“Have you seen my cell phone?”
Rain looked up at Ethan from the recliner with the missing footrest. She blinked. “Huh?”
“I can't find my cell. I set it down on the table in the kitchen and now it's gone.”
“I didn't take it.”
“I didn't say you did. I asked if you saw it.”
Graham stirred on the couch. He'd fallen asleep while watching some explosion-filled action movie on the measly thirteen inch TV propped on a milk crate. Poor kid had a hell of a day. Rain wished she could sleep, too. Instead, she had spent the last hour craving a fix with nothing to sate her since she'd left her stash back at her apartment. She didn't bother asking Laz if she could go back. She knew what he would say.
“Not me.”
“Does Lazaro have it?”
“Do I look like his keeper?”
“Why do you always have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Give me a hard time about everything. Your damn persecution complex is driving me nuts.”
She scrunched up her face. What the hell was he talking about? “I didn't do anything.”
“You act like I'm out to get you. Every damn time I talk to you it turns into a fight.”
“You started this shit, Ethan. Not me.”
He threw a hand in her direction. “See what I mean?”
Rain crossed her arms. “No.”
“Go ahead and play the victim if you want. I've got better things to do than tip-toe around you.” He turned away, heading in the direction of the kitchen.
Rain snickered. Couldn't help it. Ethan sounded so damn funny these days. Something about his tone, or his word choice.
Her laughing got him to stop and turn back around. “What's so funny?”
“Do you listen to yourself? Throwing out judgments like you're perfect or something.”
“I never said I was perfect.”
“You don't have to say it. You act like it.”
“That isn't true.”
“You sure as hell act like you're better than me. You talk down to me, lecture me. I'm not a fucking kid, you know.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
She rolled her eyes. “Forget it. You're gonna wake Graham.”
Ethan glanced toward the couch. Graham didn't move except for his breathing and the slight twitch of his dreaming eyes under his lids.
Rain wondered what the kid dreamed about. Did he still fantasize about building a castle in Ireland like he did when he was younger? Probably not. Probably grew out of that, which made Rain sad. She'd always loved the way he described in detail every tapestry and stone in his imaginary castle. It had sounded like a good place to live.
“Let's go into the kitchen,” Ethan said.
Rain lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”
“So we can talk.”
“I don't want to talk to you anymore.”
“I think it's time we cleared the air.”
Sounded nice, like he might want to ease up on her. But he still carried that tone in his voice, the “I'm the big smart man here” tone that got under Rain's skin like earthworms crawling into the dirt.
“I'm watching this movie.” She pointed at the TV just as a car exploded in slow motion with the muscle-padded hero stalking away from the carnage as the explosion's shockwave ruffled nothing but his hair.
“Right. Never mind.”
Ethan trudged into the kitchen and flopped into a chair at the poker table.
Rain pointed her eyes at the TV, but the movie didn't register. She might as well have stared at a blank wall. She heard Ethan's sigh and the thump of his elbows hitting the table. She could picture him without looking—elbows planted, hands in his hair, staring down at the table's surface as if looking into a mirror. Except in her image he had a cigarette tucked between the index and middle finger of his right hand, the smoke curling around his head like a pale and broken halo.
He did that all the time after one of their arguments when they were married. He closed up, disappeared for a while, then reemerged with a new energy, ready to take the shit she gave him until the next time he had to shut down.
Rain smiled.
She had to admit she hadn't been the easiest girl to get along with. What Ethan had seemed to forget was that he had been no freakin prince himself.
She stood and marched into the kitchen, taking a seat to Ethan's right. He pretended not to notice her.
“You want a cigarette?” she asked.
He didn't look up or even twitch.
“That was a joke.”
More of the silent treatment.
Rain brushed aside a lock of hair from her face, crossed her arms, and glared at Ethan. Focusing her gaze, she imagined burning a hole through his cheek. Almost as often as Ethan had dropped into his tabletop meditation, Rain had offered him the long stare. He could ignore it for a while, but eventually he felt her gaze like a fly crawling across his face. That's when he would snap out of his trance and bark at her to leave him alone, only the tension would crumble enough for them to meet in the middle of the rubble.
“It's not going to work,” Ethan said without looking up.
“You're not playing the game right. You're supposed to ignore me, remember?”
He hissed through his nose. His fingers curled a little tighter among his locks.
“You want to clear the air,” Rain said. “Let's clear it.”
He dropped his hands onto the table and looked at her. His eyes were glassed over, his cheeks pink.
Once upon a time, this man had refused to let anything hurt him. This was the same guy that had set his parents' house on fire because of the shit they had unloaded on him. Now he had tears in his eyes and looked as vulnerable as his son sleeping on the couch.
What had turned him so soft?
Rain had only grown harder over time, covered with a cold sheet of frost like what you find on a forgotten package at the back of the freezer—so icy and hard on the outside what was underneath had become unrecognizable.
If she wanted to get honest with herself, she was a little jealous of Ethan. Ethan had every right to act superior. He'd done the right thing. He'd turned his life around. He'd become the good boy.
What had she become?
