The Bodies We Wear Read Online Free

he started dealing. Small-time stuff, but in the end, he owed the wrong people a lot of money. I remember my mother and me standing beside him after the verdict. He leaned down to hold me and I could smell the cheap cologne on his skin. The scent was familiar and it made me feel safe. I have no pictures from my childhood and I can’t visualize what his face looked like, but I can still remember that smell on his clothes. Sometimes if I try hard enough, I can picture his eyes, sad and tiny beneath dark lashes. But it depresses me so I try not to think about it.
    He didn’t complain when they took him away. He couldn’t stand upright because of his injury but he still walked away with his head held high.
    My mother held my hand so tightly my fingers were pink jelly beans poking out from under her chewed nails.
    He didn’t look back.
    And I don’t want to talk about my mother, so don’t ask.
    Upstairs, my room is dark and cold. I was right, the electricity is out and I light the candle beside my bed before pulling back the covers. Kicking off my shoes, I crawl into bed, jacket and all, and curl up on my side.
    I should get up and at least brush my teeth.
    The flame bounces and jerks when I exhale. The bedside table has seen thousands of candles; years of built-up wax scars its pitted finish. The tabletop is bumpy so the candleholder doesn’t rest properly. I once carved the initials of the boy I loved in the soft wax with my fingernail.
    But he’s dead too.
    I’m thinking of that little gutter rat and I can’t get her face out of my mind. Beth. Such a pretty girl, it’s a shame she doesn’t have a chance. I hope they made it home or that she’s sitting somewhere warm. It won’t be long until the addiction begins to scratch away at her. Is the boy taking care of her?
    Will she survive?
    I can’t help wondering if people thought the same about me.

    “Don’t hurt her. Please. She’s just a girl. Hurt me instead.”
    Laughter. Always laughter.
    The man leans over me, touching my chin with rough fingers. Pulls my face up to meet his stare. There’s something funny with his eye. He twitches, spasms that make his lashes flutter like some crazed Venus flytrap. I’m amazingly calm. I know I should be afraid but I think I’m past that instinct.
    Beyond fear.
    I can hear my friend Christian pleading from somewhere behind me. He’s begging them to let me go. To take him instead. His words are silenced by a loud smack. I can’t turn around to look. The man is still holding me. He’s breathing heavily and I can smell alcohol and sour air when he exhales.
    “You want a piece of candy, little girl?” He holds the bottle out in front of me, giving it a small shake. Silver liquid spills against the thin vial. For a moment, I forget all about the dirty man or that Christian’s making wet gasping noises behind me. All I can see is the bottle and its contents. I think it’s very pretty. I wonder how the man manages to get that liquid to turn that color.
    I smile, only because I don’t know any better.

    If I could turn off my brain, I’d use that feature before going to sleep. Dreams are useless anyway.

    In the middle of the night, I wake to the sound of crashing glass.
    Outside on the street, a man is screaming.
    In the other room, I hear Gazer’s drawer slide open as he grabs his gun from its hiding spot beneath his shirts. I hear him move toward the window, carefully drawing back the curtains. Gazer’s mostly being cautious; the odds are good that they will just kill the man straight out and then leave. They don’t usually go after witnesses; people in this neighborhood never rat them out. Men like them have nothing to fear. I’d get up to join Gazer but my bed is warm and I’m still half-asleep. Besides, I know he’d just shoo me off with a wave of his hand. Gazer is the protector of everything holy inside this church. I am just his disciple.
    Eventually the screams stop and Gazer never fires his gun so I go