Page 33 of Vandal Unbound

She points to my chest in real life, at my cut that still has the gold star on it. “I even drew your star for being brave.”

Should I worry about what my brothers think, that I only pass a toddler or whatever you call a five-year-old’s bar on bravery? Probably. But it twists my gut with fondness just as much now as it did before.

“I like it.” What I don’t like are the red eyes when everyone else’s are in gray pencil. The bright red cheeks from drinking too much alcohol.

I hate that this precious little girl is only seeing the worst of me, while trying to draw the best. Havoc was right. She deserves the best of me. But the thought of going without painkillers and alcohol makes something deep in my bones vibrate. Not sure how I’ll sleep without it. How I’ll function without it.

Can’t even stand the thought of suffering the hundred pent-up hangovers I keep washing down with more booze catching up with me.

The scales are that evenly balanced: Daisy and Elsie stand on one side, and the booze and painkillers stand on the other.

“I love it, Elsie. Don’t know that anyone has ever drawn me a picture, let alone one as good as this.” I take in the little triangle bodies and circular heads and the two-dimensional chairs with missing legs and decide it belongs in one of those fancy museums. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

She cups her hand and whispers in my ear. “Momma drove by three times before she stopped.”

When I look over to Daisy, she’s…enigmatic. Maybe she’s happy. Maybe she’s curious. Maybe she’s scared. You could never tell from the neutral expression on her face.

I don’t like it.

I want the smile.

“You think she couldn’t see the place?” I ask.

Elsie giggles. “No, silly. It’s bigger than the moon.”

“Okay, the clubhouse is big, but it’s not that big.”

“How do you know? It’s smaller than a nickel in the sky.”

I try to think of things from her perspective, and I’m sure the concept of the real distance from the earth to the moon is beyond a five-year-old’s comprehension.

“Should we walk over to your momma?” I ask.

Elsie shakes her head and wraps her hands around my neck tight, same way she did when I was at their place five days ago. “No. Because she’ll make us leave. Or she’ll sayonly two more minutes, Elsie.” She pulls exaggerated facial expressions meant to mimic Daisy, and I can’t help but laugh as I reach down for her foot.

“So, what’s the deal with your sneakers?”

She sighs. “They’re too tight, but Momma says we need to wait until she gets paid to get some new ones because I’m growing too fast.”

Havoc grew faster than me when we were kids. Used to annoy the shit out of me. I only surpassed him in height and build when I turned seventeen. But up until then, he’d give me any of the clothes and sneakers he grew out of, otherwise I have no clue what I’d have worn.

We were both raised by single moms, but Havoc’s dad would appear like clockwork on the last Friday of every month and take him to Miami or Fort Lauderdale for the weekend.

Havoc hated it. He’s not a city guy. But his dad would hook him up with clothes and shoes and things, and Havoc was mercenary enough to suck up the forty-eight hours to get what he wanted. I remember his mom once saying that if he were as generous with his child support payments as he was with those monthly trips, they’d have a much better life.

Still, I benefited from his visits too by proxy. But I know what it feels like when shit doesn’t fit right and your mom can’t afford to fix it.

“What size are you?” I ask, thinking I’ll grab her a pair.

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Hmm. There goes my plan to order her a pair for now. Because I feel like if I ask Daisy, she’ll blow me off.

I walk us toward Daisy, and Maren says something to her that makes her smile.

“Hey,” Havoc says. “You got a second human growing out of the side of your head, Vandal.”

Elsie wraps her hands tighter around my neck. “It’s me. Elsie,” she says, but she sounds a lot less certain than she does when talking to me.