“Because we’ve been here over an hour and you haven’t even taken a sip.”
I shrug, swirling the cheap vodka around in the clear plastic cup. She’s wrong: I did take a sip. It tasted like kerosene. “I guess I’m not really in a drinking mood.”
One of the dancers bumps into her, and she stumbles forward. I put my hand out to help her, but she waves me away. We are in the depths of an old, abandoned church, and the smell of sweat and perfume can’t quite hide the musky odor of long-ago worship. “Did Tag tell you my parents were murdered?” she asks suddenly.
I look over at her, surprised. “I heard him telling Wes.”
“It’s the anniversary. Four years ago today.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Sometimes . . . sometimes I wish they had killed me that day.”
I shift until I’m facing her. “Don’t say that.”
She tips back the drink she has in her hand, chugging until it’s gone. “God,” she gasps. “Why the hell am I telling you this stuff? I must be really drunk.”
I want to reach out to her, but I’m not sure how she’ll take it. “If you had died, who would look out for LJ?”
She stares down at the dingy floor near our feet. “When I came home and found them, and there was all that blood, I thought that my life had hit rock bottom. That having my parents murdered was as low as it could possibly get. And then we lost the house and had to go on the streets. And then Chris disappeared. That was when I realized that there is no such thing as rock bottom. Life can always get worse, no matter what.” Her mouth falls open a little, as though she’s shocked she just said so much.
“I hope that’s not true.”
“That’s why I like you, Lydia.” Her words come out slightly slurred and I realize she is drunk. Very drunk. “You’re all sunny and happy.” She flings her hand toward my head and drops of vodka from her empty cup fly out and hit me on the cheek. “Not like us. Not hard like me.”
“You’re not hard.”
Nikki laughs, but it’s a damaged sound. “Yeah, I am. I’ve been hard since I walked into the living room and saw pieces of my parents splattered on the walls.”
I wince at her words, but she just tries to take another sip from her cup, even though it’s empty. “If I didn’t have Tag and LJ, I don’t know what I would do.” Her voice is quieter. “People like me need people like you. That’s why you can’t give up on Wes.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
She drops her cup. “I mean it, Lydia.” She leans into me, and I pull back against the wall as the smell of liquor surrounds us both. “He needs you. You’re soft where he’s hard.”
I bristle at her words. “I’m not soft. Just because I didn’t grow up on the streets doesn’t mean I’m not strong enough to handle myself.”
Nikki shakes her head in a scattered movement. “I’m not saying you’re weak. But you’re innocent. I envy that. It’s why I acted like such a bitch at first.” She smirks. “Be glad you’re not like the rest of us. You haven’t had to shut yourself off in order to survive.”
“I don’t think I’m innocent.” For some reason I feel like I’m going to cry, and I turn away, staring at the pulsing bodies on the dance floor. “Maybe I used to be. But I can feel myself getting harder every day.”
“It’s not a bad thing to be tough, Lydia. And you are tough, even if it’s a different kind of toughness from what I have. But it’s not the same as being hard. There’s a difference.” Her words are slurred, but I’m surprised at how articulate she’s being. And also curious about why she’s chosen me to confide in.
“That’s what Wes sees in you.” She laughs again. “You pried into my shit—now I’m prying into yours.”
“But Wes isn’t like that,” I respond. “He’s not as damaged as you think.”
She gives me a strange look, and her body melts into the wall next to me, like she no longer has the energy to hold herself up anymore. “Wes is cold, Lydia. And kind of scary. You’re the only person who sees anything else in him. That’s what I mean, when I say you’re soft. But it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you able to see stuff the rest of us can’t anymore.”
“Tag still sees that in him too.” I feel like she’s just insulted Wes somehow, and the need to defend him rises up inside of me. “He can look past the front that Wes puts up.”
“Tag used to know him and love him. And besides, Tag’s a lot like you. Able to find the good in people.” Nikki hunches her shoulders like she’s trying to hide behind them. “Wes and I are the broken ones. You and Tag are the ones who keep trying to save us from ourselves.”
“Wes saves me too. All the time.”
“Because he loves you. Isn’t that what love is? Saving each other from the shit that life keeps throwing at us?”
I smile a little. “How poetic.”
“Just . . . give him a chance. If he’s anything like me, he’ll keep testing you and trying to push you away and shit. But he loves you, I can tell. And I don’t think he’s someone who gives that away easily.”
I cock my head at her, wondering if she’s advocating for Wes or herself. Maybe she thinks that if I can love someone like Wes, then there’s hope for someone like her. She pulls away from the wall, and I watch the bright lights play across her dark hair. “No matter what you do, don’t let him push you away,” she repeats.
I open my mouth, but then Tag is there. He slides an arm around Nikki’s waist. “You’re drunk, babe,” he
