When Devils Sing(21)

“You’re really gonna lay in your bed all filthy?” Bailey asked.

Sam buried her face into her sheets. “I’m too beat to care.”

The mattress dipped. Bailey had perched herself at the edge. Sam tensed at the other girl’s soft touch on her ankle. Gently, Bailey pulled her bloodied Converse off, tossing them in the corner with her flip-flops.

“Watch it,” Sam yawned, glancing up. “Those are my favorite shoes.”

Bailey rolled her eyes. “You’ve had them since we were in the ninth grade.”

“And? You gonna buy me new ones?”

“Maybe I will.” Sam could hear the teasing smile in her voice.

“Uh-huh.” Sam burrowed deeper into her bed, yawning dramatically.

Bailey grabbed a plastic bowl of water and a washcloth from the kitchen.

“Let me sleep,” Sam groaned. “I need to nap before work.”

“It’ll only take a minute.” Bailey knelt beside the bed. “Sit up a little, come on.”

Sam pushed herself up, so she was sitting with her back against the paper-thin wall for support. Bailey dipped the cloth in the water, then brought it to her face. The water was warm. Sam closed her eyes.

Bailey gently wiped away the blood and the dirt from the previous night. Still, Sam winced when the cloth touched the cut on her forehead—the one from when her head had smashed into the steering wheel.

“Jesus,” Bailey whispered. “You’re really cut up.”

“I know,” Sam breathed.

Bailey moved the cloth down Sam’s neck, her fingers brushing the fresh bruise from the seat belt. Sam tensed again. Her cheeks went warm; she averted her eyes to the floor. That happened, sometimes. When Bailey—or anyone, really—touched her. Every muscle in her body went rigid and tight. It didn’t matter that Bailey was being kind or gentle. Because in Sam’s life, a touch was rarely just a touch. It was a command, a reprimand. A crossing of boundaries. A punishment.

Sam could tell Bailey had felt her go stiff. She knew as well as anyone how Sam got, sometimes. But her careful strokes with the washcloth did not falter. And piece by piece, Sam began to relax.

“It’s all right,” Bailey murmured.

Bailey’s fingers were featherlight against her skin as they lingered over her collarbone, then found their way to the nape of Sam’s neck. Without even meaning to, Sam leaned into the touch. Sam wished she could live in that one moment. Where there was no boyfriend of Bailey’s, no Carrion, no Clearwater. Just Sam and Ben and Bailey—like a little family. Perhaps they’d even get a house by the ocean, like she always wanted.

Sam’s green eyes snapped open. She swatted Bailey’s hand away. “Stop.”

Bailey’s sun-bleached eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Sam couldn’t look her in the eyes. “You’re playin’ games again.”

Bailey leaned forward and gently grasped Sam’s chin, turning her face to look at her. “I’m not playing at anything, Sam.”

“But you are.” Sam’s words came out strained. “You have a boyfriend who lives in the same fucking house as us. What do you think Clayton would do if he found you in here like this?”

Bailey’s eyes turned molten. “What if I want to be with you both? Is that so wrong?”

Sam yanked her chin from Bailey’s grasp. She scooted backward on the mattress, putting necessary distance between them. “It’s absolutely wrong and you know it.”

“We had a good thing. You can’t tell me we didn’t,” Bailey said.

Sam shook her head but didn’t say a word.

“You broke up with me, you know.” Grabbing the washcloth, Bailey tossed it in the bowl filled with now-murky water. Droplets splashed onto the grimy carpet, staining it further. “Remind me again why you did it? Oh yeah. To please your daddy—the man who wishes you’d rot in hell. Was it worth it?”

And there it was. The real reason why she and Bailey could never really work. Bailey’s bite was stronger than her love. Her affections ran deep, but her cruelty ran deeper.

Any other day, Sam would’ve fought back, but there was nothing left. “Get out.”

Bailey rose from the floor, leaving the bowl and washcloth behind. The bedroom door slammed as she went, shaking the thin walls with its force. Sam rolled over in the tiny bed, wincing as she did. On the floor, Dawson’s face stared up at her from the stack of flyers Mrs. Sumter had given her.

Life after high school wasn’t meant to be like this. Sam and Dawson had always dreamed of bigger things, of better places. Leaving Carrion far behind. Before Dawson had given his loyalty to Clearwater, the duo would sit together at lunch every single day, reading about all the faraway places they wanted to visit and eventually settle down in. The people they could be if the world would only let them.

“What’d you do, Dawson?” Sam whispered to no one. “Where’d you go?”

With a sigh, she pulled up Dawson’s number in her phone and called him. The line didn’t ring but went straight to voicemail.

Reluctantly, Sam began, “Hey, Dawson. I, uh, ran into your mama today.” She paused and rolled onto her back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of the trailer, eyes tracing shapes in the patterns. “She’s really worried about you. I know you’re probably busy or whatever, but could you let her know you’re okay? You know how she gets. I mean—she thinks you’re missing, for God’s sake, so please … just give her a call or somethin’.”