Still Waters by Ash Parsons

Author:Ash Parsons
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2015-03-24T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sometimes you can feel yourself sinking. Black water sucking at your heels, and it gets harder to move, harder to fight.

I felt it starting when I took the money—hate sucking at my heels, self-destruction not far behind.

And underneath that, the knowledge that it didn’t matter when I finally went home. Now or tomorrow or the next day. My dad would be waiting.

At least if I got it over with now, Janie wouldn’t be there.

I went to the old gym. Lifted the window and climbed through. Stood in the dank shower room.

Felt the wad of cash coal-hard in my pocket.

The black water settled in my chest. I pulled the money out and spread it on a bench. Two hundred and eighty dollars.

Tore through my locker, and brought out a boxing glove. Wadded up the money and shoved it inside the glove before putting it back. My dad would be waiting, and I wasn’t about to hand over the cash after all the crap I’d gone through.

I turned back to the window. My reflection in the clouded mirrors, wild-eyed. I climbed out, closing the window behind me.

On the walk home, I had to stop myself from breaking into a run. Black tissue spread through my chest, tumorous fingers squeezing my heart. I took the porch steps two at a time.

The sound of the slamming door brought him out.

I felt myself smiling. The blackness buzzed in my ears, whispered, screamed. So I cursed him.

He came at me, lips curled onto his teeth. Fang-groove creases arrowing down over his mouth.

The black tide covered me, bubbled up in my chest like laughter. His fist drove at my face in a straight line, rolling as it came—perfect and true. Beautiful.

I stepped in, dodging his first punch before the second one caught me. Lightning flashed in my skull. My legs gave out and I was falling. The black water rushed over my head before I landed.

• • •

“Jason?” A little voice, mouse-gnawing on the sparking wires in my brain. A hand shook my shoulder.

“Jason, sit up.”

I realized my eyes were open, although one was nearly swollen shut.

Janie’s cheeks were wet. She helped me stand. The floor tilted like a ship.

“You provoked him. And you told Clay you weren’t coming here.” An accusation. Janie wedged herself under my arm, too tight against my ribs.

I hissed.

“Sorry,” she breathed. “But you probably deserve that. Jerk.”

“Don’t be mad.” My voice was slurry and cotton-packed. “Honest pay for honest work.” I laughed.

We stumbled up the stairs. In the room, she helped me fall onto my bed.

I felt full and light, a balloon swelling to pop.

“Okay, what’s two plus two?” Janie asked. “What did you eat for breakfast?”

“Four. Knuckles.” A giggle fizzed in my chest. Nothing hurt. “It’s fine, Janie. It’s better this way.”

“Yeah. You look better.”

“Bitch.”

“Shitbird.” She sighed and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Planted hands on narrow hips, skinny elbows daggering the air by my head. Her eyes scoured my face. My laugh bubbled out again. Endorphins and relief and low tide.

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