A freezer-burnt junkie who had somehow outlived her fifteen year-old daughter.
“Forget it,” Ethan said. “The air between us will never clear.”
Rain snorted. “That's uplifting. You should record motivational tapes or something.”
Ethan shook his head, refusing to lighten up even a little.
For some reason, Rain felt like she had been given a mission—she had to break Ethan out of this funk. He was starting to remind her of Lazaro off his meds, all gloom and doom. That kind of attitude would not help Graham one stinking bit.
But how did she get through to someone who had written her off a long time ago?
She touched the bruise on her face with light fingertips. The pain thumped like a drum in her cheek, but when she had looked in the mirror that morning she noticed the bruise had yellowed, almost blending into her natural skin tone. Still, what a sight she must have been.
She reached a hand across the table, but froze halfway to taking his hand in hers. Wrong move. He would yank his hand away and stare at her like she'd grown a dozen spare ears.
She licked her lips, drew her hand slowly back to the near edge of the table. “You remember . . . remember Mrs. Dickerson?”
Ethan grunted.
“Remember how we used to sneak into her backyard and break into her shed.”
“Stop. I'm not going down memory lane with you.”
“What's it going to take?”
“For what?”
“To make you focus, damn it. To get you to see what a pain in the ass you're being. You think me or Laz wanted you back around under these circumstances?”
He shrugged. He didn't have a smart answer for that, she guessed.
“You can't stand it, can you?”
“I've no idea what you're talking about.”
“We're in this together. Me and you. And it drives you up the fucking wall.”
He stood and paced to the kitchen sink, staring down into the drain. “Doesn't take a genius to figure out why. You're a drug addict and Lazaro is . . .” He glanced around as if to make sure Lazaro wasn't within earshot. “He's unstable, to put it nicely.”
“If we're so horrible, what are you doing here?”
“I didn't have any other choice.”
“Let me tell you something, asshole. We did have a choice. We didn't have to help you. We could throw you to the fucking cops right now if we wanted.”
“I'm supposed to thank you?”
“Might be a nice start.”
He grimaced as if she had force-fed him maggots.
Ungrateful, fucking bastard. Her breaths came short. Her chest ached. Every inch of her skin felt ready to catch fire. When she spoke, her throat closed around her voice, nearly strangling the words away.
“You son of a bitch. You ever stop to think what running off might have done to me? You left me behind, like I was some diseased piece of . . .” Her anger got the better of her, locking up whatever she meant to say.
Ethan's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
“I loved you, Ethan. I loved you every day of our marriage including the day you left. Whatever things I did wrong, that never changed.”
His reply came a notch above a whisper. “It wasn't enough.”
She made a fist. Heat pumped in her palm and her knuckles ached from how hard she squeezed. At the same time, the skin on her inner arm tingled, the veins underneath hungry, so damn hungry they felt about to tear loose and find a fix on their own.
“I hate you. Do you know how much I hate you?”
“I don't care.”
This wasn't how this was supposed to end. Where was the truce? The clear air? Where was the pact to set their differences aside and fight for their common goal?
If she wanted to help Graham, she would have to do it fighting Ethan the whole time. He wouldn't let it be any other way. He had made up his mind about her and nothing would change.
“I wonder,” she said. “Did you ever love me? Or was I just a good fuck you got stuck with when I had Ali?”
His lips turned white, his body rigid. Rain could feel the anger wafting off of him and she savored it like heat from a campfire on a cold morning.
Through clenched teeth, Ethan said, “Alison and Graham are the only good things that came out of our marriage.”
Her own rage exploded, shattering whatever remained of her self-control. The words came easy now, and every one tasted like blood in her mouth.
“Only you fucked up. You let Alison get killed. You took her away, but you let her die.”
When he came at her, she did not flinch. Enough men had charged her the same way before and she expected the raised fist as naturally as she expected to breathe. The impact would come either right to the face, or start with a softening blow to the gut. Josh always went right for the face. But Ethan had never struck her before. All those years of screaming, slamming doors, cutting each other with words, yet he never got physical with her. Only after their love had long died did he finally find the guts to raise a hand to her.
She lifted her chin, ready for the blow.
Ethan stopped halfway across the kitchen. The fist balled at his side flexed open. His shoulders curled up against his neck, and his cheeks burned bright red, but the violence in his posture melted as quickly as it had formed.
“You want me to hurt you, don't you?” he asked.
“Not as much as I want to hurt you.”
“Why are we doing this?”
“Because it's easier than . . .” She swallowed what she meant to say. No. She never knew what she wanted to say. She was talking nonsense. She hated him. That's all. Hated him for everything and nothing.
“Easier than what?”
“I don't know.”
“Easier than getting along?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Ethan turned back to the sink, apparently too disgusted to even look at her. “So we're going to go on like this?”
“Don't say that like it's my fault.”
His shoulders sagged. “I'm done arguing.”
“I'm just saying—”
He spun around. “I get it. It's not all your fault. I didn't do things right when I left. I hurt you. I abandoned you. I know.”
