The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,125
in a weed-choked lot a little after sunrise. At some point during the night he’d cut his face, probably on the mangled can of Bud Light next to him, and a feral dog had been sniffing his sneaker with suspicious intent. Jem shouted and kicked until the damn thing ran away. Then he’d tried to die. When that didn’t work, he’d stumbled to the bike, puked, driven a few blocks, puked, and made his way to Tinajas’s place in more or less that manner.
Tinajas clomped into the room. She was wearing wedges, and she seemed to be putting a lot of extra emphasis into each step. She sat on the couch near Jem’s knees, and the cushions dipped. Then something thunked onto the coffee table. Jem groaned.
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“I’m dying.”
“Good. Die. Then you won’t ever show up at my house on a Monday morning looking so fucking pathetic that I have to use a sick day to stay home and take care of you.” She slapped his hip. “On your back.”
Jem rolled onto his back.
“What the actual fuck,” Tinajas paused here as though unsure of how to complete the question, “is wrong with you?”
“I’m really, definitely dying.”
“I’m not talking about that.”
“Something is messed up. In my brain, I mean.”
“I already knew about that. I already knew about all of that. You’ve been fucked up since you were eleven years old and you thought nobody knew that you took the VHS case for Saved by the Bell into the bathroom to jerk off.”
“Zack has his shirt off. Mostly. You can see a nipple.”
She took his chin and swore under her breath. Then she opened an antiseptic wipe and began scrubbing at the cut on Jem’s face. She ignored his howls as she said, “I’m talking about this recent rise in your fuck-uppish-ness.”
Guillo and Dionica came into the room, swinging a pair of wooden canes like swords and screaming.
“Probably shouldn’t talk like that in front of the kids,” Jem tried.
“What the fuck are you doing with Grandma’s canes?” Tinajas shouted. “Put those back where you found them and get your asses back downstairs.”
The kids just laughed, their combat carrying them away from the stairs and toward the bedrooms at the back of the house.
“They’re not scared of you,” Jem said.
“They will be, but first I’ve got to deal with your miserable, garbage-covered, dog-piss-smelling, freckled white ass.”
“Ow, ow, ow, Tin, that’s my face!”
She finally stopped with the wipe; when she released his chin, Jem swore he could feel bruises starting to form. She applied ointment and taped a bandage in place. Then her shoulders sagged. “Jeremiah Berger, I cannot do this with you. I’m not going to watch you OD or crash your bike because you refuse to take care of yourself.”
“I don’t do that kind of stuff,” Jem said. “Last night was last night.”
“I’m talking about why you did that stuff last night. I’m talking about this guy, and how deep he’s gotten in your head, and what it’s doing to you. There is a lot of hot ass out there. Even for a weird, pathetic piece of shit like you. Find somebody who likes you back. Find somebody who’s going to treat you right. Kike—”
“Please don’t do this.”
She made a disgusted noise as she wadded up the medical waste. “Go take a shower. I’ll leave some of Tony’s clothes outside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t get your face wet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Be a smartass one more time and I’ll go get one of Grandma’s canes and whip your ass raw.”
Jem was surprised to find he could still grin. He sat up, kissed Tinajas’s cheek, and grinned a little more when she elbowed him away and made the same disgusted noise again. He showered. He washed his hair in the sink to keep his face dry. He looked at himself as the fog cleared from the mirror, the old scars, the new wounds. He needed his hair cut again. Tinajas had provided him with an XXL Corona t-shirt that smelled like the Dobbs where he worked and board shorts big enough for two Jeremiah Berger’s. He tied the waistband as tight as he could and hoped the shorts didn’t fall and turn him into an impromptu your-growing-body object lesson.
“Do you think you could trim my hair?” Jem called as he moved back into the living room. “It’s getting shaggy. I hate when it gets shaggy.”
“I could try,” Tean said. “You might not like it when I’m done, though.”