Violet Grenade(52)

"Well, that person isn't going to be me."

I spin on him and close the distance between us. "Then why are you doing this? Why come out here with me? Why try to protect me?" I point a finger at him. "Don't think I haven't noticed the little things you've done. And don't kid yourself into thinking I need protecting."



       
         
       
        

Cain lowers his head. "Back away, Domino."

"Why? What happens if I push?" I shove him in the chest. I don't know why I'm antagonizing him. Because of the champagne and drugs, maybe. Because I'm afraid of getting too close, most likely. Better to scare people off than to be left again. I grab Cain's shirt and lean in, so close I can feel the warmth of his body. "Never mind pushing. It's the pulling that scares you most, isn't it?"

Cain's hands are suddenly on my waist. He hoists me up and spins me around. My back presses against the cool clapboard wall, and he slams his hands on either side of my body, pinning me between the house and his massive frame. He brings his lips to my ear and a low rumble sounds in his throat. "You want to know my secret? Here it is. I'm dangerous. I'm a fault line beneath your feet. An asteroid barreling toward the earth. A bomb fuse begging to burn." His lips brush my skin, and I shiver. "Just light a match, Domino, and watch me explode."

He pulls back his head and meets my stare. His brown eyes blaze with pain so deep I could wade waist-high in it. "I keep my head down so I don't snap. Because I snapped once before, and I did something terrible." He lowers his voice. "I am terrible. And unsafe. So stay the hell away from me."

His face softens like he despises himself and instantly regrets what he said. His arms drop away and he strides toward the house. Sweat forms at my temples and my body quivers. Not because of what happened. But because watching him just now-and hearing the poison that spewed from those lips-

It was like looking in the mirror.

I gather myself for a few minutes before going upstairs and finishing the night. The drug in my system eventually wears off, but the conversation I had with Cain sticks. I should be repulsed by what he showed me outside. Instead, I want to open his skull like a can of peaches and sit down with a spoon. Maybe he's as messed up as I am. I doubt it, but it's possible. If that's true, he may be the only person I've spoken to who understands my past and the scars it left behind.

He says he's dangerous.

But I'm not afraid. Not with Wilson slipping quietly into his corner of my mind, circling once, twice, like a tired cat, before flopping down, tail curled around his body.

I saw what happened out there, he says, drained. I couldn't respond, but I saw.

Be quiet.

That Cain character …  Wilson continues. Maybe I judged too soon. He's a nice kid. He's got spunk.

He's got demons.

Spunk, demons. Tomato, tomahto.

Ruby approaches me after the customers have left and we've cleaned up the Inferno. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look, why don't you hang out with us for a while. Calm down a bit. I know that guy slipped you something. Not cool. I may condone recreational candy, but I would never give it to someone unsuspecting."

"Thanks," I tell her. "But I think I'll go to bed."

Ruby pulls me into a quick hug. So quick I don't mind it much. "Domino, listen to me, okay? Just hang out with us. Let's watch cartoons and drink the rest of the champagne."

Poppet glides over and says she's game, even though it's nearly two o'clock in the morning. So I agree. One, because it feels good to be invited. And two, because it's a better alternative to lying in bed rehashing Cain's every word.

"Okay, I'm in."

So I stay up with Ruby and the Daisies. We laugh when The Neck comes down, huffing about the television being too loud. Then one of the girls has the idea to put on a play. She pulls Poppet and me into the production, and we tell the story of a man with supersonic hearing who feasts on other people's happiness. It may or may not have been about someone in the house.

The next day, Poppet and I find out we placed third and fourth, and when Jack returns that night, I tell him something true about myself: my favorite color is yellow. I don't drink anything he gives me, and when he insists on holding my hand as we dance, I do my best to let it happen. Because Jack makes good on his promise-he gets the other customers to pay attention to Poppet and me, and that's all I want.

Wilson doesn't forget what he did to us, though. He's furious that Jack slipped something into my drink that made him lose his concentration. Me? I know Jack didn't mean any harm, even if I don't like what he did.