Page 22 of A Brother At My Back

8

Zeb…

I lay back in my bed, hands behind my head, and stared at the paper rectangle taped to the wall next to it. The light in here was bad, which was good, considering I slept most of the day, but sunrise hadn’t happened yet, and so I could barely make out the crimson stain across the paper’s surface. I touched it lightly and figured it wasn’t a good thing that I couldn’t stop picturing her with it between her lips. She was so beautifully broken. I couldn’t help it, though. There was something about her. Something about the way she moved, the look in her eyes, it captivated me.

She had these walls up, so impossibly high and hiding behind them, but at the same time, she was in there screaming for someone to see her. I did, I could hear her, but I didn’t think I could do anything about it except what Dragon had asked me to do. I could keep her alive and her ex-man’s damn hands off of her.

I sighed and set aside the book by Thompson I had laying on my chest. I tore my gaze from the rumpled twenty I’d done my best to smooth flat and stared at the cracked and water stained ceiling of my flat instead.

She was too primo for the likes of me, anyway. She’d probably get the idea I fancied her and tell me to fuck off. I couldn’t say I would blame her. My eyes drifted back to the lippy stained money on the wall. I didn’t think I would be sleeping anytime soon, so I sat up and pressed fingertips into my eyes, trying to rub the tired out.

Ever been that way? Tired, but can’t sleep, too much on the mind to make drifting off happen. Even if it was something you desperately wanted?

Her friend was supposed to bring her in just a few hours. I wanted to begin training her on how to defend herself if it should come up with her. I was fair certain it wouldn’t, but it was better safe than sorry, yeah? I liked the girl, and not just because she was pretty. I’d made a few observations about her in the short time we’d known each other.

She was smart, for one. The textbooks on her table were pretty heavy reading. If I had to guess, she was getting closer to her degree. Maybe the final year of Uni for her. That wasn’t what stood out to me the most, though. What stood out to me, what called out the most was her warrior’s spirit. She was a fierce one, that girl. I could see it. Wanted to see more of it.

I reached up to my jacket, hanging on the back of a chair by the bed and fished in the pocket for the mint tin in it. I opened it up and fished out a rolling paper, taking a pinch of the weed in it and crumbling along the paper I had folded with my other hand to hold it. I rolled myself a joint and stuck it between my lips, closing up the tin and putting it back, then fishing for my lighter in the same pocket.

I sucked the herb smoke into my lungs and flopped back onto the bed, staring at the rumpled, crimson-stained American money. I exhaled and watched the smoke plume and roil, perfuming the air with its earthy notes. I took another hit and held it, felt muscles start to loosen and my mind begin to slow its roll. I didn’t smoke weed often, but I had to admit, it was the best remedy when my nerves started to jangle for whatever reason so I always kept some on me.

I finished the joint and put it out in an empty lemonade can by the bed before flopping back into the mattress. I turned my head and stared at that crimson mark until the drug kicked in and mellowed me out enough to sleep. Still, pretty sure my dreams were haunted by a sinuous dancer with the saddest brown eyes that at the same time, were as empty as a doll’s.

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