Page 64 of Wicked Sins

I turn, see her sitting up. I think she’s naked, and my eyes drop on instinct before my brain can wrangle sense into me.

A pink shirt, that’s all. Pale pink, skin-colored, nude, whatever the fuck they call it. I can look.

Icanlook.

She coughs, and one of her friends helps her to her feet. She hobbles closer like she’s broken both ankles, the back of her dainty hand pressed against her mouth like she’s feeling nauseous.

Yeah, I’d be sick too, with all that shit in my stomach.

But…there hadn’t been alcohol. Not on her breath, no taste of it in her mouth.

Vodka. Barely leaves a trace, doesn’t it?

My face hardens, and I want to leave so I don’t have to keep staring at her confused, frightened, pale face.

Instead, I step forward and grab her elbow, steering her in front of me as I cut a swathe through the wooded area surrounding the dam.

Someone lets out a low whistle, but they’re shushed an instant later. Then there’s just silence.

* * *

“Where are we going?”

I’d been doing fine until she spoke. I’d even managed to forget how ridiculously stupid she’d been swimming at night with a bunch of boozed-up delinquents.

Like you, Jo?

Fuck that. I’mnothinglike her. I don’t have fluff for brains.

“You’re hurting me.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I yell, turning on her so fast she walks into me.

Squelch.

A breath huffs out of her. She unbalances. I catch her absently and prop her up before she can land on her ass.

“Huh?” I prompt, shaking her for good measure.

Instead of whimpering, or crying, or complaining, her face twists into a scowl.

A fist comes out of nowhere, but the punch she lands on my jaw barely turns my head. It stings a little, but I doubt it will even bruise. I sigh, close my eyes, and rub my face as if the act can somehow wring energy back into my mind.

“Why didn’t you just let me drown?” she snaps, shoving uselessly at me before detouring around me and heading back the way we came.

Back to the dam.

Back to her friends, and her booze, and her irresponsible life.

“Because who the fuck do you think they’d blame?” I yell after her. “Huh?”

She stops, almost merging with the darkness.

“Whoalwaysgets blamed for your fuck ups, Candy?”

The moon has come out, but there’s a lot of foliage between us and its silvery light. Candy’s mostly still shadowed as she steps back toward me.

Still in her wet shirt. Me without shoes or a shirt, drenched.

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