Nocturnal by Chelsea M. Cameron
“Ava?” Tex's voice makes me flinch. I can't see her in this condition, but there's no way I can hide. He steps clack against the wood as she approaches me.
Chapter Twenty
Fixing Tex
“Hey Tex,” I say, smiling and coughing at the same time.
“Holy crap, are you okay?” She leans down so I could see right down her top if I wanted to. I close my eyes again and clear my throat, which feels like gargling with mouthwash full of broken glass.
“Yeah, I just came out for some air. I think I had one beer too many.” I give a fake laugh, which tears my throat apart.
“We should get you inside.” She trips herself as she tries to sit down next to me. Great, I'm going to have to drive her car. She reeks like a bewery. I wonder how much she managed to gulp down while I was getting interrogated and then strangled. Clearly plenty.
“I'm fine.”
“You need a drink, come on.” She grabs my arm and gets me to my shaking feet. It's the drunk leading the traumatized, but she gets me inside and onto a couch where I camp out for the next hour. She goes off every now and then, but comes back to check on me. I hide from Jamie, who would certainly have a litter of kittens if he knew what condition I'm in. I'm actually lucky Tex is as drunk as a skunk. I feel safer inside the house, protected by a layer of intoxicated teenagers.
I watch the party, as if I'm apart from it. The people get drunker, and the dancing gets sloppier. The noise level rises and the bathrooms are full of people puking their guts out. I'd had enough when a girl gets up on a table and starts taking her clothes off while screaming the lyrics to some song that no one can understand, and a guy tries to lay down in my lap.
“Ready to go?” I yell at Tex as she brings me another glass of water. Her top is askew, one bra strap hanging over her arm and she's got lipgloss smeared everywhere. I don't even want to know.
“Yeah,” she says, handing me the glass and looking around, as if realizing where she is. She plops down next to me and rests her head on my shoulder.
Instead of getting louder, Tex gets quieter the more she drinks. More cuddly and emo. The last time I'd seen Jamie, he was loading a bunch of lacrosse players into the drunk van. I'd text him tomorrow.
After jumping at every shadow and voice, worried someone is finally going to follow through with the strangle, I haul Tex out to her car and push her into the passenger seat. It doesn't matter if she goes home wasted, since her parents are out at some booksellers conference and won't be back until Monday. Coby was off with their grandparents, but Tex had been allowed to stay alone. Which, considering what went on tonight, was not the best idea. But her parents honestly thought that their punishment system worked, but Tex just got craftier at fooling them. They saw what they wanted to see.
“Do you want me to stay?” I say when we get to her house. She looks up at me, her hair mussed and her eyes half-closed. She's quite a mess.
“Could you?” I had a stash of clothes at her house in case of emergencies like this. Back when we were kids, she'd sometimes have me over and beg me to stay the night. Once she'd even cried because I had to go camping with my parents and couldn't stay. Plus, I'm scared to go home. I don't know if Peter or Ivan are waiting for me there.
“I just have to call my parents,” I say after I get her on the couch. I get my mother and tell her that I'm staying with Tex. She sighs knowingly and tells me to call her if I need anything. I say I love her and hang up. I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow when I do go home. I'm worried about them, but I can't see Peter or Ivan hurting my parents. They've done nothing. My logic may be twisted, but I'm going with it. Otherwise, I'm going to spend the night clutching a machete and muttering to myself.
I have to pull the curtains so I won't look out the window constantly. I also lock all the doors. As if that could stop them.
First thing I get Tex a glass of water and some aspirin.
“Drink,” I order. She does. I pull her shoes off and put a blanket on her. Even though it's warm in the house, she's shivering. She still stinks of the party, but so do I. She sets the empty glass down and closes her eyes.
“I'll be right back,” I say, taking the glass, making a detour to the bathroom to pee and check my neck. It's a little red, but otherwise I'm good. I take a few aspirin myself and splash some water on my face. I look like one of those hookers they find on those cop shows. The dead kind.
“How you doing?” She looks at me, eyes bleary and doesn't answer. “I'm gonna make you something, okay?”
“Ungh.” That's as good as it's going to get. I have to search the freezer, but I find some cheese in the back. Perfect. I make some nachos in the oven, checking every now and then to see how she's doing. I have to wake her up when the nachos are ready.
“Come on, you need to eat.” I pull her into a sitting position so she won't choke.
“I don't want to.” She slumps back over.
“Too bad.” I shove a plate at her. “I'm going to shove them down your throat if I have to. You're going to thank me tomorrow.” She glares at me and takes a chip. Cheese drips on her chin and down the front of her tank top, but she eats.
I help her demolish the rest of the nachos, and I think she's feeling a little bit better. That is until she starts talking. I turn on the television so I can have something else to look at other than how messed up and broken and sad she looks.
“I'm never going to meet anyone,” she moans as I take the plate back into the kitchen. Oh, we have been down this road, too. So many times we don't even need a map. I re-fill her water glass and press it into her hand. With a wet paper towel I start getting the smeared make-up off her face. I think I'm going to need a chisel.
