Cut Me Free (12 page)

“Fine, then. You
were
stupid not to tell me. You got blood all over my arm and my shirt. The least you can do is let me help so I won't lose my job for letting a
new client
leave with blood streaming down her side.”

I wait for him to back down, but from his expression I know he won't. The silence between us hangs thick until Sanda stifles a giggle, and Cam winks at her before glaring at me again.

“We aren't going home with you.” I raise my hand to stop him when he opens his mouth to argue again. “But if you're really concerned, I'll let you walk us to our apartment.”

His expression is defeated in such an overdramatic way that Sanda laughs again and I can't help but smile. He yanks on the backpack. “Fine, but I'm carrying the bag.”

“Okay. I don't want to carry it anyway,” Sanda says over her shoulder as she walks out the door in front of us.

Cam bows his head and extends his hand toward the door. “Ladies first.”

Maybe taking lessons here is a bad idea. Fifteen minutes into our first lesson and I'm already bleeding. No one has even hit me yet.

 

11

Sanda walks ten feet in front of us on the way home. I think she wants to prove she can walk alone, but about once every minute I see her check to make sure we're still there. I pretend not to notice.

“So what's the story with you two?” Cam asks. Despite the sweatpants and the hoodie he threw on over his exposed chest, Cam still somehow manages to walk with purpose
and
appear so relaxed it borders on lazy. It's impressive.

“No story,” I reply. My voice is a little colder than I intend, and I bite my tongue softly between my teeth.

“Everyone has a story.” Cam lowers his chin and turns my way. “You don't want to tell me yours … yet.”

We walk in silence, and I'm surprised at how comfortable it is. I half believed letting him touch me would ruin any ability for me to relax around him ever again—instead, the opposite seems true. The whole city is tranquil when I'm next to him, the people friendlier, the streets peaceful. It's like even the buildings around us are cozier, more at ease when he's by my side. Every few seconds he glances at my shirt to check the bleeding but never says anything about it.

“I can guess what made you decide to take Krav Maga. You clearly need it.” Cam keeps his eyes on Sanda and his voice low. “Her, too?”

My instinct is to not tell him anything, but I've already tried that and because of it I'm ruining another perfectly good outfit with my blood. I press his shirt harder against my side and wince. “She might need it even more than I do.”

His jaw tightens, and we walk in silence for a moment before he responds. “Then I'll have to make sure not to let you two down.”

Unfamiliar warmth spreads through me, but I keep my eyes on the back of Sanda's feet.

We make our way up the steps to our apartment building. When I unlock the door and let Sanda in, Cam is right behind me.

“Thanks. We'll be fine from here.” I hand him back his shirt and try to pretend it isn't covered in my blood. The apartment needs to be for Sanda and me alone, especially tonight. I lowered some walls between Cam and me when I let him touch me. If replacing them with ones made of brick and stone is my only option for now, it will do. Not any closer, not yet.

“Look, I'll wait here if you want. You don't have to let me in.” Cam's eyes darken as he stares at the amount of blood on the ruined shirt. “But you're pale and I'm not leaving until I'm sure you don't need to go to the hospital.”

I shake my head, but he crosses his arms over his chest and sits down on the steps to our building. His smile irritates me as he leans back, like he has all the time in the world.

“You know”—he tilts his head toward me like he's sharing a secret—“I'm pretty good at first aid.”

“You know”—I lean down toward him a bit but pain shoots through my side so I bolt up straight—“so am I.”

He sits and waits, but his playful expression is gone.

“Fine,” I say, stomping my feet harder than normal as I head inside. “Wait here.”

When I follow Sanda through the door and up the stairs, I hear Janice's door open.

“Hel—” She gasps. Closing my eyes for a moment, I groan as I pivot to face her. She stands frozen in her doorway, staring at the blood that's begun to spread across my side to the back of my shirt.

“I had an accident. Excuse me for rushing, but as you can see, I need my first-aid kit.” I try to spread my hands out in front of me, but the motion hurts too much and I return them to my side.

