

    “No, I’m fine.”

    “Are you kidding? You saved that guy for me. I don’t care how tough you are, having his blood on you can’t feel good.”