Blood and Other Matter

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Tess

Thursday, September 8th

As soon as the kitchen screen closed behind me, I raced through my cluttered home in a desperate bid to escape the stench of stale cigarettes. I filled my room with air fresheners, fans, and scented candles, but I could never tell if that stuff actually worked or if by the time I got to my room, I'd simply become one with the fetid miasma.

"Come on," I muttered, rummaging through my closet. "I have to have something." My look—which at best was praised as artistic and at worst snidely called thrift-shop chic—didn't lend itself to going out with guys in Josh Worthington's crowd.

"Oh, you might work." I freed a long, off-the shoulder, asymmetrical, black and white shirt from the pile of clothes on the floor. By the time every scrap of clothing I owned was hung back up in the closet, I'd managed to cobble together an outfit pairing the shirt to black leggings and lace-up boots that Wren Kepner had passed along to me when she outgrew her awesome shoe collection.

Satisfied that I had something to wear, I tracked down Josh's number and sent him a text. After confirming a few details, I threw the ensemble into the wash and jumped in the shower to scrub the smell of my house from my skin.

I just . . . I have a bad feeling. Derrick's voice echoed through my mind as I shut off the water, and I shivered despite the steam in the air. He'd had a "bad feeling" the night Ainsley died, too.

Yeah, but this one's hatred.Josh hadn't always been the greatest of human beings, especially to Derrick. Add that to whatever was going on between Derrick and , and it was no wonder he was catching feelings.

My stomach twisted with the too-familiar feeling of guilt, no matter how much I tried to push it aside. I hated that I had to question everything I said or did with Derrick now to avoid leading him on or hurting him. Did it hurt Derrick's feelings when I talked about going out with Josh tonight? Had I rubbed it in? Was I being a tease if I said or did this? Was I being callous or insensitive if I ignored that?

Just another thing to balance. Did Derrick worry about that kind of crap?

I pulled open my makeup drawer and frowned at the bits of colorful pressed powder clinging to otherwise empty containers. Crap, still out of makeup. There was only one place I'd be able to find more.

Gathering my courage, I stepped across the hall to open the door to my mother's room.

She lay passed out on the bed, dark hair plastered to her face as she drooled on Random Guy of the Week's arm.My heart thudded against my chest as I crept through the room, careful not to wake them, and ducked into her bathroom. Rummaging through her top drawer, I found the good stuff. Sephora.

I loved makeup. The combination of liquid, pressed, and loose powder was every bit as exciting as paint or charcoal. Shading and light and brushstrokes could fix everything. But instead of manipulating an image on a page, I could transform my acne-ridden face into a work of art. I'd just put the finishing touches on my eyes, subtly fading the eye shadow from brown to green with a smoky flair, when the bathroom door opened, and Random Guy of the Week walked in. He, thank God, wore boxers at least.

He froze in the doorway. "Uh . . . hi."

I gave him a tight-lipped smile, tightened my grip on the towel, and put away the compacts and bottles as fast as I could. I'd learned long ago not to engage. Some of the guys got embarrassed when they saw me, others got grabby, and one had just gotten mean.

"Babe?" My mom called, voice slurred. "Where'd you go?"

When the man turned toward her voice, I slid past him and bolted out of my mom's room, closing the door behind me.