Page 70 of Twice as Twisted

“You’ll adjust,” I say.

We walk along for a few minutes, letting the waves drench our feet in the frigid Atlantic every time they crash. I glance over my shoulder and see only the young couple, far down the beach, their backs still turned. I could do it here. Wade into the waves and hold Jane under. She’s so malnourished that she wouldn’t have the energy to put up a good fight. It would be quick, probably painless. Actually, I’m not sure about that last part. I imagine being held under the icy water, holding my breath until my lungs ached, the panic and terror as I realized I was going to die, the desperate fight with not only the person holding me down but my own body. Losing that fight at last, opening my mouth, the water rushing in, invading my starving lungs.

I shudder and pull Jane back up to the dry sand, so we can sit. I notice an angry sore on her calf, about the size of her palm. I think it’s a burn, but I can’t be sure. Maybe Baron removed a patch so he could stick his dick under her skin, tearing it away from the muscle and fucking between. I wonder how that would feel, but I unlike him, I’m not brave enough to find out.

“That looks gnarly,” I say, nodding toward it.

“Maybe I should see a doctor,” she says, and it takes a second for me to realize she’s joking. A tiny smile lifts the corner of her mouth, and that wave ofdéjà vouscrashes over me again. I swear I know this girl from somewhere.

“Dr. Baron’s not doing it for you?” I tease, since she seems to be in a good mood.

“He’s doing something,” she says with a grimace.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, nodding at the ocean, where one lone, pink loud is stretched along the horizon like a lazy cat. “Pretty great, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says. “It is.”

“Glad I brought you here?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “Thank you.”

I smile with satisfaction and lean back on my hands. “Everybody should see the ocean at least once before they die.”

“Maybe someday I’ll be able to show it to my little sister.”

“Maybe,” I say, though I know she won’t. I pull out my flask and take a swig, then pass it to Jane. She takes a drink and winces, then takes another.

“Atta girl,” I say, laughing when she takes a third swallow before handing it back. I take another drink and then screw the cap on and pull out my cigarettes.

“You smoke?”

“Used to,” she says, eyeing the pack. “Nothing that fancy.”

“Why’d you quit?” I ask, drawing out one of the white sticks and holding it up. I close my eyes and inhale, dragging it under my nose from filter to tip. I like the smell of the organic tobacco. It reminds me of the inside of Colt’s truck, the smell of his skin when our lips were pressed together, the angle of his chin when he’d tilt his head to light up instead of bringing the flame to the cigarette.

When I open my eyes, Jane is watching me, her expression inscrutable. I notice she’s shivering, even though she’s wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt along with her leggings. I peel off my hoodie and hand it over, and she pulls it on without protest, her little face poking through before her shorn head emerges. She’s so tiny the thing swallows her, and she huddles down into it and thanks me, which makes me feel good.

“Want one?” I ask, offering the pack. “I probably shouldn’t ask, right? It must have been hard to quit.”

She didn’t answer when I asked before, but now she takes one and says, “Baron won’t let me have them.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” I say, shooting her a wink before holding my lighter for her. We both have to cup our hands around it to get it to light, since there’s a pretty good breeze coming off the ocean. When we finally get it lit, we do the same for mine. Then we both take a deep drag at once, watching each other from the corner of our eyes.

The spell is broken when Jane starts coughing. “Sorry,” she says, wiping at her eye. “It’s been a while.”

“Probably shouldn’t have given you one,” I say. “I’m a bad influence.”

“Do you think he’ll punish me?” she asks, staring glumly at the bright glint of the cherry when I take another drag.

“Nah,” I say. “He won’t care.”

She won’t be coming home smelling like smoke, but she doesn’t know that yet. I figure I’ll let her have a few happy moments before she goes. Smoking a cigarette on the beach at sunset with a hot guy while wearing his hoodie is probably the best she’d ever do for herself, even if she wasn’t about to die. She’s a runaway, after all. A throwaway, as Baron calls her. He says no one will miss her, that she’s basically no different from trash you’d pick up along the side of the highway. A dog that no one ever wanted, so they dropped it off somewhere, and no one will adopt it, so even the shelter won’t take it. That’s what he said when he was convincing me to do this. He said I’m putting her out of her misery, like putting down an old dog that’s suffering.

Jane stares at her cigarette a long moment, then shrugs one shoulder and sucks hard on the filter. “Worth it,” she says, blowing out a long, thin stream of smoke. “God, I’ve missed these.”

I imagine her life before. A homeless teenager, maybe a junkie, maybe turning tricks for cigarettes. And I gave her one for free—an organic one, at that. I’m not even going to ask her fora hand job when I take her out to eat, either. Everything’s on me tonight.

We sit there a while longer, until the couple with the dog drives off, until the sky is a deep shade of twilight, and the coals at the ends of our third cigarettes are the only light on the beach. One bright white star appears, and I nudge Jane.

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