“Yes you are. The perfect guy is out there waiting for you.” This is my standard line that I say in a soothing voice. She doesn't push me away as I wipe, the paper towel turning all different colors from the stuff on her face.
“Bullshit. That's all that fairytale crap that doesn't come true. No one is ever going to want me.” I stop wiping and try to think of what I can say to make this better.
Tex made the unfortunate mistake of losing her virginity to a boy who broke up with her a week later her sophomore year. Let's just say that homecoming weekend, alcohol and a parade float were all involved. She'd been totally head-over-heels and lost all sense. It happens to the best of us. To the worst of us,too. But Tex was like that. She thought you could never have too much of a good thing.
Whether it was peanut butter cups or boys, it was never enough for her. Apparently, she was too much for Blake. He had all the qualifications of perfect boyfriend material, so it should have worked out for longer than it did. I would rather have my entrails pulled out of my body with a rusty hook than admit that I thought it was her fault that he broke up with her. She'd been too much for him. Clingy and Possessive had replaced Sarsaparilla and Anne as her middle names.
Thankfully, he'd graduated and gone to college in Colorado so Tex didn't have to see him. Which was a blessing. There'd also been the rumor Blake had started about Tex being bad in bed, which had pretty much died down in the year since, but people remembered things like that.
“Come on Tex.” I pout at her, hoping to make her laugh. This takes a lot of effort on my part. I'm not at my best.
“Blake didn't even want me.”
“Tex, that was one guy, and it was two years ago. You need to move on.” I squinch my nose up at her.
“But I loved him. And he didn't want me.” She starts to cry. Oh damn.
“He's a douchebag.” It's time for Phase Two. Trusting she won't slit her wrists while I'm gone, I assemble the Fix-Tex kit. Ice cream, – probably not the best idea with alcohol, but still – nail polish, her old stuffed unicorn, our yearbook and her favorite movie, Breakfast at Tiffany's. The combination of objects hasn't failed me yet.
She gives me a watered-down smile when I come back with everything balanced in my arms. She knows the drill.
??
While we watch Audrey Hepburn have lavish parties in her crappy apartment and flirt with George Peppard, aka Fred, we go through the yearbook. For some reason it makes Tex feel better when we look through it and talk about who's changed, who's gotten fat, who's gotten a bad dye job. Shallow, bitchy and horrible, it works. So does quoting the movie, which we do pretty much the whole time.
“I'm having the mean reds,” she says, pointing to the screen. “Only I don't have Tiffany's to make me feel better.”
“But we have Zappos and eBay.”
“True,” she sighs. We stay silent for a little while. I hope she's not still obsessing over Blake.
“Ugh, I feel like shit,” she says when the movie's over. Uh oh. I know that face. I scramble to follow as she lurches to the bathroom. I hold her hair and avert my eyes. Nachos do not look pretty coming up, FYI. When she's done I wipe her face with a cloth and hand her a toothbrush. What are friends for? I spay some air freshener and sit on the tub to make sure she's done.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” she says around her toothbrush.
We spent the rest of the night on a reality show marathon, Tex drinking ginger ale and eating Saltines. She passes out around three am., and it takes me ten minutes to get her upstairs and into bed.
“Night Tex.” I close the door and realize I'm the only one awake in the dark and empty house. My original plan was to sleep in the guest room, but that doesn't seem like such a smart idea now. Given what had happened to me tonight, I'm not going to sleep alone.
Before crawling into bed with Tex, I turn on all the lights and relock all the doors and windows. I also wipe myself down with some paper towels to get off some of the glitter, and peel off my dress.
Between Tex being a horrible bed hog, and my terror of every creak and sound from the house, I don't get much sleep. I wake even earlier than I would on a weekday. Tex is still passed out, so I go to the kitchen to eat something. I make scrambled eggs and by the time Tex comes downstairs, I have a full plate.
“Good morning sunshine,” I say, beaming at her.
“Not so loud.” She holds her head in both hands as if it's going to fall off. There's a lot of glitter still on her face. Her hair is also looking pretty awesome.
“How you feelin'?”
“Like I got hit buy a truck.” She slumps over on the counter, banging her head. “Ow.”
“That's what you get.” I point my spatula at her and tsk.
“Yeah, yeah. You're perfect, blah, blah, blah.” She uses her hand as a mouth for the blah, blah, blah.
“I am not and you know it. I just have my limits and I stick to them.” I make her a plate and put tons of sald on it. She stabs some eggs and stares at them before stuffing the fork in her mouth.
“Good?”
“Yeah,” she says as she chews with her mouth open. “So what was with that guy last night?” Her mouth is still full.
“Chew and swallow before you talk, my dear.” I almost asked her which guy she meant, before remembering that she was unaware of the second guy. Who shall remain nameless.
“Bite me. And you didn't answer the question.” She goes for another forkful.
“It's complicated.” She rolls her eyes. “Really, it is. I don't really know what to think.” Anymore. I shudder and turn to mind the eggs. We have more than enough for the two of us, but I need something to do so I can avoid looking at her.
“It seemed pretty clear the way you were dancing.” I blush to think of it and then want to slap myself. She's raising her eyebrows at me suggestively when I turn around.
