For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (12 page)

    
“Neko?” I call in my usual, high-pitched voice.  “Neko-Neko?” I repeat.  Nothing.  “Hmm. I could have sworn I let him in this morning.”

    
I head upstairs to start my homework.  I get two feet through the door before I drop my backpack and resist a scream.  “What are you doing in here?”

    
Tamrin blinks at me and rolls over, upsetting Neko-Neko who jumps off the bed and stretches on the carpet.  I'm so angry with Tamrin that I don't even bother yelling at my cat for sleeping with the enemy.  Tamrin rubs a fist in his eye as he lifts his head, glances at the clock, and flops back in my bed.

    
“Have you been lying around all day?”

    
Tamrin moans and puts his hands over his ears.

    
“This is ridiculous.”  I stomp over to him, grab him by the arm, and haul as hard as I can.  “What did I tell you about my personal space?  Get out of my bed!”

    
Tamrin tumbles out of bed, his dead weight knocking me down with him.  I struggle out of the tangle of sheets and blankets, kicking and slapping.  It takes a long moment to realize he's not fighting back.  He's not even moving.  I stop and for the first time I really look at Tamrin.  He's curled around one of his arms, like he's afraid of moving it or protecting his stomach.  His back looks like a cat attacked it.  His mouth is swollen and his eyes are bloodshot.

    
“What the hell happened to you?”

    
“I haven't slept in three days,” he moans.  “I'm exhausted, let me sleep.  Please.”

    
The anger inside me crumples.  He sounds so weak and strained.  Three days?  “Didn’t you sleep last night?”

    
He doesn’t answer.

    
Geez, his hallucinations must be frightening if they keep him up for days at a time.  “Fine,” I mutter.

Tamrin

     It feels as if only seconds have passed since Jeanette scooted away from me and left the bedroom, but when something stinging bites into my back and I open my eyes, the sun is sinking behind the trees in her picture window.  Hissing, I turn to investigate what's causing such a stinging sensation.  Jeanette's eyes meet mine and then fall sheepishly on a bloody square of cotton and a brown bottle of human medicine.

    
I suck in air through gritted teeth.  “What are you doing to me?” My voice is so strained I barely get above a hoarse whisper.  I try to sit up, but my abs and limbs scream in rejection.

    
“Uh,” Jeanette flounders endearingly.  “They looked like they might get infected, so I was cleaning them.”

    
Scoffing, I collapse back and curl into the plushy comforter.  It's soft like her skin and smells like her.  It's a comforting, familiar scent considering I don't know her that well.  But her bed already seems infinitely safer and more accepting than Roxel’s ever did.  She dabs her terrible medicine on me once more.

    
“It won’t get infected,” I say, though I make no move to stop her.  She’s actually being nice, which is a good thing, and I don’t want to spoil it.  I try to sound as kind as I can.  “I told you,
Aos Si
don't get infections.”

    
“Well, you look infected.  And if I let you sleep in here, you have to prove you've been vaccinated or I’m pouring peroxide on you until you stop fizzing.”

    
I can do that.  There's a sheet of paper sitting in my leather pouch on the other side of the room that proves I've had the necessary medical care.  There are other documents showing I have an existing address, I've been attending a highly prestigious all boys preparatory school in London for the past ten years, and I've successfully transferred into to Mary Magda Academy and had my tuition waved.  None of this is true, but Jeanette doesn't need to know. 

    
I glance at the pouch, wanting to prove that I will be attending school with her tomorrow, but it’s such a long distance between me and my smug proof.  The idea of even crawling that far is daunting.  I'm so sore.  Everything feels tight and burns.  I don't know how some
Aos Si
do it.

    
“What's this from?”  Jeanette asks.

    
“Fingernails.”

    
The bottle falls abruptly and I hear it fizzing on the comforter behind me.
Oops.
  I shouldn't have said that.  I hadn't thought about how Jeanette would respond.
Idiot.

    
“F-fingernails?” Jeanette stammers.  “As in someone scratching you?”

    
Slowly, I nod making sure to gauge her reaction.

    
She blinks at me.  “Whose?”

    
I stare at my arm, shoved against my thighs because I don't want to separate my knees right now. 
Honesty is the best policy right?
  “Probably Leah, or maybe Nama.  I can't remember.”

    
Jeanette’s brows scrunch.  “Can't remember?”

    
“Can't remember,” I repeat with a nod.  “They both like to scratch; maybe it's a little bit from both.”

    
Jeanette struggles to her feet and stands over me, disapproving.  “What on earth would drive you to sleep with two girls in the same day?”

    
“I didn't
sleep
with either of them.  I told you, I haven't
slept
in days.”

    
She rolls her eyes.  “You know what I'm talking about.”

    
“I didn't have sex with both of them either,” I growl, annoyed that she’s judging me harshly.  What does she expect me to do?

    
“No?”

    
I nod.  I didn't need to have sex with Nama, thank goodness.  She gets her pleasure from other things, but that doesn't mean the scratches weren't hers.  But my money's on Leah, she likes to leave marks on me.  She loves to taunt Roxel.  I've probably got more purple splotches on my neck and shoulders than I know what to do with.  “Look, I’m just doing what I need to do to get by.”

    
She quiet for a moment.  “You mean this has to do with your faerie knight stuff…your
position
in court?”

    
It has to do with her.  It’s all her fault, after all, but it’s my own weakness that got me in this situation with her in the first place.  I nod.

