Page 52 of Fade into You
“Excuuuuuse me?!” she slurs, and whips her attention to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Someone who can smell the crazy coming off you,” he says, looking at her with disgust. I can feel Bird behind me. She has her hand on my back, something to keep me stable. I’m shaking.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Mack scratches at him, catching his face.
“Okay!” Harry takes charge. “Cool it or get the fuck out….”
Too late, though, the dickhead has other ideas, and I see him haul an arm back in the familiar upswing of a full-on bitch slap. I push Mack out of the way and his hand comes down hard on my face, the sting and sudden pain of it shocking my system. The violence is such a dark contrast to the ecstatic bash of the mosh pit. I stumble back and see Mack advancing for payback.
“Don’t you hit my fucking sister!” she screams, and runs toward him, claws ready to put more lines on his face, but I grab her waist and start dragging her away. “I will fuck you up! I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit!”
I get her outside with sheer determination and Tuck’s assistance, and we’re moving toward the car when I realize Bird has been following, wide-eyed and probably thinking the worst of me right now. When I shove Mack into the backseat, expletives and incomprehensible word stew sputtering out of her, Bird grabs my keys from my hand and walks around to the driver’s side.
“Hop in back,” she says. “Take care of her.”
I do, thanking her inwardly for not trying to deal with this here, for not saying or asking more, for being here to help. I can’t drive right now for so many reasons.
I slide in back and Mack has quieted some, but is still bitching. Once I sit beside her and get us both strapped into our seat belts, I hear Bird start up the car and we begin to cruise.
“Goddamn it, Mack.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she says, her bottom lip trembling. She’s gonna cry. She’s whipping between high and low. She’s definitely off her meds.
“I know,” I say, and she leans into me, tears coming big and loud, sobbing suddenly.
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” she keens.
“Okay,” I say, feeling outside of myself, outside of my body, the hot outline of a hand on my face the only thing bringing me back here, into this car, into this absolute fuckery.
“I’ll get better,” she cries.
“Sure, Mack, sure.”
In the rearview mirror I can see Bird looking at me with something different than shock, pity, or horror. She’s looking at me with concern, and for a second I think I might cry too.
But Mack has the monopoly on that right now. Instead I mouththank youand hope Mack will tire herself out on the way home.
BIRD
Behind me, Jessa’s quiet voiceguides me to their house, directing, “Left at the light,” “Your next right,” “Keep going straight” while her sister whimpers softly. I drive five below the speed limit the whole way, the cargo in the backseat feeling extra fragile. I try not to replay the sound of the man’s hand against Jessa’s face, which I could somehowhearover the music and the shouting. I try not to say anything except “okay.” Try not to breathe or brake too hard or get distracted watching Jessa and her sister huddled together in the rearview mirror.
My hands are still trembling by the time we arrive at Jessa’s house. She tells me to park on the street, so I do. I turn the car off and when I crack my door, the dome light comes on, eliciting a soft groan from Mack. I reach up to turn the light off just as Jessa reaches to do the same, our fingers touching for one small beat.
I get out first and allow myself a deep inhale and exhale before I open the back door, as slow and soft as I can. Jessa takesmy hand, the way she did at the skating rink, letting me help her out of the car, while her other arm maneuvers around her sister’s slumped shoulders.
It’s almost ten and the house is dark except for the front porch light. No other cars in the driveway. Jessa’s parents must have lives. She struggles to get her sister out of the backseat, so I move to the other side of her, trying my best to wrap my arm around her waist, letting Mack’s arm drape over my shoulders.
“Whoshee?”she slurs.
“It’s okay,” Jessa tells her, meeting my eye for only a moment as we hobble up the drive.
“My name’s Bird,” I tell her. “I’m Jessa’s friend.”
“Oh, hi,” she breathes, seeming to lapse back into unconsciousness.
We make it to the front door, and when Jessa turns the knob, it’s locked. She looks to me and I remember her keys in my pocket. When I pass them back to Jessa, I see her hand is shaking slightly, and I realize mine have finally stopped.
A dog barks on the other side of the door as Jessa unlocks it.
