The Girls I've Been(76)

She’s at the railing. He doesn’t see her; all his focus and rage and frustration is on me.

“Just one last thing,” I say, drowning out the snick of the lighter as Iris lights her petticoat on fire. “You might want to look up.”

He laughs. He does not look up. “Do you think I’m gonna fall for that?”

“No.” I shake my head as Iris lets go of the tulle and the petticoat falls in a whoosh of fire and lace. “But I do think my girlfriend’s better dressed than you,” I add.

I catch just the barest twitch of his confused frown at my words before the flaming tulle envelops him. Layers upon layers of it fall over his head, the flames greedily eating up the fabric. He screams, animal instinct taking over, just like she said in the bathroom. He drops the gun as he tries to pull the petticoat off, but it’s roaring around his shoulders and he has to fall to the ground, rolling in the dirt, all cool gone as survive kicks in.

The gun clatters to the floor and get it, hurry, fuck, fuck, my knees scrabble across hard dirt, and when my hand closes around it, I want to cry. I want to drop it. I want to not be here.

I don’t want to be her again, but I make sure the safety’s off, and I point it at him and Ashley hums under my skin like a bad habit, trigger-happy and oh so broken and way too jumpy.

He rolls in the dirt and the flames die out. Pulling frantically, he manages to tear most of what’s left off him, but there’s a big shiny patch of lace melted into the skin of his cheek. He lies there, finally defeated, breathing these angry little moans and wincing every time the burn on his face twitches.

I level the gun at him with hands that do not shake. “That’s why you don’t fuck with the girl in the poofy dress, Duane,” I tell him as Iris scrambles down the ladder and veers around him. I don’t relax until she’s next to me.

“Are you—” she pants.

“Yeah. You?”

She nods.

“How did you—”

“There’s a ladder out back.” She points. “The lock on the window was broken.”

“That was . . .” I can’t even think of a word. “That was incredible. I can’t . . . You saved me.”

“I told you I’d set them on fire if they tried to take you,” she says. “I meant it.”

“Fucking bitches,” he groans, just for the hell of it, I guess.

“You shut up!” Iris snaps. Then she bursts into tears, which makes him laugh and makes me want to shoot him. I should shoot him.

Ashley would. Rebecca wouldn’t know how. Samantha would maybe consider it. Haley would for sure. Katie showed me first what I was capable of.

So where does that leave me?

“Iris,” I say, because I don’t know where to go after that. I’m pointing a gun at someone. Today is terrible. I don’t know if Wes is okay. Iris made a bomb and melted a guy’s face with a petticoat. She loves me. She’s perfect. I’ll love her forever. She looks how I feel: like she’s about to keel over. I am not capable of much else but her name at this point.

Iris sniffs, wiping at her cheeks and letting out a shudder when she gets too close to the purple bruise spreading down her forehead. Duane doesn’t move, but he watches me, just in case there’s an opening.

I won’t give him one.

“Do you hear that?” Iris’s head snaps up toward the roof. “Helicopter.”

I want to burst into tears then, too. Help. It’s coming.

My fingers tighten on the gun. Punishment. It’s already here.

“They’ll be on the road soon,” I say to Iris. “Can you get out there to flag them down?”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Iris insists.

“I’ve got him,” I tell her.

Still, she hesitates.

“Iris, I don’t want them to miss us,” I stress, even though I know they’ll spot the car.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He starts laughing after she’s gone. Blood carves out the lines between his teeth, the white washed pink.

“God, you’re good,” he says as the sirens wail in the distance.

“She doesn’t need to be here for this.”

That makes him laugh more.

“I should’ve shot you when I had the chance,” he tells me.

“Hindsight and all that.” My finger rests right next to the trigger, but not on it. Not yet.

“Do you have it in you?”

And here’s the thing: I think I do. Don’t I? The smart thing to do would be to shoot him. He knows. He’ll tell.

It’s why I sent Iris away, isn’t it?

But my finger doesn’t move toward the trigger. I hear sirens in the distance. Any minute now.

His smile widens despite the burn. “You’re gonna let them take me in,” he breathes. He gloats it out like a banshee cackle and I hate that he’s right. “Stupid kid. Lucky me.”

“You’re not worth the bullet.” It’s weakness and truth wrapped together. I’m choosing something I’m not ready to name over what I know is the surest survival route.

The sirens get louder.

“You hid good,” he says. “But you won’t be able to hide anymore. I know it all. What you look like, where you live, who you care about. He’ll know, too.” His grin stretches the lace-melted burn, ghastly wide and gaping. “He’s going to find you.”