Blood Test

She took a deep breath and lunged at me, knife held high.

I stepped away from the thrust. She plunged the blade where my thorax had been, stabbed air, and pitched forward awkwardly. I caught her wrist, squeezed and shook.

The knife fell, clicking against grubby linoleum. She went for my eyes with long green nails, but I got hold of both of her arms. She was delicately built, the bones fragile under smooth soft skin, but strengthened by anger. She kicked and coiled and spat, managed to gouge my cheek. On my bad side. I felt a warm trail flow ticklishly down the side of my face, then a sharp sting. Burgundy splotches dotted the floor.

I pinioned her arms to her sides. She went stiff, staring at me with the terror of a wounded animal. Suddenly she darted her face forward. I jerked back to avoid being bitten. Her tongue snaked out and caught a droplet of blood on its tip. She ran it over her lips, rouging them wetly. Forced a smile.

“I’ll drink you,” she said huskily. “Do anything you want. If you leave afterwards.”

“That’s not what I’m after.”

“It would be if you knew. I can make you feel things you’ve never imagined.” It was a line from a low-budget skinflick, but she took it seriously, grinding her pelvis against mine. She licked me once more and made a show of swallowing the blood.

“Stop it,” I said, arching away.

“Aw, c’mon.” She wriggled. “You’re a hunk. Those nice blue eyes and all of those thick dark curls. I bet your cock is just as pretty, huh?”

“Enough, Nona.”

She pouted and kept rubbing against me. Her skin was saturated with musky dimestore cologne.

“Don’t be angry, Blue Eyes. There’s nothing wrong with being a big healthy guy with a big gnarly cock. I can feel it now. Right there. Oh yeah, it’s big. I’d love to play with it. Put it in my mouth. Swallow you. Drink you.” She batted her lashes. “I’ll take off my clothes and let you play with me while I do you.”

She tried to lick me again. I freed one hand and slapped her hard across the face.

She reeled backward, stunned, and looked at me with little-girl surprise.

“You’re a human being,” I said. “Not a piece of meat.”

“I’m a cunt!” She screamed and tore at her hair, ripping loose the long ginger tendrils.

“Nona—”

She shuddered with self-loathing, sculpted her hands into quivering hooks. But this time they were aimed at her own flesh, inches from ripping open that exquisite face.

I grabbed her and held her tight. She fought me, cursing, then exploded into sobs. She seemed to curl up and diminish in size, crying on my shoulder. When the tears wouldn’t come anymore, she collapsed against my chest, mute and limp.

I carried her to a chair, sat her down, wiped her face with a tissue and pressed another against my cheek. Most of the bleeding had stopped. I retrieved the knife and tossed it in the sink.

She was staring at the table. I cupped her chin in my hand. The inky eyes were glazed and unfocused.

“Where’s Woody?”

“Back there,” she said dully. “Sleeping.”

“Show me.”

She rose unsteadily. A shredded plastic shower curtain divided the trailer. I guided her through it.

The back room was stuffy and dim and furnished with thrift shop remnants. The walls were paneled with fake birch, scarred white. A filling station calendar hung lopsided from a roofing nail. Digital time beamed forth from a plastic clock radio atop a plastic Parsons table. On the floor was a pile of teen magazines. A blue velveteen sleeper sofa had been opened to a queen-size bed.

Woody slept under faded paisley covers, coppery curls spreading on the pillow. On the adjacent nightstand were comic books, a toy truck, an uneaten apple, a bottle of pills. Vitamins.

His breathing was regular but labored, his lips swollen and dry. I touched his cheek.

“He’s very hot,” I told her.

“It’ll break,” she said defensively. “I’ve been giving him vitamin C for it.”

“Has it helped yet?”

She looked away and shook her head.

“He needs to be in a hospital, Nona.”

“No!” She bent down, took his small head in her arms. Pressed her cheek to his and kissed his eyelids. He smiled in his sleep.

“I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“There’s no phone,” she proclaimed with childish triumph. “Go leave to find one. We’ll be gone when you get back.”

“He’s very sick,” I said patiently. “Every hour we delay puts him in greater danger. We’ll go together, in my car. Get your things ready.”

“They’ll hurt him!” she screamed. “Just like before. Sticking needles in his bones! Putting him in that plastic jail!”

“Listen to me, Nona. He has cancer. He could die from it.” She turned away.

“I don’t believe it.”

I held her shoulders.

“You’d better. It’s true.”

“Why? Cause that beaner doctor said so? He’s just like all the others. Can’t be trusted.” She cocked her hip the way she’d done in the hospital corridor. “Why should it be cancer? He never smoked or polluted himself! He’s just a little kid.”