Love the Way You Lie (Stripped 1)

Chapter Seven

The first thing I see when I walk into the dressing room is Candy’s glossy blonde hair. Relief courses through me, more than I’d even expected. It’s dangerous¸ that relief. I shouldn’t be forming attachments here. I might have to leave at a moment’s notice. Leaving is hard enough—covering my tracks and finding a new job that doesn’t ask questions. What I don’t need is to leave friends behind. Candy is a coworker. Practically a stranger.

Still, my chest feels tight when I see her safe and sound. “I was worried about you,” I blurt out before I can stop it.

She turns, and I can see the shadow around one eye and the puffiness of her lower lip. I can see the tension in the fake smile she gives me. She isn’t safe after all, isn’t sound.

“You shouldn’t have,” she says. “Just partying too hard. Having too much fun.”

I reach for her mouth, pulling back when she flinches. “That doesn’t look like fun,” I say softly.

Her gaze drops. “Things got out of hand.”

Things have a way of doing that. I drop to my knees, kneeling in front of her, hoping she’ll see me. Really see me. “Candy. Is there anything I can do? Can I help?”

Her throat moves as she swallows. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

And my sister comes first. Of course she does. If there’s only room for one person on the raft, I’d give it to Clara. I’m already doing that. But I can’t look away when I see Candy like this, bruised and afraid. I’ve been there. “Is it a boyfriend? Can you leave him?”

That makes her smile for real. “Like you?”

My breath squeezes out of me. “Sometimes it’s better than staying.”

“Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Do you think you’re safe here? I don’t know where you came from, but this can’t be much better.”

I shiver, hearing the echo of Kip’s words in hers. How about because you’re not safe there? None of you are. Candy and I may not be safe, but no one is touching my sister. No one is making her eye dark and her lip puffy. That’s a hell of a lot better.

“Maybe you should tell Ivan,” I say, standing.

She laughs. “He’ll like it too much.”

My stomach turns over. “He’s not that bad.”

“He’s soft on you. You’re made of glass. He knows that. They all know that.”

Anger rises up in me. “I’m not fragile.”

I’m not exactly strong either—something better than that. I’m already torn apart, already in pieces. There’s nothing left to break.

She stands then too, bringing us chest to chest. A challenging glint enters her pretty blue eyes. “Aren’t you? Coming in here, trying to help me, like we’re besties or something. Showing up at my place because you’re worried I’m OD’ing.”

Her words are like a harsh gust of wind, stealing my breat

h and pushing me back a step. “How did you—”

“I know some of those guys on the steps.” Her eyebrows rise. “I’ve fucked some of them. They told me a girl with black hair and small tits and the greenest eyes they ever saw—like money, they said—came and knocked on my door.”

“You could have been OD’ing,” I say with disgust—at myself. “You could have been getting a beating. And I left you there.”

“As opposed to what, camping outside my door?” She scoffs. “And anyway, the assholes on the stairs let you leave. Because you’re like a goddamn Mother Theresa, and even those hardened assholes didn’t want to touch your pale, innocent skin.”

“Why are you pissed that I was worried about you? Is it so bad that someone cares?”

“Yes, it is so fucking bad. It’s a death sentence around here, so cut that shit out.”

Realization settles over me. “Oh. You’re worried about me.”

She scowls. “I couldn’t care less about you. I was dancing before you got here, and I’ll be dancing when you’re gone. You’re a goddamn chime of the clock.”