The Bulletproof Boy Page 12

  Maybe, just maybe, after everyone else is well, you can tend to your own fractured soul. Maybe, by virtue of tending to others, you are already rebuilding yourself.

  I know that if Scarlett can even begin to heal after everything she’s suffered, witnessing her progress will strengthen me vicariously. No, actually, it’s not vicarious at all.

  Her progress is my progress. Her life is my life. And every crack running through her mind also runs through mine. When we mend, we can only mend together. When we break, we can only break apart.

  Just like she always has, I’m going to reach deep inside myself and somehow find the strength to do what needs to be done.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I don’t know why I’ve been so depressed. It should feel like paradise to be here with Cole, but I can’t seem to get out of bed since that day in the shower. I don’t even remember getting into bed, but a faulty memory in moments like those is something I have grown to expect—and appreciate. Telling him about the reason I left must have brought up a lot of issues I preferred to keep buried. I mean, if my guilt and fear of his reaction bothered me so much that I stayed away from him for years, I can’t expect to get over it all easily and quickly. Frankly, I’m glad I don’t remember his reaction.

  My body feels unusually sore, as though we might have had sex, but I can’t remember. I feel like we did, in a faraway dream, but that is a fairly common dream. I want to ask Cole whether or not we did, but I don’t want to insult him. That’s probably the sort of thing I should remember. Besides, my whole body is sore, especially my legs and feet, and I don’t think another sore part really makes a difference.

  Cole has been applying ointment to my blisters and keeping them clean and bandaged, so my feet are slowly getting better. The sunburn still looks terrible, and it’s only itching and peeling worse than before. I haven’t really gotten dressed in days. My only clothes are my jeans, and I haven’t felt like putting them on since I took them off for the shower. Wearing only the bed sheet loosely wrapped around me feels the best for my sensitive skin.

  As always, Cole has been kind and attentive. He’s been preparing MREs for me and encouraging me to eat them. I finally gathered up the courage to tell him about Annabelle, and while he’s been upset, he didn’t react as strongly as I thought he would. It’s almost as if he already knew.

  Cole has been doing what he normally does when he receives bad news, and doodling pictures of houses. It makes me even more depressed to watch him, knowing that he will never get to see those houses made. I know it’s not totally my fault, but I feel responsible for all this.

  To distract myself, I tried using Cole’s Kindle to read, and I was surprised to find that he had books from most of my favorite authors loaded up on the device. In fact, he even had a new release downloaded from just a few days ago—the day he was shot. I can’t help wondering if he really expected me to be here. If he subconsciously planned for it.

  That makes me feel a little tricked into coming, and a little trapped being here.

  Tossing and turning in bed, I think about everything I left behind.

  I feel a weight on the bed and I know that Cole is sitting beside me. He checks my forehead for a temperature before placing a hand on my arm and squeezing gently.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him softly, without opening my eyes. “A lot of things. I feel guilty for leaving L.A. in the middle of an investigation.”

  “You solved your investigation. You found me.”

  “I know. It’s just… so much unfinished business. Annabelle, Brittany, the detective.”

  “We don’t have to worry about anything, Scar. It’s like we are on our own private island, and the bad guys can never get to us.”

  I open my eyes to study him. “I hope you’re right about that. Can you really sleep at night knowing that someone seriously wanted you dead, and you just ran away? Are you never planning to go back into the world at all?”

  “I don’t know,” he answers. “But I can sleep at night. At least, I was able to sleep quite well, until you got here. Now I’m a little too wired to sleep.”

  “That’s not good,” I tell him. “What if we’re not healthy for each other?”

  “Bullshit. How could we not be?”

  Shaking my head, I try to explain. “I just miss my job, Cole. It was challenging, and it kept me busy. I couldn’t think so much when I was focused on other things and always rushing around. Now that I have so much time to hear myself think… well, it’s frustrating. It’s scary. It’s painful.”

  “So you’re upset that you have run away from running away?” he asks me.

  “Yeah. Zack doesn’t know where I am, and I feel guilty about that. And I think I’m experiencing caffeine withdrawal.”

  He smiles. “I can fix you some coffee, but I think I have a natural stimulant that works better.”

  “Oh?” I ask him coyly, glancing down at his bare chest. He hasn’t been wearing much real clothing either, and has been going around in a pair of silk boxers covered in Pokémon. I have to try very hard not to laugh every time I catch a glimpse of his ass.

  “You have to come outside with me,” he says, grasping my arm. “The night sky is just breathtaking. Have you seen it? Did you see it when you were walking here?”

  “I saw the moon.”

  “Let me show you the stars,” he says, standing up and trying to pull me off the bed. “We can walk around a little and get some exercise. Your feet are really bandaged up, so they should be okay.”

  Yawning, I resist his pull. “Cole, is it even night outside?”

  “I don’t know,” he says cheerfully. “Maybe. We should find out, and stretch our legs a little. If you don’t enjoy the exercise, I promise I’ll just make you some really good coffee instead.” Moving to the door of the mobile home, he swings it open.

