42
ANSON
It was after one in the morning by the time I made it back to the Quick.
In the quiet market down below, I located one of the tables selling weapons, and I found a Ranger buck knife nearly identical to my own.
It only took a moment to pick the lock on the case and retrieve it.
I left a wad of bills in its place, enough to cover the cost. The handle was different, smoother than mine.
Unused. Unproven. But it was a fine weapon, and when I slipped it into my pocket, the familiar weight brought a sense of relief over me not unlike returning home after a long time away.
Pudge was at the top of the stairs, asleep in his chair.
His head lolled to the side, with a trail of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth to his shoulder as he snored.
Oddly, seeing him like that—the sheer size of him—I had no trouble picturing him picking up his stepfather and tossing him through a window.
Nor was it difficult to imagine him bashing the man’s head against the ground.
Pudge was a menacing presence. The strange thing was, I couldn’t imagine a waking Pudge doing those things.
Although his size was intimidating, when he was awake, he was really just this gentle giant.
Even when he waved the gun at us, I didn’t think he’d actually use it.
A blanket had pooled around his feet. I picked it up and draped it over him before heading to the bathroom for a shower.
When I heard someone crying, a female someone, my mind skipped back to the nights at Camden Treatment Center.
From the moment Libby arrived in that godawful place, she had cried every night.
These mournful sobs drifted to me through the air vents and around the cracks in the doors.
Although I hadn’t met Libby until weeks later at Finicky’s House for Wayward Children, I got to know her from those sobs.
I fell in love with her through those sobs.
When she and I finally touched, we connected as if we’d always touched.
As if together was right, and even inches apart was wrong.
When I heard someone crying from deep within the bathroom of the Quick, there was a brief moment where I thought Libby had somehow found her way back to me, and I found myself rushing through the otherwise dark space toward that voice.
It wasn’t Libby, though; it was Twill.
I found her in the last shower stall behind the drawn plastic curtain.
She was naked on the floor, pressed against the tile in the corner, with her knees drawn up against her chest and wrapped beneath her arms. The scalding water rained down on her through a cloud of steam, cascading through her hair and over her body.
A scrub brush was on the floor beside her, along with a worn bar of soap.
“Twill?”
Her red-eyed gaze drifted up to me—first in fear, then her face softened when she realized it was me.
Through the falling water of the shower, she reached a hand out to me, and I took it.
She guided me to the floor beside her, and I ignored the fact that I was fully dressed and my clothing was getting wet throughout.
I ignored the fact the water was far hotter than I liked it.
I settled in the space beside her and put my arm around her shoulder to draw her close.
Aside from Libby, I’d never held another girl so close.
And while someone like Paul might not understand this, the fact that she was naked had no bearing on the moment for me.
This wasn’t about that—this was something else entirely.
I think Twill felt that too, because she buried her face in my shoulder and cried even deeper.
She pressed into me like she’d climb inside my body if she could.
Like I was some warm, comforting blanket she desperately needed, and I let her.
I wanted her to. I held her tight and wished to take on her pain.
We sat there like that for nearly thirty minutes.
It wasn’t until Twill finally looked at me and leveled a weak smile, when she said, “You’re soaked, Anson,” that either of us spoke at all.
She was right, of course. There wasn’t a dry spot on me. I could even feel water sloshing around in my shoes. I ran my hand through my hair and slicked it back from my face. “I needed a shower and I also needed to do laundry, so . . .”
Her puffy eyes narrowed. “Was that an attempt at a joke?”
“I think so.”
“It’s probably best you don’t do it again.” She said it with this deadpan expression, and for a moment, I thought she was serious; then her tepid smile returned. “That was also a joke.”
“I don’t think either of us is destined for a life in comedy.”
“Definitely not.” Twill reached up and turned off the water before quickly covering herself back up as best she could. “Do you think you could get me a towel?”
“Sure.”
I got to my feet and sloshed over to the towel rack on the wall, for the first time noticing Twill’s discarded clothing on the floor.
The heel of one of her shoes was missing, and the dark blue dress she’d been wearing was torn at the collar; half the buttons were missing.
When I handed Twill the towel, I noticed fresh bruises on her left arm, both legs, and the side of her neck. “What happened?”
“Just some asshole.” Twill took the towel from me and stood. “Think you can turn around?”
I didn’t realize I’d been staring, and my cheeks flushed. I turned and faced the other direction. “Did he hurt you?”
At first, she didn’t answer. I could only hear the towel against her skin as she dried, then she let out a soft sigh.
“I had a date with a guy named Keith. It was supposed to be some fancy night out. Dinner, dancing, then, well, you know . . . some of these guys are like that. They want the full girlfriend experience, and I don’t mind.
I kinda like that. It gives me a chance to pretend things are normal.
I’d been out with him before, and the last time, he was a perfect gentleman, so I was sort of looking forward to it, you know?
He told me to meet him at the coffee shop off Market on King Street at six.
Wow, was I surprised when a big black limo pulled up.
The kind that stretches on for a city block.
The driver got out, opened the back door, and there was Keith, beaming at me.
” She fell silent for a second, and her face softened into a frown.
“I should have known something was wrong when I saw him. He told me to dress up, but he was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. It didn’t click.
I guess I figured he just hadn’t had time to change yet.
So I got in. I didn’t see the other guys until the driver closed the door.
Until I heard it lock. You can turn around now. ”
I turned back around, and Twill was standing there in a puddle, the towel wrapped around her and tucked in just right to stay in place. Most of the bruises were covered up—all but the one on her neck and another on her right shoulder. “The other guys?”
She nodded. “Three of them. They were sitting on the bench seat across from Keith, all the way toward the front. I could tell by the looks on their faces they’d been drinking a while.
I told Keith I wanted to get out. He told me everything would be okay, and the car started moving.
I told him I needed to talk to Lou—he’d only paid for one guy, and I don’t do the group thing.
Ever. Keith said they had money, a lot of money, and they’d make it worth my while, and that just made me want to get out of the car more.
The looks on their faces. They looked like wolves.
Hungry wolves that hadn’t eaten. I told him no way and grabbed for the door handle.
That’s when he hit me . . . the first time.
” The tears had started to come back, and Twill looked down at her feet.
She curled her toes in the puddled water.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this. None of it. ”
Although I was cold, every inch of me wet, and my clothing hung damp and heavy on my body, the only thing I felt was the newly acquired knife in my pocket. The weight of it. The heat.
“Say something, Anson.”
She looked so small. Nothing like the Twill I first met. Nothing like the tough girl I’d gotten to know. She looked like a bird who’d fallen from a tree and broken her wing. I didn’t want to think of her that way. She was so much stronger than that.
I licked my lips. “Do you know where they live?”