The Brothers (10 page)

He shakes me again. My head bangs harder. The world blurs and spins. “I gambled. I owe debts. Do you know what they’ll—how could you?” he yells. “How could you?”

I lift my eyes to his. “You never asked me if I wanted saving. I didn’t. I wanted to save myself.”

The slap comes hard and fast, snapping my head to the side. I cry out, my hands coming up to my face, but he’s dropping me. I slide down the wall and hit the floor. Pain pulses from my head, my cheek, and my elbow. When I curl up again, he stands above me, panting.

The elevator lurches to life and rises.

“You’re mine. I’ll have some details to work out with Bashees, but he sure as hell took my money. You have a lot of work to do to earn back all I spent on you.” He glares at me. So much hatred. “I’ll collect you tomorrow.”

The doors ding open, and he strides out. I lie on the floor in a ball until the doors slide shut.

All afternoon, I sit in the lounge and watch TV show after TV show. Normally, TV bores me, but today, the lights and sounds are the only things keeping me from throwing myself off the roof. I watch Wally apologize to the Beav. I watch Lucy. I watch images until they’re nothing but sound and movement.

The sun aches across the sky, throwing light and shadow across the room in tilting lines. I watch sunlight trail down the shelves with their tattered board games until the puddle of sun spills on the floor. Part of me thinks I should have done something more exciting with my last day of freedom, something I’ll miss.

Part of me doesn’t care.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the baby, the size of a mustard seed nestled in my belly. How long before Houghtson’s blows hurt her? How long before I’ll have to curl my body over her tiny form? Not that he’ll let me keep her. She’ll be given away the minute he rips her from my arms. Maybe Bell will raise her.

Then I realize that my speck of life might not be a girl. This isn’t an IVF baby, after all; this is the organic kind. Robbie’s been outside with all the toxins that poisoned our bodies. Would Houghtson kill a baby boy? I’ve heard of it happening on the outside, but never in the hospital.

It’s nearly night before Sabrina finds me. When she does, her hands fly up to her chest as she runs toward me.

“Dear God in Heaven, I thought they’d taken you. You’ve been here all this time? Why didn’t you come back to tell me? And what happened to your face?” She touches my bruises with a fingertip.

“Does it look bad?” I ask.

“He did this?”

I turn my eyes to the puddle of sun on the floor, but it’s gone.

“Oh, Jan.” She pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “But you won’t be
put out
?”

“I should have let them take me that day. I should have let them toss me onto the streets. It would be better than what he’s going to do to me.” I fold my hands in my lap. No letters form on my fingers. Words can’t save me anymore.

“Where’s Bell?” Sabrina asks.

I shake my head. “I wonder if Houghtson did something to her.”

“Not to Bell. She’s made out of iron.”

I sniff. “He’s a doctor. He can do whatever he wants.”

Sabrina goes quiet at the truth. “You look awful. It’s a wonder he wants you.”

Something pings inside me. I look up at Sabrina. “What did you say?”

“I…said it’s a wonder he still wants you with that bruising. But I was only kidding. You’re still a beauty.”

I stand, flooded with the realization that’s building in my head. Sabrina stands with me. “What are you doing?” she asks as I turn to leave.

I stop and look at her for a moment. My roommate, my friend who everyone dismisses as ugly because all her hair has fallen out. It’s amazing how one missing piece can mar the whole picture. I remember Sabrina with hair and she was a beauty. But hair grows back. I need something…more.

“Jan, tell me what you’re up to.” Sabrina clutches her gown in her fists.

I grab her hand and kiss it. “I love you, Sabrina.” Then I turn and jog to the elevators before I can talk myself out of what I’m about to do.

I take the elevator down to the nannies’ floor, my body humming with decision. I have to do this. It’s my only option.

When the doors open, I bolt out. Dinner is just ending and most of the nannies are still working on other floors. If Bell or Hannah or anyone who knows me is here, my plan will be ruined. But I see no one as I run to the kitchen.

The dim little kitchen smells of fish and something charred when I enter. I wrinkle my nose up at the smell but don’t let it stop me. I’ve been in this little kitchen a few times with Bell. Most of the nannies eat on the floors where they work, after the girls have their food and the babies have been put down for naps. The retired nannies that live on this floor take turns cooking small meals for each other in this tiny kitchen. It has an old-fashioned stove, dented and worn, with four gas burners on top; a sink with a disposal; a small refrigerator; and some battered wooden cupboards. I pull open cupboards quickly, scanning for something that will help me accomplish my task. I find a bottle of cooking oil and bring it out. Setting it on the counter, I stare at it.