  His whole body grows tense and frozen. I am confused for a moment before I peer around him and see that he is staring down the barrel of a gun. My heart rate doubles. There is a silhouette of a person standing in the doorway, pointing a gun directly at his face. I think it’s a woman. Who is it? Brittany? I can’t see in the darkness of the night—for it is night, after all.

  Cole moves a little protectively, to put his body between mine and the shooter, which removes her from my line of sight and further conceals her identity. I find it suddenly hard to breathe. Why doesn’t Cole just slam the door to the NovaTank? Isn’t this thing bulletproof? I can see the muscles in his back have grown all rigid and tensed to their limit, which is probably hurting his injury.

  Moving slightly and gripping the blanket around me, I try to whisper, “Cole…”

  “Don’t move a fucking muscle,” the woman commands sharply. “I’ll blow your brains out. From this range, I would have to be a Kardashian to miss.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Scarlett, these SAT scores are amazing,” Mr. Bishop says with a kind smile as we sit around the dinner table. “With your grades, you can get into any college you want. I wish my Levi had half the drive and dedication you have.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I say as I finish up my dinner. Mrs. Bishop is not a spectacular cook, but you can really feel her love for her family in every meal. There are hearty portion sizes, and it feels good to go to bed with a satisfied and warm feeling in my stomach, instead of an empty gnawing. But the warmth might be more due to the pleasant family atmosphere, especially in contrast to my last foster home.

  “She’s just being a show off,” Levi says as he shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Scarlett loves making me look bad.”

  “No,” I say, lowering my head. “I just want to make Cole proud. He derailed his whole life for me. Now, he’s in jail instead of going to college, and he wrote me a letter that the conditions there are dreadful and unsanitary. I better be worth it.”

  “Oh, sweetie, he saved your life,” Mrs. Bishop says. “He only got two years in juvie, and that t
ime will fly by. Two years of his life is a small price to pay for you getting to live decades! He may have delayed going to college, but he’s only fifteen anyway. He will still be one of the younger kids at MIT, I’m sure. Maybe he can even get out sooner with good behavior.”

  “But he lost his scholarship,” I say quietly. “He had a full ride starting in September. Everything was going so well, and this is all my fault.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Levi says, eating Cheetos from a bag that is poorly concealed under the table. “Some prisons are pretty great and give educational programs, right? Maybe he can get some college credits.”

  “Not this prison, son,” Mr. Bishop says, standing to take away Levi’s Cheetos and place them in a cabinet. “Your mother worked hard on dinner, Levi. Don’t be rude by eating this trash instead of real food.”

  “It’s okay, dear,” says Mrs. Bishop with a wink at her son. “He’s a growing boy, and Cheetos are delicious.”

  I stare at them all in amazement. What is happening here? Is no one about to get their face smashed in? They just had a normal conversation, instead of screaming and smashing beer bottles? I have definitely spent too much time living with the Browns.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do, Mr. Bishop?” I ask him with frustration. “Can’t you… appeal the judge’s decision? Can’t we try to shorten his sentence? What if I confess? I could say that I did it all, if it saves him…”

  Mr. Bishop shakes his head. “I’m afraid that’s unwise, child. This judge in particular is very harsh, especially to children. You could get even more prison time than Cole. It’s best we just accept his fate.”

  “I’m going to do some research,” I tell them. “Levi, can you drive me to the courthouse in the morning tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” he tells me. “But my car won’t start, so we’ll have to take the motorcycle.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “You’re very determined, my dear,” says Mr. Bishop. “Have you ever considered pursuing a career in law? I know a lot of powerful men in firms around the city. I could definitely get you internships to help build up your resume, and almost guarantee you a great job once you pass the bar.”

  “Oh, no, Dad!” Levi groans loudly. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Scar. He’s tried to pressure all his kids into becoming lawyers, but none of us were interested in such boring lives.”

  “Being a lawyer is not boring, son,” Mr. Bishop says with a slight frown.

  “It’s kind of you to suggest that, Mr. Bishop,” I say gently. “Unfortunately, I do not have much respect for the law. It has never been good to me. And now Cole’s in prison, when he really shouldn’t be. I don’t think I believe in justice anymore.”

  “Being a lawyer isn’t about justice, Scarlett. It’s about the truth, and your ability to make people perceive things a certain way.”

  “I can’t do that. I see things in black and white. Good or bad, right or wrong. The justice system is so subjective and arbitrary. There’s so much luck involved. I like working with computers. They aren’t nearly as complicated as people. I like cold, hard facts.”

  Mr. Bishop nods. “I understand that perfectly, dear. Let me know if you ever decide to change your mind. You’d make an excellent lawyer.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bishop. May I be excused to use the Internet?”

  “Certainly, dear.”

  Taking my empty plate and moving to the kitchen, I leave the family eating their dinner in the dining room. As I begin washing the dish, I feel a tapping on my shoulder.

  “Hey,” says Levi.

  When I turn around, I see a punch headed for my chest, but I am too startled to do anything about it. “Ow!” I say in annoyance, clutching my breast with a sudsy hand. “What the fuck, Levi?”

  He frowns. “Why didn’t you use the block I showed you? I’m not supposed to be able to land a hit.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to hit me! I was doing the dishes. And you were moving too fast!”

