Overworld Chronicles Books 1-2: Sweet Blood of Mine & Dark Light of Mine (5 page)

Katie hovered over Brad, tears in her eyes. She put his head in her lap and smoothed his cropped hair. My mouth dropped open. Why was she babying that asshole? I almost screamed in frustration.

Harry and Mark walked up.

"Holy crap, man!" Harry said, his eyes full of suppressed laughter. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"I hope it was entertaining," I growled.

Harry smirked. "Look, man, it
was
kind of funny."

I lunged at him and knocked him on his butt. The smirk vanished.

"Thank God I have such great friends," I said, shouting for everyone to hear. "People I can count on when some asshole is beating the crap out of me."

Mark placed himself between me and Harry. "What the hell, Justin?"

Harry leapt to his feet, pushed past Mark, and shoved me. "You idiot," he spat. "You never had a chance with Katie. You're just a delusional nerd like the rest of us."

Hot tears threatened to break loose but I fought them back. I wouldn't give these people the satisfaction of seeing me cry even if they were tears of fury. I glanced at Katie as she helped Brad off the ground. She didn't even look at me. The Goth girl was, though. She stood near the entrance, a curious expression on her face as students filed inside the school now that the spectacle was over. It amazed me how anyone with so many piercings could ever look sympathetic. I didn't want her sympathy or her pity. She was an even bigger loser than me. Her devil-may-care attitude and devil worshipper clothes begged for the attention she craved. Her reality probably included an abusive family and a trailer park.

I grabbed my backpack off the ground and made a beeline for the Jetta before my rage caused me to do anything else stupid. I climbed into the car and slammed the steering wheel with the palm of my hand. I stared back at the school. I had to go home and change clothes. Grime coated my shirt and pants and I wasn't about to go inside looking like this.

I screeched out of the parking lot but didn't make it far before a fat tear clouded my vision. I pulled over in front of a liquor store to fight the sudden storm of angry tears that threatened to break loose. I would not cry, dammit. I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror. Muddy rivulets streaked my cheeks. Dirt glommed onto my sweaty face. I looked like something from a horror film. Maybe I was a monster. A hunch-backed Igor, destined to be the untouchable low man on the totem pole forever. Life had been so easy on me up until this point. Good parents, good friends, and harmless nerdly pursuits. It was like God had come down and kicked my life in the balls. It hurt like crazy.

An approaching bum gave me a wide-eyed look. He pulled an about-face and went to beg money from someone who didn't look as psychotic as I did.

I pulled out my cell phone. It took me several minutes to calm my mind enough to compose a text to Katie.

Are you okay?

I waited and waited for her response. Minutes ticked by and nothing. Stupid hussy. How could she help that jerk after what he'd done to her? I screamed in impotent rage and balled up my fists.

"Why don't you want me?" I asked the absent girl that I craved so badly. I almost heard the snap as my heart broke in two.

My phone chimed. My heart lightened. Finally, she'd responded. Instead, it was a text from the wireless company, telling me my bill was ready to view. I fought the urge to smash my phone through the car window, instead gripping the steering wheel as if it were the last thing preventing me from falling into a ravine. There had to be a poem in this pain somewhere.

A cheerful ding informed me the Jetta was almost out of fuel. I pounded the steering wheel and drove to a Quick Trip gas station before I compounded my misery with a long walk.

As the gas gallon counter slowly ticked upward and the dollar amount skyrocketed to epic proportions, a low growling caught my ear. I looked at the dumpsters about twenty feet to my left. A large Rottweiler snarled at a huddled black form trapped between a brown metal dumpster and the brick wall bordering the refuse area. I took a few cautious steps forward until I could make out the black furry shape of a very perturbed cat. It arched its back and hissed at the dog.

The Rottweiler pounced. The cat leapt back. Huge slobbering jaws snapped on empty air. Why did the big guys always have to pick on the little ones? Bullies like Brad and Nathan and this stupid dog were one and the same. Anger-fueled lunacy replaced the final dredges of logic in my addled mind. I ran at the huge dog, yelling and waving my arms like an idiot. The dog turned toward me, hackles raised, and bared its very sharp and very scary teeth. It lunged for my leg, teeth clacking. I shrieked and jumped back.