Janice glances from me to Sanda, backs away, and closes the door to her apartment quietly.

By the time we've made it up the stairs and into our apartment, my head is pounding and my side has gone numb. Sanda runs into the bathroom and is back in our room with my first-aid kit before I can even ask.

“Thanks.”

I lift my shirt and once again survey the damage. I've really got to stop bleeding like this. My vision tilts. Yep, I still hate blood. The Steri-Strips dangle uselessly from each side of the newly opened gash. I gently remove them and resist the urge to cry out as I reclean the wound. The injury isn't quite as bad, but now I'll definitely have a nasty scar.

I bite my lip as I finish applying new strips and put on a fresh bandage. Sanda is sitting out on the couch flipping through an old
Sports Illustrated
that was here when I moved in. Gingerly, I tug a new shirt over my head as I hear a knock on the door. My heart flies into my throat, but my reaction is nothing compared to Sanda's. In an instant, she's in our room again, has flung the door closed and is cowering behind me.

A memory of Sam rises unbidden to the surface of my mind and I see him running to his hiding spot every time the attic door opens. The Parents didn't even make it to the top of the stairs before his skin paled to the shade of a ghost. I'd tried my best to protect him. To focus their anger on me so they'd leave him alone, but with two of them I couldn't always keep him safe.

You didn't hurt me, Piper. It was them. Never you.

So many times I'd wanted to make them stop, to hurt them back, but I'd always been too afraid. I'd been a coward. I was too scared until it was too late … and then I was the only one left to save.

My breath is so shaky when I draw it in I wonder if any oxygen comes with it. Crouching down beside Sanda, I lift her chin and look in her eyes.

“It's okay. It's probably Cam. You can stay here,” I whisper, silently cursing him in my head for scaring her like this. “Crawl onto the bed. Hide under the blankets. I'll let you know when it's safe.”

Her dark eyes are filled with terrors that only the two of us know. She turns and climbs under the covers. Even when I can't see her anymore, I see the blankets tremble with fear.

I walk to the door and check through the peephole. Janice stands uncertainly in the hall outside. She wrings her fingers together and then raises her hand to knock again, but hesitates. She returns it to her side and pivots to leave before I turn back the locks and open the door.

“Hi,” I say.

“Oh, yes. Good.” Her eyes go immediately to my side and she smiles weakly. “I'm glad to see you're okay.”

“Yeah.” Was this why she'd come? “I'm fine. Thanks.”

“How long is Sanda staying with you?” she asks.

“I'm not sure. It will probably be quite a while.” I frown. “Is it going to be a problem?”

“No, not at all.” Her eyes widen. “But I was wondering … if she's going to stay, school starts in a few weeks and I could help you get her registered if you'd like. Rachel will be new, too. She'd love to have a friend at school.”

“School?” The word is foreign in my mouth. I hadn't even considered it. Of course Sanda should go to school. Besides the TV that I was able to see through the crack in the attic floor, I'd learned what little I know from a used kindergarten workbook, a stack of old novels, and a radio that Nana snuck up to me when no one was looking. Does Sanda even know how to read? If not, I'll do my best to teach her. “Yes. I'd really like your help with that.”

“Really? Great! That's great.” Janice seems so surprised I wonder why she even asked. “Get her paperwork together.” At my blank expression she goes on. “Birth certificate and social security card, and I'll let you know when I get the registration information. Cam can help you—”

“Right, perfect,” I interrupt.

“And I assume that you are done with school then?”

“Yes. I'm done for now at least, maybe college someday.” I start to close my door before either of us can reveal any more than we should. “Thank you, Janice.”

“Charlotte?” She puts her hand up to stop me. And her cheeks flush as she continues. “Cam is downstairs. He isn't the one who caused your accident … is he?”

“Cam?” My voice does this weird squeaky thing when I say his name. “No, he's just making sure I'm okay.”

“And are you?” She looks down at my side again even though there is no longer any evidence of my injury.