“Come on, it was just dancing.” I don't want to think about Peter. I don't want to think about him ever again. The traitor.
“There is no such thing. When it comes to guys, even eye contact is sex. Haven't you ever heard of eye sex?”
“What?”
“It's when you make eye contact for three consecutive seconds with someone. Like this.” She puts down her fork and stares at me as she puts up one, two, three fingers.
“See?”
“See what?”
“That was eye sex. Was it good for you, baby?” She pretends to smoke a cigarette as she leans backward in her chair. She seems to have bounced back from last night's heartbreak.
“Amazing,” I say, also pretending to smoke. We do that for a little while and dissolve into laughter. Being with her does help me feel better after the night before. Not for long.
So fragile. The words echo through my head and I shudder. I was. And I always would be. I'd been kidding myself if I thought hanging out with Peter was a good idea. It was bad, bad, bad. And it was going to end. Now. Even if they both said I had power to hurt him. How could that possibly be true?
***
He hurt her. I wanted to kill him. I'd wanted to kill him before, but this was different. I wanted him gone, wiped out. Eviscerated. But he would kill her without hesitation if he knew. Or maybe not. With Ivan, you couldn't predict what he'd do. I would not take that risk.
I hovered to make sure he left her alive. I knew he wanted her. It was impossible not to, with all that adrenaline and excitement that shot like fireworks around her. But he did not take her. Not in that way. He told her that she could destroy me. Which was more and more true. He wants her to destroy me.
She looked around, as if searching for me. It was all I could do not to go down, sweep her up and fly away. To Budapest or Paris or Rio de Janero. Anywhere. Such thoughts were dangerous, so I pushed them aside and watched. Ivan left her, changed his form and ran through the woods. I saw the satisfaction in his run.
Ava's friend came out and found her crumpled on the porch. She was able to stand an help her friend to the car. Texas. What an odd name for a person.
I followed them to a house that belonged to the friend. I though about sending her a message, but didn't. This modern technology lacked the means of picking out the right words to say.
We didn't have much time before things would end. It would be the end for one of us. Either she would end me, or I her. I wanted it to be me. But if I end, nothing will stop him from going after her. There was only one thing I could do to protect her until she destroyed me. After that... we'd cross that bridge when we got there.
I flew to her house and landed on the roof to wait for her to come back. Short of killing her, there was only one other thing I could do that would keep her alive, and it would require a sacrifice from me, but also one from her. One I was more than willing to make to keep her.
Mine.
I do not know if she will be as willing.
She was not going to like what I need to do, regardless of the sacrifice. I was not sure I liked it much either, but there was nothing else to be done. Even if it increased the chances I was going to kill her. I would rather it be by my hand than by anyone else's.
Chapter Twenty-one
Stranger at the Window
“Have a good night?” My mother gives me a knowing look as I come through the door. I pull the neck of the hoodie I've borrowed from Tex up so it covers the bruises.
“Oh yeah.” I roll my eyes and rub them, hands coming away with glitter and mascara. Waiting on the kitchen counter is a strong pot of earl grey tea and a plate of sugar cookies. I slump down in a chair and give her the quick and dirty version of what happened. Leaving myself and Peter our of it. Also the other thing. I tell her about Tex and she laughs. Her skin is a little gray and she looks like she stayed up all night. I still look worse.
“You didn't worry, did you?” I put another spoonful of sugar in my tea. At this point, it's half liquid, half sugar, but I need it.
“Of course not. You're a smart girl. I know I can trust you.” I'd be a horrible person if I betrayed my cancer-stricken mother's trust. Oh, wait...
“Where's Dad?” I ask to change the subject.
“He had to run in to the office to do some paperwork.” She brushes sugar off the counter. I know she wants him to be here all the time
“He'll be back.” I give her a hug and wince. I tug the strings of the hoodie tighter, almost strangling myself. I also stole some of Tex's intense cover-up that she uses for monster zits. I hope it works on noctalis-inflicted marks.
After I've finished my tea and cookies, I say I'm going to take a shower.
“I think that's a good idea. You're getting sparkles all over my clean counter.” I look down and see that I am. There's even some on the cookie plate. She comes over and gives me a hug, glitter be damned.
“I'm going to lie down,” she says, giving me a tired half-smile, only one side of her mouth twitching upward.
I'm relieved when I shut the door to my room, letting my shoulders sag under the weight of everything that's happened. I can't take much more. Soon I'm going to be crushed. The tears I don't bother to stop drip down my face, grateful for release.
First things first. Shower. I throw Tex's hoodie and borrowed pants in the hamper. I'd left the dress crumpled on the floor of her room.
I turn the water on as high as it will go and scrub and scrape until my skin is red and raw. I let the water pound on my face, seep into my eyes and make me cry more. I'm glad for the background noise of the water, because I'm being quite loud. I don't turn off the water until the hot runs out and I'm shivering. The tears have stopped, but my neck hurts like hell. I wipe the steam off the bathroom mirror and examine my neck. The marks are red from the hot water, but they don't look too severe. I think I'll be able to get away with just make-up.
My phone buzzes and it's Tex asking how I'm doing. I text her back saying I'm fine and throw in a smiley for good measure.