“Then go drink your medicine. Go.”
Callie looked up at Buddy. He was jamming one of his fat fingers toward the kitchen.
She heard Trevor’s chair screech across the linoleum. The back banging against the counter. The cabinet creaking open. A tick-tick-tick as Trevor turned the childproof cap on the NyQuil. Buddy called it his sleepy medicine. The antihistamines would knock him out for the rest of the night.
“Drink it,” Buddy ordered.
Callie thought of the delicate ripples in Trevor’s throat when he threw his head back and gulped down his milk.
“Leave it on the counter,” Buddy said. “Go back to your room.”
“But I—”
“Go back to your damn room and stay there before I beat the skin off your ass.”
Again, Callie held her breath until she heard the click of Trevor’s bedroom door latching closed.
“Fucking kid.”
“Buddy, maybe I should—”
She stood up just as Buddy swung back around. His elbow accidentally caught her square in the nose. The sudden crack of breaking bones split her like a bolt of lightning. She was too stunned to even blink.
Buddy looked horrified. “Doll? Are you okay? I’m sorry, I—”
Callie’s senses toggled back on one by one. Sound rushing into her ears. Pain flooding her nerves. Vision swimming. Mouth filling with blood.
She gasped for air. Blood sucked down her throat. The room started spinning. She was going to pass out. Her knees buckled. She frantically grabbed at anything to keep from falling. The cardboard box toppled from the shelf. The back of her head popped against the floor. Wine corks hit her chest and face like fat drops of rain. She blinked up at the ceiling. She saw the bicolored fish swimming furiously in front of her eyes. She blinked again. The fish darted away. Breath swirled inside of her lungs. Her head started pounding along with her heartbeat. She wiped something off her chest. The box of Black & Mild had fallen out of Buddy’s shirt pocket, scattering the slim cigarillos across her body. She craned her neck to find him.
Callie had expected Buddy to have that apologetic puppy-dog look on his face, but he barely noticed her. He was holding the video camera in his hands. She’d accidentally pulled it off the shelf along with the box. A chunk of plastic had chipped off the corner.
He let out a low, sharp, “Shit.”
Finally, he looked at her. His eyes went shifty, the same way Trevor’s did. Caught red-handed. Desperate for a way out.
Callie’s head fell back against the carpet. She was still so disoriented. Everything she looked at pulsed along with the throb inside her skull. The glasses hanging down from the rack. The brown water stains on the ceiling. She coughed into her hand. Blood speckled her palm. She could hear Buddy moving around.
She looked up at him again. “Buddy, I already—”
Without warning, he wrenched her up by the arm. Callie’s legs struggled to stand. His elbow had smacked her harder than she’d first thought. The world had started to stutter, a record needle caught in the same rut. Callie coughed again, stumbling forward. Her entire face felt smashed open. A thick stream of blood ran down the back of her throat. The room was swirling like a globe. Was this a concussion? It felt like a concussion.
“Buddy, I think I—”
“Shut it.” His hand clamped down hard on the back of her neck. He muscled her through the living room and into the kitchen like a misbehaving dog. Callie was too startled to fight back. His fury had always been like a flash fire, sudden and all-encompassing. Usually, she knew where it was coming from.
“Buddy, I—”
He threw her against the table. “Will you fucking shut up and listen to me?”
Callie reached back to steady herself. The entire kitchen turned sideways. She was going to throw up. She needed to get to the sink.
Buddy banged his fist on the counter. “Stop playing around, dammit!”
Callie’s hands covered her ears. His face was scarlet. He was so angry. Why was he so angry?
“I’m dead fucking serious.” Buddy’s tone had softened, but the register had a deep, ominous growl. “You need to listen to me.”
“Okay, okay. Just give me a minute.” Callie’s legs were still shaky. She lurched toward the sink. Twisted on the faucet. Waited for the water to run clear. She stuck her head under the cold stream. Her nose burned. She winced, and the pain shot straight through her face.
Buddy’s hand wrapped around the edge of the sink. He was waiting.
Callie lifted her head. The dizziness nearly sent her reeling again. She found a towel in the drawer. The rough material scratched her cheeks. She stuck it under her nose, tried to staunch the bleeding. “What is it?”