Complementary Colors (24 page)

He put a hand on my throat. His fingers were long, his skin smooth. Was he a banker, an accountant, or just a rich boy who lived off daddy’s money? The man stroked my windpipe with his thumb. Each pass increased in pressure until there was a dull ache every time I swallowed.

He searched my face.

“Harder,” I said.

A drop of sweat ran from his temple, and his breath hitched. The man tightened his grip enough I had to work for every breath.

“Feels good.” I rubbed his cock through his pants.

“I really want to take you to my apartment. I can…take my time.”

I brushed my lips across his. The momentary change in lights brought color back into the world. Blue. Death had blue eyes. “Lead the way.”

He put his hand on my lower back, and we wove through the crowd, pushing through skinny pants, middrift shirts, fuck-me heels and studded boots.

A woman with spiked pink hair bumped into me. The man caught me by the arm.

“Easy.”

In between the gyrating bodies stood a little boy wearing a red shirt and shorts. He was just like I remembered him.

“¿Qué l es tu nombre? You name?”

“Paris.”

“What?”

“My name is Paris.”

“I thought you didn’t care about names.” The man glanced over his shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

“Eres mi amigo, Paris. Me very best friend.”

The man took me by the wrist. “C’mon.”

The boy stepped in my way. I swallowed. “I’m not.”

“Sí, you are.”

The man yanked me by the collar of my coat. “Paris, right? You and I have a date, remember?”

A wooden door slammed shut, making the bare light hanging from the ceiling sway. The shadows inside the shed grew and shrank under clouds of dust.

“Backing out isn’t an option.”

And the boy who kissed me lay dead.

The man dragged me toward the door.

Leaves buried my shoes and clung to my ankles.

My hip hit the passenger door of a dark-colored sedan. It was parked somewhere the streetlights couldn’t reach. Broken laughter and music drifted down the alley connecting the parking lot to the rest of the world.

“Get in.” He grabbed me by the throat.

Twigs snapped.

“I have so many wonderful things planned for you.”

Rain soaked my clothes.

“If you impress me, I might even keep you around till tomorrow.”

The tarp crackled as it scraped across the concrete edging the well.

“If you really impress me, maybe I’ll even let you live.”

There was no sound until he hit the bottom.

“You’re going to be a shit ton of fun, baby.” The man yanked open the door. A pale shape huddled in the backseat of the sedan and stared at me with black button eyes.

“I said get in.”

I planted my foot on the frame of the car.

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” the man said. “And you do not want to do that.”

The rabbit sat up.

A terrible cold swelled inside me. It ate its way from my bones into my muscles with sharp teeth and slit my flesh with claws. “No, you promised.”

“Yeah, I promise you if you don’t get in the car, you’re going to bleed.”

A pink nose and twitching whiskers broke the line of shadow concealing the rabbit’s body.

“No.” I kicked myself off the doorframe, knocking the man off balance. His heel came down on a patch of ice, and he hit the ground. I tried to crawl away. “You promised if I painted, it would leave me alone!”

“You fucking little bitch.”

There was a hammer in my father’s hand. The head glistened. “You fucking little bitch…”

“I told you, no backing out.” The man lunged, and I hit the door. “You asked for this, remember.” He squeezed my throat. “You wanted this.”

“I saw how you looked at me. How you wanted me.”

“Fucking cunt.”

“Fucking whore.”

I grabbed the man’s wrists, but he was no longer the man from the bar. Blood covered his hand, speckled his cheek, and his blue eyes were now the color of rich earth.

My sleeping monster stirred in its pit of darkness. God help me if it woke up. “Let go of me.”

He grinned. “Oh no. No, no, no. You’re mine.”

“You’ll wake it up. Please…” I dug my nails into his wrists. “You have to stop. It’s too loud, all of it.”

“Loud?” He put his face close to mine. “You haven’t seen loud. But don’t worry, my house is private and the basement walls are thick.”

“Listen to me. I have to paint. It’s the only way to put it back to sleep.”

His mouth twisted up. “What the fuck are you on?”

Deep inside my chest, the monster opened his eyes.

