If I Fix You. Abigail Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ was up on my knees at that point, eyes wide, ears straining. This was so much worse than anything I’d heard from my parents. They’d yelled, sure, but that was it—words. The fighting next door was bad, like someone-getting-hurt bad, and from the sound of it, not the petite woman with the wicked arm. Where the hell was nosy Mrs. Holcomb?

      More silence, then another crash. “Throw anything you want,” he said. “I’m not leaving you—”

      “You stay away from me.” Her voice quivered.

      Surprise colored his words. “When have I ever hurt you?”

      “You arrogant little...” Her voice lowered into a hiss I couldn’t make out. “If I had any choice, you think I’d be here?”

      “You’d be dead if you had any choice. Just stop. It’s over. I’m not the one in jail.”

      Which meant somebody was in jail—the wrong somebody, according to the mom. But she was the one hurting him, while he thought he was saving her life...? Either way, I couldn’t just sit there and hope her arm got tired before she hit something vital.

      Half turning on my roof, I squinted in the darkness, looking for the unopened can of pop I’d brought up with me. I heard yet another crash seconds before my fingers brushed against the cool aluminum.

      I crouched down as close to the edge of the roof as possible and hurled the can across the ten feet or so that separated our houses.

      I figured the sound might distract them.

      I hadn’t figured on how badly my aim might suck in the dark.

      I’d been trying to hit the side of their house. Instead, the sound of shattering glass filled the night as the can broke right through the kitchen window.

      I clapped a hand over my mouth and flattened myself to the roof just as the back door banged open and a guy who really didn’t look all that much older than me shot into the yard.

      His hair was black in the faint light, and long enough that it fell over his eyes when he moved. Gravel crunched as he stalked around. It didn’t take him long to realize his postage-stamp-sized backyard was empty.

      Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

      Leaving seemed like the best idea I’d ever had. I could turn away, slide off the edge of my roof and through my bedroom window. I could do it without a sound too. But I didn’t. Instead I stared. I watched.

      It was totally stupid on my part. He could be dangerous, or at the very least angry that I’d broken his window—a fact he was sure to realize if he spotted me. But for some reason I wasn’t scared. Not really. I’d done what I wanted. I’d stopped the fight. His mom hadn’t followed him outside, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go back in—not that I blamed him.

      That was one seriously enraged woman. I was half-surprised he wasn’t limping, based on all the stuff it had sounded like she threw at him. Why hadn’t he left? And if he belonged behind bars like his mom said, why hadn’t he...stopped her? He was easily twice her size, and I could practically see the anger steaming off him. He was physically capable of stopping her, yet I’d heard him grunt with each impact and ask her to stop instead of making her.

      He dropped his head and stretched out his hands to lean against the small wooden shed in the far corner of the yard beside mine. He bounced a palm off it once, twice, then straightened and slammed his fist into the door over and over again until the wood split with an audible crack.

      I sat up, shivering in the hot air, and watched him back away. It was unnerving, but still—better a piece of wood than a person. My new neighbor had enough self-control to take hit after hit—and spit—and walk away. I doubted I could say as much.

      When the clouds parted, I saw something dark drip down his knuckles a second before he bent down. The shard of glass he’d picked up glinted in his hand as his head tilted up.

      The newly revealed moonlight cast a perfect spotlight on me.

       CHAPTER 2

      My eyes went wide as they met his, and all I could do was stare. At him, his bloody hand, the broken glass from my stupid, stupid pop can.

      “What the hell? Did you break my window?”

      I flinched like I’d been hit. My stomach teemed with slimy snakes as I stared into a pair of royally pissed-off eyes.

      “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hit your window.”

      “No?” He stood, turning the glass over in his hand. “What were you trying to hit?” Glancing toward his house then mine, he tracked the distance between them, between the fighting and me. When he hunched his shoulders in realization, the stance was so much like Dad’s that any trace of fear I’d had vanished completely.

      “I was trying to distract you, or really, just your mom. I thought something banging against the wall might bring you outside, or her, and things could cool down.” I said that last part as I was literally sweating from every pore on my body. I exhaled. “I didn’t think it through. I just didn’t want...anyone to get hurt. I’m sorry. It’s not any of my business. And I will pay for the window.”

      “Forget it.”

      Maybe all the years spent listening to my parents fighting had anesthetized me to clipped and angry speech, but the slimy slithery feeling in my gut was dissipating.

      “At least let me—”

      “I said forget it.” His anger was fading as quickly as my unease, but I preferred his initial hostility to the defeat that hung heavily from his limbs as he started walking back to his door. “Don’t bust any more of my windows, yeah?”

      “Wait.”

      He paused and looked at me over his shoulder.

      It hadn’t been long enough yet. I knew from experience that if he went back inside, she’d more than likely be waiting for him. Whenever Dad had tried to walk back too soon after a fight, Mom got her second wind. With Neighbor Guy’s mom, I didn’t want him to find out what her second wind might entail.

      I was betting it would hurt a lot more than a thrown lamp.

      “Don’t go back in yet.” I swallowed. “I mean, I’ll go inside. You can stay.” I swung my legs off the edge of the roof and was preparing to roll onto my stomach when he stopped me.

      “Hey, don’t.” He held up his hands as he approached the wall dividing our yards and tripped the motion lights on the side of my house. “Just stop, okay?”

      I stopped. The shifting clouds had kept most of his features in shadow, but in the harsh, unforgiving floodlight, I got my first good look.

      The cement block wall was close to six feet high, and he could have rested his chin on it. He was also older than I’d initially thought, though his age was hard to pinpoint since he looked several days overdue for a shave. But more than anything, I noticed the reddened outline of an open palm on his cheek.

      Seeing the СКАЧАТЬ