Tainted Energy (The Energy Series Book 1) (2 page)

"Where
you been?" He didn't take his eyes off a solemn chief hanging by his
chair.

"With
Zander." Two months ago, he started demanding rent, but paying him and
saving for the apartment wasn't in my budget. When I told him no, he smacked
me, busting my lip. I told him shortly after I quit the theater. Now, when he
was still up and sober enough to ask why I came home late, I made stuff up. I
had until eighteen, he'd said, and then I was on my own.

No
problem.

"Only
whores spend so much alone time with a boy." He finished off his beer and
pulled another from the case.

"Thanks."
It was pointless to argue. He'd get pissed, and I had enough bruises on my body
for one night.

"Better
not come home pregnant. I'll kick your ass outta here faster than shit."

"Gotcha."
I waited to see if he wanted to add anything else to our little heart-to-heart.

He didn't
disappoint. "He hangs out with you so he can dip his stick into the wrong
side of the tracks. When he gets bored, he'll go back where he belongs, leave
you knocked up, expecting me to take care of it." He took another hit,
continuing on the inhale, "Just like your mom, opening her legs to
everything in the neighborhood."

I used
to yell. I used to cry. Now, I pictured the cute place above Jake's that'd be
mine in a month. "I'll do my best to keep my legs closed."

"Don't
get smart, girl." He tried to stand, but must've thought better of it when
he wobbled, flopping back into the chair. "Forget to slap on a raincoat,
and this is what I get..."

I didn't
stick around to listen. He could tell his chief what I'd heard a million times
already.

His
ranting echoed off the paneled walls, smacking my ears, even after I made it to
my room. I pushed in the knob of the feeble door, knowing if he wanted in the
lock wouldn't stop him. Since he couldn't stand, it'd work like Fort Knox
tonight.

After
piling five blankets on the face of the rubber mattress, I stripped to my
underwear, throwing my jeans at the end of the bed for the next day. It took a
few more minutes to bundle into my usual nightclothes: heavy socks, a
fluorescent orange winter hat, a pair of long underwear, and an old sweatshirt
with the Penn State logo.

I
crawled into bed and pulled a few thin blankets over my body, curling into the
fetal position. Getting pulled into the chair was impossible, I knew that, but
the bruises on my arms were real. Unfortunately, the expressions on Jake and
Zander's faces, and the total nonexistence of what caused the bruising, made me
think my mind finally snapped.

And how
Zander left...

I wouldn't
tell him about any other crazy shit. That decision wouldn't change, especially
after tonight. If I had another episode, the only person hearing about it would
be the reflection in the mirror.

Breathe
in…breathe out…ignore the cold…this little pep talk never works…

A subtle
movement rolled the mattress. It didn't faze me at first. My under-filled
mattress always moved at the smallest twinge. I focused on staying completely
still, hating the slight motion sickness.

You
are not safe anywhere, Lena.

The
voice blared right inside my head, sounding too close to the whispering in the
theater. Worse, it seemed to trigger the mattress. The subtle roll turned into
a wave, and another, until the bed roiled and twisted like the Atlantic.

I
struggled to flick on the lamp, only to see the bed act as though it were a
breathing, living thing. From under the blankets, what felt like fingers began
to stab at my back and calves. Fear paralyzed me for a few seconds before I
pushed off the bed, landing in a heap of threadbare blankets.

The
mattress continued waving while I sat with my back against the wall. I shut my
eyes.

It's
not real!

It's
not real!

It's
not real!

Only
when the sloshing water hitting rubber stopped did I open my eyes. The bed was
as docile as ever.

Tears
burned the back of my lids, but I refused to let them go. If I was losing my
mind...no, I couldn't lose my mind. Mom's life depended on it.

Wrapping
the blankets around my body, I settled in for a long, sleepless night on the
floor. The damn bed looked as innocent as a newborn, but no way was I putting
even one finger on it again. Zander or Jake wouldn't find out, either. They
didn't need any more Lena-is-nuts evidence.

One last
thought crossed my mind before sleep finally came:
I'll find you…

Him
better hurry up.

Lena

T
here's no place like home…There's
no place like…Oh, wait, there is. Rusted palaces just like mine usually found
on Cops…Bad boys, bad boys…shut up, brain.

I wasn't running away. Swear to
God. I thought about it, though. Thought about it every morning when I followed
the path through the woods to the school and back. After last night, escaping
sounded perfect. Not possible, but pretty damn great to think about.

The daily ritual gave me an hour
with the frost biting my nose and dead leaves crunching under my old sneakers.
Running was kind of mandatory, seeing as how track started next week, but I
loved it.