The man rubbed my cheek with his thumb. “Awww—no need to cry yet.”

“Please…” The beast raised its sleepy head.

“Get in the car.”

“Please…” A tremor ran down my arms.

“If I ask you again, it’s going to hurt.”

“Please…” It shifted its weight, and mud sucked at the folds of its skin.

“Now, bitch, get in the fucking car.”

“I’m sorry.” The massive creature pushed itself up.

“I’ll make you think sorry…”

The terrible thing inside me opened its jaws and exhaled a breath of old sour ground.

“Last chance. Get…in…the…car.”

I’d forgotten what it felt like. It should have been impossible to do that. To forget that level of anger and that kind of thirst for freedom. But I’d kept it placated for so long by telling the world the truth while maintaining the lie.

I knew the moment it came to the surface because the hardness in the man’s eyes shattered.

I’m not sure, but I think he tried to run.

It grabbed him, hand on each side of his head, and sank its thumbs into his eyes. His scream was cut short when it landed a knee into his groin. He lost his balance and fell against the backseat of the sedan.

The monster punched the man in the side of the head. He turned away to shield himself from another strike so it sank a hand into his hair and smashed his face against the frame of the door.

Over.

And over.

And over.

Then it was gone, leaving my body chewed up and spit out.

Blood spread in a pool under the man’s crooked jaw and a broken tooth stuck to his bottom lip.

A snowflake landed on my arm, then another in my hair. They grew in number until the air was a cascade of white.

The shush of snow floating to the ground seemed impossibly loud. A woman’s laugh and the thump and grind of a heavy bass chased me down the alley. A single halogen light at the corner barely kept back the dark. I walked on numb legs in some random direction. With every step, the temperature dropped and the snow thickened.

I came out on a street and followed the line of dark windows to a café. Empty tables huddled around the window. I pulled out a chair and sat.

Bells rang, but I couldn’t find the strength to look up.

“Paris, is that you?”

I knew that voice.

“Jonathan? Jonathan. Get out here and help me.”

The bells on the door rang again. “What’s go—”

Louise made me look at her. “What’s wrong, honey?”

I spoke, but there was no sound.

“Is he drunk?” Jonathan said.

“I don’t know.”

“You want me to call the police?”

“Let’s get him inside.”

Tables with stacked chairs dotted a checkered floor. The sterile odor of bleach mixed with the ghosts of hotdogs and chili. It was quiet inside the café but not the same kind the snow brought. Inside, the silence wrapped around me in comfort.

Louise turned the lock. “C’mon, honey, let’s sit right over here.” They led me to a table.

“He’s got blood on his hands.”

I did. Old blood. New blood. “I’m…” My voice cracked.

Louise pushed my hair back from my eyes. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”

“We should call the police.” Jonathan went over to the counter.

“You pick up that phone, Jonathan Brewer, and so help me God…”

“He’s got blood on his hands, Louise.”

“Then get me a wet rag so I can clean him up.” She held up a finger, cutting off whatever her husband was going to say. “Wet rag. Now. And put a little soap on it.” Louise pulled out a chair. “Were you mugged?”

I shook with the effort to push out the words and still got nothing.

“Paris, did someone hurt you?”

I clenched my fists. Blood made my fingers sticky.

Jonathan walked up with a wet rag. “Here.”

Louis took it and cleaned my hands.

“We really need to call the police.”

“We are not calling the police. And that’s final.”

He folded his arms and then unfolded them. “He’s been in a fight, or hurt , or—”

“And you think the police are going to care? They didn’t care when that Bishop boy got knocked over the head.”

“That was different.”

Louise stood. She didn’t even reach the man’s chin. “Different how? Because he wore women’s clothes or because he wasn’t white?” She hit him in the chest with the rag. “Go wash that out and bring it back with a towel.”

“Louise…”

“What?”

“If something happened to him…” Jonathan glanced at me and then dropped his gaze to the ground.

“Go, and don’t forget the towel.” The way she said it suggested she feared the same thing. “And make some coffee.”

Jonathan left, and Louise wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “It’ll be okay.” She petted my back. “Whatever happened, it will be okay.”