  “Krav Maga is street fighting, Scarlett! An assailant on the street isn’t going to move slowly when he tries to attack you. He isn’t going to wait until you’re expecting it.”

  “Well, could you at least not hit me in the boob? It hurts!”

  “Again, this is street fighting! An attacker goes for your weak and sensitive spots. He’s not going to play nice and only hit you where it doesn’t hurt that much.”

  “But you’re not an attacker. We’re friends, and we’re just practicing. Let me finish the dishes, okay?” I ask him, turning back to the sink.

  As I soap up the plate to remove the glued-on bits of potato, I feel some breath on the back of my neck. “What if I’m not your friend?” he asks me softly, sending chills through my body. “What if I am an attacker?”

  “Levi…” I say with warning.

  He brushes his lips against my neck, standing close so I can feel his erection against my body. “What if I want to do very bad things to you?” he asks.

  “You don’t,” I tell him, swallowing back the fear that’s rising in my chest with a familiar heat. “You promised Cole you wouldn’t touch me.”

  Levi reaches up to grab my hair, collecting it all together into a ponytail and twisting it up around his fist so that he tugs on my scalp. “Who ever said I was the type of guy who keeps his promises? I take what I want—when I want it. And I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment you walked into this house.”

  When his hand snakes around my body to grope between my legs, I find myself growing dizzy. My vision begins to spin and my head aches. I shut my eyes tightly to fight against the pain, and my world goes black.

  A few seconds pass.

  Or maybe a minute.

  Maybe several minutes.

  I have no idea, but when I open my eyes again, my hands are tensed up and shaking, with raw energy coursing through them. Is that energy even mine? Levi is lying sprawled across the kitchen floor with blood all over his face. The dinner plate is in my left hand, smashed in half, and the other half is lying in pieces on the floor.

  “Jesus!” Levi says, rubbing his head. “Damn, girl. That is exactly what I’m talking about!”

  “What?” I ask, feeling horrified. What have I done?

  “You can fight!” he says gleefully. “I knew I just had to push the right buttons. How come you can pack such a punch when I piss you off, but other times you’re worthless?”

  Looking down at my right hand and turning it over slowly, I see that the knuckles are bruised and red. My hands is throbbing and painful and there are imprints of my nails pressed into my palms.

  Levi stops clutching his head and moves his hands down to hold his side as he groans in pain. “You got me good this time, Scar. Just try to remember exactly what you did there, for next time I sneak up on you. It was awesome!”

  Shit. What did I do? I know that there’s something terribly wrong with me, but I am not sure what it is. There are so many chunks of my life that I’m completely missing—usually the parts with the most action.

  I think I have superpowers.

  That’s the only possible explanation for this. Okay, I’m sure there are many more logical explanations, but this is the only one that makes me feel good instead of guilty. I must be like one of the characters from Cole’s anime’s, who has a secret heritage.

  I mean, we don’t know who my parents are. I could be from outer space.

  If I was sent to earth as a baby in a spaceship, then it’s not so bad that I landed on the side of the road in a ditch somewhere, to be found by an old woman. Of course, they never recovered my spaceship, but this is the story I’m sticking with.

  I could be a Saiyan or a Kryptonian, and in those moments I can’t remember, I channel the strength of my ancient, alien warrior race to do battle. But immediately after the fight has concluded, some fancy alien technology wipes my memory of the event. The processing speed required for such battle calculations is far too advanced for a puny human brain to c
omprehend.

  Smiling proudly at the way Levi is wincing on the floor. I stand over him with a hand on my hip, feeling a little like Wonder Woman. I just need a lasso on my belt, or a cape blowing in the wind. Maybe I’m an Amazonian princess or a Sailor Scout, and I’m powerless in my human form, but I need some kind of transformation to realize my true strength.

  The idea makes me smile.

  I really need to work on some sort of costume.

  “Tell me your secret,” Levi says as he sits up, whimpering as he gathers the pieces of broken dishes. “I’ve trained in Krav Maga for years, and you’ve just had lessons for a few weeks. You weigh 115 pounds soaking wet, and I’m close to 170. How can you kick my ass like that?”

  Lifting my chin, I imagine a ray of sunlight hitting my form-fitting body armor. “What can I say, Levi? Sometimes, I guess I just go Super Saiyan.”

  He groans as he takes the broken half of the plate from me and tosses the debris away. “That is not a valid explanation! But I don’t think Cole needs to worry about you, Scar. You can take care of yourself.”

  “What is going on in here?” Mrs. Bishop asks as she enters the room, holding the rest of the empty plates. “Levi, sweetie! You’re bleeding.”

  “Just a surprise sparring session gone wrong, Mom,” he explains with a shrug and a grin, wiping some of the blood off his chin, as it drips down from his nose. “I should really stop sneaking up on Scarlett, she’s getting stronger every day.”

  “Well, then,” Mrs. Bishop says with a satisfied nod. “Good girl! You can kick my son’s lazy butt whenever you feel like it, darling.”

  “Mom!” Levi says in embarrassment.

  I laugh softly, feeling a little less guilty. I love this family—even Levi’s very frustrating training sessions. I know he only means to help.