Out here, there was no dumb shit
dad, no helpless mom. No worry an anxiety attack would interfere with my
ability to ignore school's rigid caste system, of which I stayed planted in the
bottom rung–the untouchables. Trees didn't care where I lived. Squirrels didn't
judge my clothes. But as usual, the view of the trailer park ended my
life-pardon.

I stopped at the wood's edge for a
minute, slowing my breath. One month and I was out of here. Not even the crazy
shit from last night could dampen that excitement.

One foot met muddy asphalt as a
breeze pushed through the sweaty hair stuck on my forehead and rustled the
barren tree limbs. The air felt warm on my face, defrosting my runny nose–a
deep contrast to the crisp, spring morning breeze.

Odd, but hey, warm air? I'd take
it.

Then I heard it again, the same
voice from last night.

Lena.
My name carried through another
bout of warm air, soft but clear.

"Hello?"

It's time.

There it was again, an almost
delicate voice, but definitely belonging to a man.

"Not funny, asshole." I
went for irritated, but my squeaky voice betrayed me.

The rusted heap I lived in never
sounded so safe.

I threw the front door open with a
loud bang as soon as I hit the first cement block. The crazy wind and breathy
voice wasn't a good enough reason not to try to piss off the deadbeat. My
efforts went unappreciated.

Dad's alcohol coma hadn't worn off,
his feet still propped on the half-empty case of beer. He slouched in the same
beat-up wicker chair as last night while loud snores escaped his mouth. A can
of Genesee dangled in his right hand, its contents leaking from the opening.

The hate
in my chest suffocated me. He spent most of his time in this room, admiring the
Native American pictures he had collected from garage sales and flea markets,
drinking himself into a sloppy mess. He swore they'd be worth money someday,
even the velvet ones.

Useless.

Dangerous.

Worse, he'd
never let Mom go without a fight.

Shaking my head, I stalked toward
the smell of burnt eggs.

My frustration turned to anger when
I noticed a brand new bruise coloring Mom's left eye. "He give that to you?"

She
scraped at the bottom of the cast-iron skillet with a spatula, not answering.
The new shiner explained her absence last night. Dad usually left her alone
after he lost his temper.

"Why
this time?"

Mom
stopped torturing the eggs and looked up, her bottom lip shaking. Level-ten
rage sent me back to the living room.

Her
narrow hand reached for my sweatshirt sleeve. "Lena, stop. What're you
gonna do, anyway?"

"Smashing
one of those dumb pictures over his head sounds good about now."

"He'll
just get at you, too."

"So
we let him beat the crap outta you whenever he wants?"

Her
shoulders dropped and her cheeks sagged. "Where else do we have to go?"

Staring
into eyes the same color green as mine terrified me. Like looking into my own
future if I didn't escape. "We can always go to the shelter."

"Shelter's
no place for a teenage girl."

My arms
flailed around our dilapidated trailer. "And
this is
?"

Defeat
drained what little color her face still had.

I
sighed, softening my voice. "Look, one more month, that's it. We just need
to put up with his shit for a little longer."

"I
don't know, Lena. What if–"

"No.
No, 'what if.' We're leaving. Period." I gathered her up in my arms,
feeling every bone in her thin body. "Try to eat something today, okay? I'm
gonna shower, get ready for school."

"I'll
try." She glanced at the eggs, lip curling. "You want those?"

"Nah,
see if that jerk wants them," I said on my way to the bathroom. "Maybe
add some arsenic while you're at it."

A half
hour later, I waited with the rest of the rejects, stomping my feet and hugging
myself to prevent body heat from escaping. The air around us filled with tufts
of breath floating from our mouths, and one deep inhale revealed a few kids
didn't believe in toothbrushes. As always, I had to endure the rot for a while.
The damn bus never came on time, usually ten minutes late. Potholes on the main
road, which were marginally better than the dirt paths we called streets in the
park, made the trek difficult.

Kids
began their morning ritual of opening unlocked mailboxes, hoping to score
money. Don't know why they bothered. Residents here lived on some kind of
assistance, and those checks came at the beginning of the month. I hiked my bag
higher on my shoulder and watched the road, breathing through my mouth and
ignoring the future residents of the state penitentiary.

"You
want a ride, Lena?"

I turned
to the double wide as Wilma stepped off her splintered porch. A few kids
snickered and made pig noises as she limped to her Saturn, favoring her left
knee, and unlocked the door. She shot the idiots a bored stare while sipping
coffee from a mug she'd had attached to her hand every morning since before I
could remember. I had no idea if it was the same mug, but Wilma always had one
filled with steaming coffee when she went to work–in the cafeteria of every
school I'd ever attended.

Yes, I
hung out with the lunch lady.

"Yeah,
sure." I glared at the oinking asshats and walked to her car, making them
laugh harder.