Rain's stomach spun at the same speed as her head. She wanted to smack her hands over her ears. If he started admitting he was wrong now, where would that leave her? She would have to find another way to protect herself from hurting. Hate had made it so easy to move on. Hate and heroin.
Ethan crossed the kitchen, stepping within a foot of Rain. She could feel the heat pulsing off of his body.
“Thing is,” he said, “you abandoned me long before I left.”
Rain shook her head. “I was always there.”
“Physically, maybe. But you spent more and more time stoned on the couch. I bet you still don't remember what happened that time with Alison.”
“What time . . .” A warm shiver coasted along the length of her body, from scalp to heels.
“You were so blown out of your mind, you didn't even notice she had fallen and split her scalp on the coffee table.”
Rain's face grew hot. “No. I remember that. You got all pissed because I didn't get up fast enough. I was never moving fast enough for you.”
Ethan hung his head. “Rain, she lay bleeding on the floor for twenty minutes before I came home and found her.”
“It wasn't twenty minutes.”
“She was watching that TV show that always got her excited and jumping around. The one with the superheroes. She told me that's what she was doing when she fell. By the time I got home, that show was over. It was at least twenty minutes.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Not to hurt you.”
“Bullshit. Rub in my face what a terrible fucking mother I was.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “I'm trying to explain to you why I left. Why I had to.”
She shoved him away. The air felt so thick, each breath a chore. Damn dump probably had three years worth of dust in the furnace. Choking her.
She felt Ethan's hand on her shoulder. She batted it away. “Touch me again and I'll bite your fucking hand off.” Her pores seeped something thicker than sweat, as if she perspired blood.
Then she saw the blood coating her skin and shrieked.
“You're going to kill me!”
Ethan's arms wrapped around her, pinned her back against his chest and her arms at her sides. She tried to kick back, nail him in the balls, but he turned his hips, deflecting her blows.
“How long since your last dose?” Ethan asked.
“What of it?”
He squeezed her tighter against him.
While the pressure against her arms made her joints ache, the feel of his body against hers let slip a ribbon of comfort in among the chaos raging in her mind.
“How long?”
“I don't know. A while.”
He pulled her out of the kitchen into a short hall leading to the bathroom and two bedrooms. She continued to kick her feet in protest, but without as much vigor. Not all of her wanted to pull away from his warmth. Some of her wanted to sink even deeper into him. After all this time and all the hate and all the anger, there remained that primal need Ethan could always awaken in her. Through all their arguments and their various tricks to cope, it always used to end the same way.
A thrill rushed up from low in her gut as Ethan pulled her into the first bedroom. The décor consisted of a couple of cardboard boxes and a bare mattress on the floor.
The closer Ethan dragged her to the mattress the less she struggled. If this is what he wanted, if this is what he thought would “clear the air,” she would take it. She could feel her body getting ready even as she continued to sweat blood.
She laughed and went limp in Ethan's arms when he reached the mattress. She let him gently lay her down.
“You missed me after all,” she said and reached out to stroke his face. Only she missed because he pulled away at the last minute.
“Is it the blood?” she asked. Nausea crept up from her stomach to the back of her throat. She tried to fight it down. Now was not the time to get sick.
Ethan hushed her. “There's no blood.”
“It's all over me. I'm sweating blood.”
He shook his head. “You're having withdrawals.”
“No,” she said. She reached out and tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to pull him in for a kiss. Get things rolling.
He gripped her hand and unhooked it from his shirt. “Stop.”
“Isn't that why you brought me in here? To clear the air.” She laughed, but that brought up bile, searing her throat and filling her mouth with bitterness.
She coughed, had to turn on her side to keep from choking. The room spun. Every vein under her skin writhed and swelled. “What did you do to me?”
“Relax. Take deep breaths.”
“I'm not fucking giving birth again, Ethan. I'm dying.”
“You're not dying.”
“What do you care?”
“I care.”
She looked into his eyes. Hell, she remembered those eyes.
“Was it really twenty minutes?” she asked. Wetness crawled over her cheeks.
“It doesn't matter now.”
“I fucked up.”
“We all fucked up.”
She curled up on her side, her stomach morphing into a wash machine on the spin cycle.
“I need some, Ethan. You gotta get me some. At my apartment.”
He pressed a hand against her forehead. Too hot, but she didn't want to tell him, didn't want him to take the hand away.
“Just relax.”
“I need it. I'm going to fucking die.”
“You'll make it.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Please.”
He lifted his hand away from her forehead and she almost whimpered at its absence until he pressed his lips in its place. With his lips still against her skin, he said, “You can do this.”
For a second she wasn't sure what he meant. Then it hit her. She shoved him away.
“I'm not quitting.”
“Right now you don't have a choice.”
“I'm not,” she screamed. “I'm not. I'm not.”
When she tried to sit up, Ethan pressed her shoulders back against the mattress.
“You want to make up for your mistakes,” Ethan said, “this is one way to start.”
“Fuck you.” She spat in his face. “You can't take away the only comfort I have left. You got no right.”
He held her down, ignoring the spittle dripping off his nose.
“Let me go! What the hell do you think you're doing?”
He squeezed her shoulders. “Something I should have done before I left you.”