“Yes.” I give her a firm nod and smile. “I'm fine.”

“Good,” Janice says, studying the floor between us for a moment without speaking. I wonder for the hundredth time what she thinks about me. I have no idea what the terms of Cam's arrangement with her are. Although, since she's also a client, she's probably realized that Charlotte isn't my real name. “Do you want me to send him up?”

“No,” I say too quickly, and her eyebrows shoot up. “No, that's okay. I'll come down in a second. Thanks.”

She purses her lips and turns as I close the door tight. I head straight for the bedroom. Sanda's lump is still under the blankets, but it has stopped shaking. Kneeling beside the bed, I let her hear my voice before touching the covers.

“It's okay, Sanda.” I lift them high enough to see her. Twin dark pools shine back at me and she blinks twice before responding.

“Who … who was it?”

“Janice. She wants to know if you'd like to go to school with Rachel.”

Sanda scoots closer and pulls the blanket off her head. “School?” She's almost reverent as she speaks the word.

“You've never been to school?”

“No. Never.”

“Would you like to go?”

Her eyes are enormous as she gapes at me. “Could I? Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Charlotte.” Her hand reaches for mine and she pulls me down until my head is right in front of hers. Her eyes shine as she whispers, “That would be the best thing I could ever imagine in my whole entire life.”

And then both of her tiny arms are wrapped so tight around my neck I can barely breathe, especially since I'm laughing and she's laughing, and it feels so good to laugh. I hug her back and let myself be happy for a moment, knowing this would make Sam proud.

I will protect her. I will keep her safe. I will give her what Sam should've had.

“Thank you, Charlotte.”

“You're welcome.” Grinning, I sit her back on the bed and extract myself from her arms. “We need to talk about the school arrangements more, but first I need to go and send Cam home.”

Sanda is bouncing on the bed as I walk out and down the stairs. Cam gets to his feet as soon as I open the apartment building door. I'm taken aback by the relief that washes over his face when he sees me.

“You're okay,” he says.

“I told you I was fine.”

“I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and call an ambulance.”

“Sorry, Janice distracted me.”

“Oh yeah, I saw her.” Cam's eyes almost glow when he grins. Bubbles of warmth burst inside me. “She's never acted suspicious of me before, but I worried she might call and report me if I sat out here any longer. What did you tell her?”

“She asked me if you caused my ‘accident,'” I tell him with a shrug.

His eyes are pained as he takes a step closer. “Did you say yes?” With me standing on a step, I'm almost as tall as him. I try to back away, but my heels bump against the next step up.

“No.” My voice sounds weak, so I clear my throat and try again. “No. It wasn't your fault.”

“Does that mean you're going to keep taking lessons?”

I laugh. “Yes.”

“On one condition.” He leans back when he notices my heels ram into the step behind me for the second time. “You have to warn me about any injuries before each class.”

Finally, I can take a full breath. “I'll try.”

“Tuesday night, then.”

“Wait.” My hand reaches forward to stop him without thought and I stick it back in my pocket. His brow furrows as he waits for me to continue. “Could you come by tomorrow morning, around ten? I need help with something.”

His eyes search mine for the answers he never finds. “I'll be here.” He turns back toward the studio, but I catch the slightest whisper across the darkness between us. “Good night.”

 

12

The family Sanda used to clean for gave her a few early reader and chapter books their kids had grown out of. She told me they wanted her to be able to read the labels on the groceries when she put them away. Math is a different matter, but she does know how to count from the times they made her scrub the bathtub with one thousand strokes using an old toothbrush. The woman she'd worked for had listened to her count out loud, and if she missed a number she had to start over.

Sanda had become an excellent counter.

“Are you sure they'll let me go to school?” she asks as we wait on the steps in front of our apartment. Her hair is so glossy black in the sunlight it's like the midnight sky, but not the one here in the city. The heartbeat of Philadelphia pushes that kind of inky darkness away. It is like a country sky without the stars.