What am I doing? This is crazy.

I shake my head, not allowing myself to chicken out. I’ve been too indecisive; that’s what got me into this mess in the first place. I uncap the bottle and dribble some oil on my cheek. It runs down my neck in a cool, slick river.

With a trembling hand, I turn on the gas burner. Blue flame leaps to life.

“What are you doing?” says a voice in the doorway. Nanny Flora, the frail old woman I found on the floor a month ago, stares at me from the open doorframe. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

She can’t stop me. I won’t be Houghtson’s wife.

I lean my cheek toward the stove.

“Stop!” Nanny Flora cries.

The flame is hot on my skin. I just want to singe it, maybe blacken it a little, just enough to repel Houghtson. But oh, it hurts too much! I’m about to pull away when there’s a
whoosh
. Suddenly, my whole face and neck are burning.

I pull back from the stove, but the heat and pain come with me. My face is on fire! I slap at the flames in total panic. Oh God, the burning. The burning!

Nanny Flora runs in. She grabs my arm and drags me. I’m screaming, thrashing. I can’t take the pain. I smell burning hair and know it’s my own.

Nanny Flora throws a wet cloth on my face.

Flames sizzle and smoke fills the air. Overhead, an alarm begins blaring and sprinklers turn on, dousing me even further.

The fire’s out. It’s out. It’s out.

Flora pulls the blanket away.

What have I done?

I look at my hands. Big blisters cover my palms. I know they should hurt, that all of me should hurt, but it doesn’t. Not yet. Trembling, shaking, I turn to Flora. “Am I…am I going to be okay?”

When Flora looks at me, I can tell I won’t be alright.

“Oh my dear, your face. Your pretty, pretty face.”

The pain wakes me. The burning on my hands, face, and neck is so brutal I can barely draw breath. The skin under my bandages is so very angry. I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined me.

I was so stupid.

I’m in the infirmary in a bed. My hands are two huge cotton swabs at my sides. I can’t see my face, but I can feel the tightness of the bandages. Beneath my skin, it feels like a sea of lava eating my flesh.

Tears fill my eyes, and I look around for help. I find Bell asleep in a chair beside my bed.

“Bell,” I say, but the right side of my mouth hurts too much to speak more. Bell opens her eyes.

“You’re awake,” she says, her face full of pity.

I blink. It’s all I can manage.

Bell reaches for my hand, remembers, and touches my arm instead. She leans close and whispers. “I’ve been slipping you something for the pain. Houghtson demanded we give you no drugs, that motherless bastard.”

“Does he…hate me?” I say through the pain.

Bell’s face tightens. “He threw a chair through a sixth-floor window.”

I close my eyes, imagining his rage. “He doesn’t want me then?”

Bell sighs. “Is that why you did this? The running theory was suicide, but I didn’t believe it. You wouldn’t give up on us.”

I blink again. Bell nods.

“Time will tell what Houghtson will do, but you’ve given us all a scare, and I’ll thank you not to do it again. You could’ve lost the baby.”

“I didn’t,” I say. “Right?”

Bell strokes my arm. “The baby’s fine. Wish I could say the same for you.”

I frown and then wince. It’s hard to keep my face still, and every time I move, fresh pain pules through my whole head. “Stupid.”

“It was,” Bell says. She looks at me with sad eyes. “I wish you’d talked to me first.”

“You would’ve stopped me.”

Bell shrugs. “Maybe not. Beauty is dangerous. I would’ve gone about it another way though, precious.”

I turn my eyes to the barred window. Suddenly, I’m very tired.

Bell hands me a cup of water with a straw. “One thing’s for sure,” she says, her mouth quirking into a smile. “No one around here has balls as big as you.”

It takes forever for my face to heal. Days of pain. Days of wishing I’d just die and be done with it. Days of Nanny Bell giving me pills that are hard to swallow and rubbing awful salve on my wounds. Days of Sabrina sending desperate notes wishing me well, wishing I’d hurry, wishing she could’ve stopped me that night I ran to the elevators. I don’t answer back.