The
first five minutes of the drive, I warmed my hands by smashing them against the
heaters. After the blood began to circulate, I leaned back, resting one hand on
the side of her hot mug sitting in the cup holder. Wilma's car was one of my
favorite places. It always smelled like vanilla, much nicer than the stale beer
and smoke polluting my trailer or the rancid morning breath at the bus stop.

She
reached for her coffee, brushing my hand with her fingers. I pulled back to let
her take my hand warmer without opening my eyes. After a sip, her loud voice
interrupted the silence. "What happened?"

Never
thought of myself as transparent–except to Wilma. I didn't even have to talk
for her to know something weighed on me. Knowing me for...what...my whole life
probably had a lot to do with it.

But no
way would I tell her about last night. I didn't need another person I cared
about thinking I boarded the crazy train. "He hit her again."

"That
sadistic piece of garbage needs to be hung up by his balls."

I
snorted. She had a way with words, my lunch lady. "You volunteering?"

Her
knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and her face developed blotchy red
patches across her pudgy cheeks. "You have no idea how much I'd love the
job."

"I'll
be out of there soon. No need to take his balls." I slouched in the seat. "Besides,
I'm sure those shriveled up a long time ago."

She
snorted this time, setting her coffee in the holder. Smoothing frizzy black
curls away from her face, she said, "Found a place in town, looked decent.
I'm thinking of taking it."

The news
didn't surprise me. Wilma had lived in that double wide for years, but when I
told her about my plan to move a week ago, she started grumbling about how much
she hated her house and needed a change. Guess it didn't matter hers was the
nicest dump in the park.

With a
grin, I looked her way. "I think that's a great idea."

She
nodded, never taking her eyes off the road.

∞ ∞ ∞

When I walked into homeroom, Zander
wasn't at his seat. Good. A day to process everything without avoiding him was
exactly what I needed. Still, it was sort of odd for him not to be there. He'd
never missed school since he transferred here three months ago. Shaking it off,
I took my seat and finished my calculus homework.

The
morning flew by without incident. As usual, I gave Coach Stump a show on the
track during Gym, the one place my long legs and skinny body had its
advantages. He clapped and hooted as though he were watching a pro-football
game.

The
subject of scholarships came up again. Stump gave me a wink after I flew past
Evan Michaels, the star quarterback, for the second time, saying, "You got
this in the bag, Tulman."

Senior
year was what I'd spent the last few years preparing for. All the work I put in
on the track, all the medals stuffed in my closet, the miles I clocked, it was
my golden ticket out of the trailer park. More importantly, a scholarship was
my one and only chance at getting through the front doors of Penn State.

Mrs.
Terra looked lost during English when the bell rang and her Othello wasn't
there to read with her. My face cracked into a smile as she searched the rows a
couple times before coming to terms with Zander's absence. Some football jock
took his place. His rendition of the great moor general–with his sixth-grade
reading level and monotone delivery–had Mrs. Terra cringing and snapping at
him. Yeah, the morning went perfectly.

I didn't
even think about Zander...well, I didn't think about him
a lot
. In fact,
I hadn't been this happy in school alongside the predators in a long time. Even
last night's mind slip or this morning's weird voice didn't bother me too much
anymore.

Then the
lunch bell rang.

I knew I'd
have to eat alone, and I was fine with it–looked forward to it. I went through
the line, picking out a cheeseburger, pear, fries, and chocolate milk without
worrying about dirty looks or smartass comments. Smiling, I handed my free
lunch ticket to Wilma.

She
punched a hole, handing it back. "Skinny girl like you could use some
cake."

"The
cake sucks."

"I
baked that damn cake, girl. It ain't so bad."

"You
added water to a boxed mix."

"It
comes with the lunch, kid, take it."

Her
grumbling wasn't anything new. She did it because she worried about me. That
much I'd figured out in grade school. I plopped the cake on my tray, groaning.
She rewarded me with a rare grin. "Good girl. You coming over for dinner
tonight?"

"I
got work."

"How
you getting home?"

"Jake'll
drive me." She opened her mouth, but I cut her off. "And I'll grab a
hot dog there."

Wilma
tapped her fingers against the register. "You feeling better?"

"Yeah,
I guess."

She
nodded and shooed me along, taking money from the people behind me.

While
eating what passed for meat and concentrating on my chemistry notes for next
week's test, a loud smack of a plastic tray against the table made me jump.

I looked
up to see Belva Summers and her followers crowding my table. The bitch never
missed an opportunity to give me grief.

"Problem?"
Here we go.

"What
do you think you're doing?"

I looked
at my lunch and notes. "Ah, I think it's obvious." Jesus, this high
school bullshit got old. Couldn't she see how stereotypical this scene was, the
bully antagonizing the downtrodden poor kid? Sometimes when she did this, I'd
look around to see if there were any hidden cameras.