She has me pinned, her chest on top of mine. Now is when I should kiss her. I want to, desperately, I want to grip her by the back of the neck and pull her into me, I want to—
Devour her, my mind supplies. There, above her eyebrow. Skin scraped off, pink raw promise beneath. My hands move of their own accord, snaking their way into her pomade-slick hair as I press my mouth to the cut and taste salt and dust and triumph.
Veer jerks away. My mouth goes cold.
Then she cups my face and kisses me like a dust storm, like a rattlesnake, with teeth and tongue and no room for breathing. I can barely keep up, not sure where to put my hands, brief moments of panic blotted out by her sheer intensity, like electric sparks in all the places our bodies meet.
When she pulls away, she’s breathless, eyes shining.
“Cool,” she whispers. She scrunches her nose and pushes off me, adding, “We came all this way, I guess we should check out the view.”
Veer kisses me again as we lean into each other on the edge of the roof. My arm around her shoulders, her fingers playing with my belt loops.
Her nose nudges the base of my ear. “Nice, right?”
The desert is a dark velvet expanse at the edge of the glimmering blanket of city. I can taste the crystalline saltiness of the dry air, the dust that sticks under fingernails and in creases of skin. Wide-open places always call to my family. Places where it’s hard to live, and easy to die. Our hunger feels at home there.
There are more of us out there, I know. Scattered around, or skipping town to town, just like we used to. But my mom says they’re shitty people and we don’t need them, and she’s probably right on at least one of those points. We’re all just scraping by. We don’t have space in our hearts to help one another.
“Yeah.” It’s more than nice. It’s beautiful. “You should probably wash that.”
I gesture at my temple, to show that I mean the cut above her eye.
“Right.” She itches at her hairline. The cut stretches a little wider, glistens a little pinker, and I’m struck breathless by its smell, like scraped knees and pomade. Her gaze is a spotlight again, an interrogation. I watch her mouth a few versions of the question before she asks it.
“You’ve been through some shit too, haven’t you?” She jerks her head, like she’s defending herself from an inaudible retort. “You know what I mean.”
I don’t miss the way she addstoo, and I can’t stop the sudden, overwhelming sensation that she’s looked right through me and sensed all the things I want to bury.
My pocket buzzes. Veer turns back to the desert as I tug the phone free, screen screaming to life in my hand. My mom’s face, upside down, but still instantly recognizable.
“Sorry,” I gasp—to Veer, to the desert, to myself, in preparation for whatever is waiting on the other end of the line—and pick up.
9
“WHERE ARE YOU?”MY MOM DEMANDS. HER VOICE IStinny and scared.
I glance at Veer and mouthSorryagain. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m with friends.”
“Friends?” Her voice soars, distressed. “What friends? Where did you go?”
I pull the phone away from my ear to glance at the time. 12:17 a.m. “I’ll be right there. Are you sleepy? Want to try going back to bed?”
“I’m wide awake.” She sharpens the words into an accusation. “I was so worried about you. I won’t be able to sleep for hours.”
Veer brushes my arm. “I’ll go.” Before I can stop her, she’s swung herself down the ladder and I’m alone on the roof.
“I’ll be home soon,” I tell my mom. What was I thinking, drinking and dancing and leaving her alone? What kind of a daughter does that? “Put on an episode of TV. I’ll be back before it’s done, I promise.”
“Okay, baby.” A raspy breath. I imagine her curled on the couch, knees pulled tight to her chest. “You know I love you.”
“I know, Mom. I love you too.”
Climbing down, the ladder creaks every time I take a new rung. My mom’s the one who banished me. I shouldn’t feel bad for doing something other than waiting for her mood to turn. No, that’s not fair. She needs me. I scoot my way across the top of the shed, itchy with desperation to get home, to already be home, to have this taken care of and behind me.
As I slip my legs over the side, an impulse drives me to glance back at the roof. All my thoughts catch in my throat.
The house is weeping blood.