The beast snarled and charged. I swung my leg in an awkward defensive gesture. Somehow, my foot caught the dog right in the nose with a loud crack. He yelped and rolled on the ground. The little black cat had jumped to the top of the dumpster during the fray and seemed to be quite entertained. I reached for him while the dog staggered dizzily nearby. I was afraid the cat might claw me but he settled into my arms and meowed happily as I raced for my car. I didn't want to be anywhere near that dog when it recovered.

I miraculously remembered to pull the gas pump nozzle out of the fuel filler and to screw on the fuel cover even as I trembled like someone whose stomach had just informed them the Indian food they'd eaten was, in fact, about to tear their digestive system to shreds.

I sat in the car and put the cat in the passenger seat. For a moment, all I could hear was my own panicked breathing. I couldn't believe I'd done it. That dog could have rabies. It could have maimed me. I figured a good old-fashioned mauling would have fit right in with today's
fantastic
milestones.

My parents weren't home when I arrived. I went in and washed up, fed the cat some leftovers while I figured out what in the world to do next. The cat meowed in what I interpreted as a voicing of sympathy and complete understanding of my fragile emotional state, his midnight-black fur rubbing against my outstretched hand.

"Thanks," I said, taking a deep breath to calm my palpitating heart. "You're kind of a brave little cat, aren't you?" I took a moment or two to properly contemplate what I should call him. "Welcome to my world, Captain Tibbs."

He cocked his head to the side and meowed, a clear indication he loved his new name.

I stared at the clock on the wall. It was almost lunchtime and returning to school seemed stupid at this point. Only pain and misery waited in that place.

I went into the garage and opened Dad's fridge. Beer crammed every shelf.

"Holy crap," I said. Was dad going off the deep end? I found a six-pack of the beer he'd given me last night and grabbed a couple of bottles from it. I shut the door halfway, hesitated, and opened it again. I took the entire six-pack to my room. Anger burned in my chest every time I thought about Katie or Brad effing Nichols, not to mention my supposed friends who'd laughed at me while Brad used me for a punching bag.

I guzzled two of the beers and felt a little better. I guzzled another one, burped, and tasted the nuked lasagna I'd eaten the day before. Captain Tibbs settled into my lap and purred.

"At least you're my friend, aren't you?" I scratched behind his ears.

A warm comfortable feeling spread out from my stomach. I chugged another beer and decided things weren't so horrible after all. By the time I finished the first six-pack, things seemed great. In fact, my mind felt clearer than ever about what I needed to do. I went into the garage and grabbed another six-pack. Time to put my plans into motion.

Chapter 6

I woke up on the floor, a metric ton of agony using my aching body like a hammock. Icepicks greeted my brain as I staggered to my feet and grabbed the ibuprofen bottle from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal to fill the gnawing void in my stomach.

Captain Tibbs hopped atop the table and gave me a disapproving look.

"Why didn't you stop me?" I said, popping several ibuprofen tablets into my mouth.

He stared at me with luminous green eyes, and I figured I had lost some of his respect for drinking as much as I had last night.

My phone chimed. I looked for it and finally found it under my computer desk. Another crack had joined the first one on the touchscreen. I was amazed it even worked.

I had several text messages waiting. Had Katie tried to get in touch last night? Had she ditched Brad and decided she wanted to be with me after all? Only in fantasy land. Harry, Mark, Katie, and a couple of people I hadn't spoken with in months had sent me texts. Apparently I was about to receive a few apologies.

Save the best for last, I decided, and opened Harry's first.

Screw you.

Short and to the point. I looked at the text thread and choked when I saw what I'd written him last night. It wasn't just one text, it was a freaking essay. And it was stuff from the darkest, nastiest recesses of my mind. I'd copied Mark and the other two people I hadn't spoken with for a while. Why, I didn't know, unless it was an act of drunken inaccuracy. Mark's reply was pretty close to Harry's, just a little longer and nastier. I looked at the texts from the other people. One advised anger management and the other simply replied,
WTF?