The fight to speak made me tremble. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled out a chair and sat. “What are you sorry for?” Louise held my face and made me look her in the eye.

Everything. The boy who kissed me. The lie. The secrets I couldn’t tell. But I didn’t have to anymore, because they were spilling out of me. If Julia found out, she’d lock me away in that terrible place.

“Coffee’s on.” Jonathan returned with a rinsed-out rag and a towel. He grazed a look over me. “Who messed up your face?”

“Probably the same person who bloodied him up.”

“Bruises are a few days old, the blood was fresh, and he doesn’t have any cuts.”

Louise resumed cleaning me up. “It doesn’t matter right now. He’ll tell us when he’s ready, or he won’t.”

“Fine. You want sugar and cream in your coffee?”

“Yes…please…” I said.

While Jonathan fixed the coffee, Louise dried my hair. “You want to take off your coat?”

“No.”

“What about your scarf?” She reached for it, and I stopped her.

“No. Please. No.” She touched me below my jaw, and I pulled the scarf higher.

“I know you don’t want the police, but if someone did something to you…”

“Noth—” I cleared my throat. “Nothing happened.”

“Paris.”

“Nothing happened.”

“You’re all bruised up.”

“Fight.”

“The bruises on your face might be old, but those fingerprints on your neck aren’t.”

At least she didn’t see the bruise left by the belt. “Just a fight.”

“With who?”

I shrugged.

“Please, honey, let me help you.”

“I started it.” And I’d ended it. Was the guy from the club dead or alive? I didn’t want to know, and at the same time, I did.

We sat there, Louise begging me with her eyes to talk to her and me undeserving of her pity. She petted my back and brushed the hair back from my eyes. Every touch was a fist to my heart.

Jonathan came back with a cup in his hands. “I couldn’t find the filters, so I made you some hot chocolate.”

I took it, grateful to have something warm in my hands.

“There’s a brand new box in the cabinet. I put it there this morning.”

“I looked, and I didn’t see them.”

“Jonathan Brewer, I think it’s about time to get you some glasses.”

He glanced at the door. “If you don’t want the hot chocolate, I can go look for the filters again.”

I hugged the cup to my chest.

“We don’t mind.” Louise gave me a cautious smile.

I drank some of the hot chocolate and tasted nothing.

Jonathan glanced at the door again. “I’ll go throw you a cup of soup in the microwave.”

He left before I could squeak out a no.

“You’re cold. The soup will help.”

“I should—” My hands shook hard enough to slosh the hot chocolate out of the cup. Louise took it from me and put it on the table. “—go.”

She mopped up the mess with some napkins from the dispenser. “What do you mean?”

I nodded at the door.

She stopped me before I could get up. “If you want to go home, I’ll take you.” Only home wasn’t far enough away.

Jonathan came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl. Tendrils of steam followed it all the way to the table. “Careful, it’s hot.”

I stirred it with the spoon. If I ate it, I’d be sick.

A pair of headlights ran along the window, and Louise stood. “If that’s what I think it is…”

Jonathan held up his hands. “I had to call someone.”

“You did not have to call anyone.”

“Please, honey. It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think? Then why did a car just pull up?”

A car door shut. The reflection in the windows made it impossible to see how many cops there were. The door opened, and the bells clanged against the glass. There were black smudges on the right thigh of Roy’s jeans, and neither one of his boots were tied.

“I told you,” Jonathan said.

“C’mon.” Louise pushed her husband toward the back. “Let them talk.”

The closer Roy came, the higher my heart crawled up my throat. He went to his knees and pulled me into his arms.

“Roy…”

“Shhh—”

“I…”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.”

A sob broke out of my chest.

“It will be okay.”

I buried my tears in his shoulder.

“Everything will be okay.”

But Roy was wrong. So very wrong.

I waited in the cab while Roy spoke to the Brewers. Both of them glanced my way several times. Then Louise hugged Roy, and Jonathan shook his hand.

They went back inside the café, and Roy got in the cab. “If it’s okay, I want you to come home with me.”

How could he want to be near me?

He put a hand under my chin. “Is that okay? Or would you rather go home?”