    
Looking concerned, Jeanette comes down to her knees.  “Did someone force you to do this?  Are you in trouble?”

    
Her concern is so genuine I almost laugh at her.  Honestly, what does this girl think of me?  Does she assume that I’m weak and allow people to just take advantage of me?  Does she think I’m a child?  I force myself onto my back and stare at her.  She has such a hard white-knuckled fist around the peroxide-covered cotton swab that she's dripping it on the carpet.  The color's already beginning to fade where the peroxide has hit it and her bedding is ruined.

    
“No.  I went to them willingly,” I admit, half amused that she thinks I’d stand for anyone torturing me and half annoyed that she’s looking at me with that doe-eyed expression for the wounded deer again – like I need saving.

    
She must see my emotions because her voice changes to something challenging.  “So, you just take off your shirt and let them scratch you?” Jeanette counters.  “Some kind of BDSM thing?”

    
“Why do you even care?  Are you jealous?”  The words tumble out of my mouth without any warning.  I swallow hard, wondering where they came from when I had been ready to say something completely different, but I can't look away.  It's as if I want to know the answer.

    
Jeanette's face bursts beet red and she drops the crumpled cotton ball on the floor.  She looks as stunned by my words as I feel.  Flustered, she breaks my gaze and puts her hands behind her back. 

    
“N-no, I'm not jealous.  I'm just…grossed out.  I don't know you and here you are sleeping in my bed, after doing who knows what with
faerie
people, without thinking about the nasties you're going to give me.”

    
And just like that, my anger deflates and guilt swells.  She’s scared.  I should have bathed before climbing into Jeanette's bed.  It hadn't occurred to me.  I realize what I must smell and look like to her and I'm ashamed.  She's right.  Not about the STI thing, but me bringing my business where I shouldn't.  What I have to pay to get by in life isn't her problem…Well, it sort of is – I wouldn't have had to perform favors for half a dozen giggling
bean-sidhes
if she hadn't picked that rose.  If I didn't need her pure heart so badly, then I wouldn't have to do any of this.

    
Either way, deep down, it bothers me that she had to see me like this.  “I won't do it again,” I whisper.

    
A muscle under Jeanette's eye twitches.  “What's that supposed to mean?  Drop of the hat, no more sleeping around?”

    
I glare at her.  “It's not like I enjoy this, Jean.”

    
Jeanette straightens and blinks like I’ve slapped her.  “What'd you just call me?”

    
What
did
I just call her?  Jean?  Why Jean?  I've never heard anyone call her that.  Have I?  Gah, stupid time-memory confusion.

    
Jeanette looks between having seen a ghost and wanting to punch me.  “Please don't call me that.” Her voice shakes.

    
The words, “But I've always called you that,” roll to my tongue but I bite my lips to keep from speaking.  I've never called her that.  What am I thinking?

    
Jeanette escapes to the other side of the room and slumps in her chair.  I sense she's going to slam her forehead on the desk.  A second later, she does.  “I don’t know what to do with you.”

    
I don't dare say anything.  I don't trust my lips.  The longer I stare at her, looking miserable, the more my chest hurts.  I glance at the rose sitting on the desktop.  Almost a dozen petals have fallen from the head, but the blossom doesn't appear any smaller.  In fact it looks redder, lusher, more brilliant.  Why?  It should be dying.

    
Gritting my teeth against a groan, I force myself to sit up and the effort leaves me panting.  “Where's your father?” I ask, changing the subject.

    
Jeanette gives me a sidelong glance.  “At the school, he won’t be home until late.”

    
“May I bathe?”

    
Jeanette looks up and gives me a withering look behind her spectacles.  I find that expression strangely arousing and I turn away to hide the grimace that cracks my face when my body attempts to react accordingly.  I'm too overworked and too tired for her to be casting glances like that.

    
“Bathe?” she repeats.  “
Oui Pierre, le W.C. est au fond du hall
.”

    
She speaks French?  “Gracias.”  I struggle to my feet, nearly biting a hole through my cheek to keep my pain from showing on my face.  I make it to the door and turn back to Jeanette.  She's staring at the calendar above her desk.  Giant red Xs have been slashed through the rest of the month, like those days have already passed, eventless.

    
The urge to say something comforting wriggles into my conscious, but I have nothing that would make Jeanette happy.  “Did you do your homework yet?”  I try to sound innocently curious, despite my ulterior motive.

    
She doesn't turn to me.  “I still have Spanish.”

    
“I can help you, if you'd like.”
Please take the bait.

    
She swivels and gives me an incredulous look.  “You speak Spanish?”

    
I check my mind to verify I can develop both the Spanish and English version of my answer.  I've only known Spanish, for what?  Maybe ten hours Otherworld time?  I'm still a little shaky.

    
Why didn’t she take French in school?  It’s obvious she speaks it well.  No, she had to pick Spanish and now she’s failing.  And failing is making her heart sick.  That’s the only reason I exchanged favors with Megan the Speaker.  If Jeanette learns Spanish, she'll be much happier and so will her heart.  “Yes,” I reply. “Fairly fluently.”

    
The corner of Jeanette's mouth curves a hair.  Only the most skilled hunter could have caught it.

Jeanette

    
I can't help but stare at Tamrin's hands as they skim over the pages of my Spanish book.  He's saying something in Spanish, but I only understand half of it.  Without the significance of words, his voice becomes a melodious hum and I find myself liking the sound of his smooth baritone despite how horrid I find the language.