I don’t answer because the pain is too big. It takes over my brain. It holds my body hostage with its constant demanding throbs. I can’t do anything other than wish it will stop. Pray it will stop. Cry and demand it stop. None of it helps.

But time does help. And time somehow ticks by until my hands can be unbandaged. The pinkish skin underneath is tender and new, but nothing serious. My face is another story. Nanny Bell has told me it will never look the same. She’s offered me a mirror, which I refused. She’s told me the outer part of my ear is gone. Just those words sent me into a fit of weeping that lasted hours.

Somehow I heal, though I keep my face bandaged. Eventually, I’m able to eat and talk without agony. I can sit up and look out the window. I can sleep without waking in fitful bouts.

One afternoon I’m slowly working through a cross-stitch pattern when my door blows open. I jump and turn, sending an ache down my burned neck. It’s Houghtson. And he looks furious.

I scramble back, tumbling out of the bed and bumping against the far wall. Houghtson storms in, his narrow eyes following me. He looks skinnier and more worn than before. Small sun blisters have formed on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. What is a doctor doing with sun blisters? I think he’ll strike me or grab me, but instead, he watches me tremble as another man in black with a white collar shuffles in.

It’s a priest. I’ve only seen them on TV, never in real life, but I’d heard a few still had small congregations in the city. What is a priest doing—?

“She’s the one you want to marry?” The priest looks horrified.

Houghtson watches me fiercely. “Yes.”

The priest looks between us. “I…I don’t know.”

Houghtson’s body is a rigid line. He looks like he wants to hit me. I think he might if the priest leaves. “She’s to be my wife. Right, Jan?”

When I don’t answer, he stomps toward me. “Right?”

The priest clears his throat. “This really is…unorthodox. She’s not even healed. Why not give the girl some time—?”

“No!” Houghtson yells, startling us both. “She agreed to the marriage. I’ve waited long enough. The nurses say she’s mostly healed.”

“She still has bandages on her face,” the priest says.

“She doesn’t need them anymore.” Houghtson reaches out and pulls the bandages off.

The priest gasps and turns away. Houghtson stares, anger pulsing from his eyes. “This is what you offer me?” he whispers. “This is how you repay me?”

I put my hands up to block my face, but he pulls them down. He grabs my wrist and drags me to the mirror across the room. “Look at yourself. Look!”

When I keep my eyes down, he shakes me. I lift my eyes to the mirror.

For a moment, my brain can’t process what it’s seeing. That cannot be me. One half of my face looks normal. The other half looks…unhuman. The skin on my cheek and neck is a red, raw, pitted mess. My ear is mostly…gone. It’s horrible. I turn my face down, a sob stuck in my throat.

“You thought I wouldn’t want you,” Houghtson whispers. “And you were right. If I hadn’t paid my life savings to Bashees already, I wouldn’t want you. But it’s too late now. I tried to trade you to Rukus, but he can’t use a freak. So you’re mine. And you’ll spend your whole life making up for the damage you did to my wife.” He shoves me away. I stumble and cling to the wall.

The priest gasps. “I’m sorry, but I want no part of this.” He storms off.

Houghtson watches him with burning eyes. “I don’t need you! Bashees can marry us.” he shouts after the priest. Then he turns to me, so angry. “I’ll be back.”

The door slams behind him, and I crumple to the floor.

When Nanny Bell visits me that night, I’ve calmed myself down. She hands me a small bouquets of wild flowers that must be from Robbie. When I don’t take them, she sets them on the windowsill.

“Pouting?” she asks. “You know how I feel about—”

“Houghtson came in today. He brought a priest, but he wouldn’t marry us because I’m too ugly. He went to get Bashees to do it.”

Bell’s mouth drops open. “He what?”

“You heard me,” I say to the wall.

Bell is quiet for a moment. “God, he’s persistent.”

“He’s already spent his life savings on me. He said I’ll spend the rest of my life paying him back.”

Bell clucks her tongue. “That lowlife, dirt-eating, cow pie. I heard he owes huge debts in town. Has a major gambling problem, that one. Now he has to pay back what he owes, but he spent it on you. Bashees was more’n happy to take it. Helps him with his tight budget, the ass.”

I sniff and say nothing.

Bell begins to pace and wring her hands. I stare at the wall, angry. I’m angry at Houghtson, at this hospital, at Bell for not saving me. I’m angry at myself for being so stupid to think that ruining my face would solve my problems. It’s only made my situation much, much worse.