“My grandpa says that if you do bad stuff like curse, then bad stuff happens to you.” I pointed to the white bandage that covered half his chest. “Maybe that’s why you got hurt.”
“I got hurt savin’ a little girl who needed savin’,” he reminded me gently.
I bit my lip and scuffed my heel against the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you got hurt because of me. Do you want me to kiss it better?”
He choked again, like he was swallowing laughter. “I’m good, kid, but thanks. I’ve had worse, trust me.”
There was a thick rope of weirdly smooth and mangled skin on the right side of his neck. I pointed at it. “Like that?”
“I did something a lot worse than curse to get that,” he told me and then winked.
I giggled.
He had really big eyes like a wolf, really pale and grey.
“What did you do?” I leaned heavily against the side of his bed because I was really tired.
He looked at me for a long time before he said, “I found a guy that did some bad stuff to a friend of mine and I did some bad stuff to him. Before I got ’im, he got me with a blunt machete.”
He made a chopping motion against the junction of his neck and shoulder where the scar was.
“For real?” I breathed.
He nodded.
“Wow. If you got him because he chopped you, what did you do to the bad guy that shot us?”
“Smart girl.” His lips twitched again and he lifted one of his huge hands to show me his bloody knuckles.
I nodded. “You’re definitely big enough to kill someone with your bare hands.”
He tilted his head. “Don’t seem that disturbed about it, kid. You close to death?”
I mimicked his pose and squinted my eyes at him. “You mean do I know him or something?”
“Yeah, somethin’.” He grinned.
“I guess so. I’m dying, probably,” I told him. It was dramatic but I wanted to see what he would do if he thought I was really dying. He was an angel so I figured he would know if that was true or not. Besides, my mum always said it was a lady’s right to be dramatic and it was the only one of her rules I actually liked.
My feet were cold on the plastic floor so I pushed the bedside chair closer to him and climbed onto it.
“Dyin’?” His body got tight. I watched his face screw up and to the left like a twist cap on soda pop.
“Why are you making a funny face?” I asked.
“Don’t think any person finds out a little girl is gonna die is going to smile at it,” he replied.
“That’s a nice thing to say.”
He shook his head, studying me really hard. “I got a son older than you and a little girl ’bout your age. Hope like fuck that they turn out to be as cool as you, kid.”
“Are you sure you aren’t an angel?” I asked him, because he was being really nice and it made me feel like I was standing in the sun.
I wanted him to be an angel. My grandpa told me that God could save a person from death if they were pious and faithful, and I was a good girl so I was both. He was the town pastor so I think he knew what he was talking about but I never really believed him. What did God care about me?
But if this man was a real angel maybe it meant that I didn’t have to die. Maybe this angel man would wrap me up in his winged arms and make my bones stop hurting.
“Nah, kid, I’m no angel.”
“That’s too bad. I was thinking you could be my guardian angel or something cool like that.”
I stared at him while he laughed at me. One of his big hands pressed to his chest just above his heart where the bandage was wrapped, so I could tell laughing hurt him. But he did it anyway, and he wasn’t quiet about it.
“I’d be a shit guardian angel. I’m not a good man, kid.”
I stared at him, squinting as I looked at his messy hair, all the dark and twisting images on his really tanned skin. At first, I’d thought he looked like a monster, all big and dark and scary because I didn’t understand him.
But, “You have nice eyes. My grandpa says that kind eyes don’t lie.”
His face relaxed in a way that made something flutter in my tummy.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“I’m a Lafayette,” I told him because that was the important bit of my name.
He frowned. “Yeah, got that kid. Your dad is one of the guys rootin’ for a life sentence and it’s safe to say he hates my fuck—freakin’ guts. I wanna know what you call yourself.”
I didn’t want to tell him so I bit my lip. My name was stupid and I hated it. Louise was an old person name and I wasn’t old. It was also a boring name and I really, really didn’t want to grow up to be boring like my mum with her parties and my dad with all his work stuff.