I couldn't bring myself to look at Katie's text. Oh God, what had I written her? I wracked my brain but I couldn't remember a thing…except—crap. I remembered doing something on Facebook. I opened Katie's text and felt the cereal I'd eaten claw its way back up my throat. I shuddered as I read.

Sent: 12:03AM: what no reply?

Sent: 12:05AM: You stupid hoor.

Sent: 12:06AM: I haet u

Sent: 12:07AM: and stupid brad

And those were just the first few. They got worse until the legibility and word order resembled the incoherent ramblings of a dyslexic monkey. Some were just numbers and random characters. Katie didn't reply until around ten in the morning, at first asking if someone stole my phone and then cussing me out and telling me to leave her alone with no less than five F-bombs.

My face went numb. What in the world had I done? I opened Facebook. I had only one status update around 1:00AM:
Katie Johnson is Brad's dirty tramp
. There were about thirty comments underneath, almost unanimously condemning me and several telling me to seek immediate help from a professional. People had posted random insults on my wall, some going so far as to threaten physical violence if I didn't stop bugging her. Out of my one-hundred or so friends, not a one came to my defense except Mike Gigrassio which didn't help at all, since people voted him most likely to become a pedophile. Not that I deserved anything but condemnation. I deleted my status update and set security so nobody could see my Facebook wall. I scrolled down my list of friends. Despair tore at my heart when I realized Katie was no longer there.

Manic laughter edged with sobs erupted from my throat. My world had disintegrated overnight. I had to go back to school and face these people. I wanted to dig a hole, pull the dirt on top of me, and die.

I started pacing my room. "Oh God. Oh my God. What am I gonna do?" Plastic surgery and a false identity seemed really good options.

Captain Tibbs sat atop my computer desk and watched me with pity.
See, I told you so
, his green eyes seemed to say, and he was right. Drinking was no solution. It just led to more problems.

I went into the den. It was already late in the afternoon and Dad was just waking up. He looked as bad as I did: unshaven, bloodshot eyes, and breath that could kill a dog and bring it back to life as a zombie.

"What's wrong, son?" he asked.

"I messed up bad. I don't know what to do."

He nodded groggily. "I know how that feels." He went into the garage and grabbed some beer. I almost projectile vomited just looking at the bottle. He sighed and lifted the bottle to his lips. After his first swig, he looked at me like he wanted to say something. Instead, he trudged into the den. Only a loud fart or an ass scratch on his part could have perfectly capped off that father-son conversation.

I wasn't letting him off so easy. I followed him into the den and took a seat far enough away to avoid his breath. "Where's Mom?"

"Dealing with the Conroys."

"Who?"

His red-rimmed eyes widened for a moment. "Funeral stuff for Aunt Petunia."

"Is she the reason you and Mom have been fighting?"

He rubbed the sleep from his face and gave the wall a blank stare. "Yes."

"And now you plan to drink yourself into oblivion?"

After a long pause he spoke in a voice thick with emotion. "The great affliction known as life sometimes requires medication to ease the side effects." A long gulp of beer followed the statement.

"Yeah? Well alcohol doesn't work." The urge to slap the bottle out of his hand jerked me from my chair. I wanted to knock it from his hand and watch it smash to pieces. I wanted him to look at me and listen. A firestorm of anger blazed through me, growing so hot my body felt as though it would burst into flames. A sudden realization threw cold water on the flames. Nothing I did would stop him. It would only postpone the next drink by minutes. Mere words certainly wouldn't change his attitude. I stormed from the den feeling useless and unwanted. Slammed the door to my room shut behind me.

I used homework as a non-alcoholic crutch to keep my mind off the catastrophic condition of my social life while Captain Tibbs sat atop my computer desk, purring contentedly. A door slammed. I glanced at the clock and saw it was just past eleven. Keys jangled.

"David?" Mom said. A loud slap echoed through a stunned silence.

"Ouch," came Dad's reply.

"This won't solve anything. You'd better snap out of feeling sorry for yourself. I will not…" her voice lowered to an indistinct mumble I couldn't make out.

I slipped into some shorts and flicked the lights off before climbing into bed and acting like I was asleep. Mom usually checked in on me before she went to bed. Maybe if they thought I was conked out for the night they'd talk more freely about what was really going on.