I studied Jimmy's pained face; the curve of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders and couldn't see what he saw; Jimmy wasn't ugly. He walked away without a backward glance and I felt deeply ashamed of myself. I had known what Jimmy wanted, no, needed to hear. I just couldn't give it to him. The words had formed themselves easily in my throat, but my lips wouldn't let them pass

I sat stiffly on the bench of the picnic table. I wanted to forget what had transpired, drown out jimmy's voice echoing in my head, 'you've never been ugly'; dripping with sadness. What he had said was so raw, so honest that I felt like I was intruding on an intimate moment he should have had with someone else. He should have shown that piece of his soul to another girl; a real girl. I was struck with the strangeness of it all as I opened my sketchbook to a fresh page.

I had planned to draw the landscape of the camp, but when my charcoal pencil to the paper my fingers didn't make a horizon line; instead they drew the contours of a cheek. Then a neck. Then an eyebrow. Then a jaw. Then a hint of the shadow on that jaw.

My hand was flying. I was drawing much more loosely than usual. My heart seemed to stop beating, I forgot to breath. Rough lines of his shoulders fell off at the bottom of the paper. I didn't want to draw his hands, not because I thought they were ugly, but because I didn't want that to be the main focus of this drawing.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the exact shape of his eyes. When I opened them I imagined that I saw the real Jimmy walking back through the entrance to the camp. That was fast, I thought dismally as I looked down. Could he see me? Could he see my drawing? Oh...no. Jimmy looked bad. He had a black eye and a busted lip. Blood ran from his nose. My heart seemed to start up again with a Jolt. I grabbed my sketchbook off of the picnic table and took off in an all out sprint to find a secluded spot where I could take my full heart and examine what was in it alone.

/

Much to my relief, jimmy didn't perform at the show that evening. I didn't ask why, but assumed it had something to do with the injuries that he had sustained at the hands of Dell. I shook while Eve explained to me what had taken place at the diner. In short; it had gone badly, ending with Jimmy getting beat by Dell. I had known many men like him.

I sighed and rested my forehead on the scarred wood of the picnic table. I had been trying to draw but the pain from my fresh tattoo, a geometric mess of lines and circles and shading that now covered my left calf, demanded attention. I didn't know what was happening to me; I felt invisible as a dust mote and just at light, swirling and floating with no control over it.

"Come on, Bridget." Ethel Darling's voice cut through my pity party and jolted me back to the world.

"The police are here asking questions, they got a tip that someone from here killed a police officer." She explained in response to the question in my eyes. At her words I felt the blood drain from my face. She hooked me gently at the elbow and helped me to stand. I followed her without seeing. I racked my brain; did we leave any evidence? I couldn't remember.

Elsa was arguing heatedly when with a detective in a smart suit when we arrived. Jimmy looked concerned but calm, watching the action with his arms crossed and grim look on his face. I dropped my eyes. His confession still fresh in my mind, it felt too intimate a moment. I didn't know how we could ever speak again.

Elsa threw her arms up in resignation and seemed to accept there was nothing she could do to stop the search. She light a cigarette with an angry flourish. My throat itched with my own desire for a cigarette, but my fingers were cement.

The dective ran his eyes over my face and looked away before snapping his eyes back to mine. He made a face I couldn't decipher. Shit. I didn't think about the fact that I was probably Wanted in Georgia. I hoped the hair dye masked my identity enough. Even still I dropped my head so my hair would hide my face and side stepped so that I was slightly behind Ethel, praying that he would forget about me.

Dell strode confidently over to Jimmy when the officers entered his trailer. He whispered something in Jimmy's ear that caused Jimmy to pull back in confusion and horror.

At that exact moment the door to Meep the Geek's trailer banged open and a large officer strode out, holding tightly to a terrified Meep's arm.

"We found this under is bed roll." The officer said brandishing high the badge that Jimmy had kept. My brain refused to connect the dots that were right in front of my face.

The detective that had been eying me looked at Meep with hatred and disgust, "Take the little freak to jail."

I gasped as they thrust Meep into the back of a squad car. I looked at Jimmy openly, forgetting the awkwardness between us. He looked as though he were on the verge of vomiting. I glanced at Everyone's faces in turn; we were helpless.

/

The camp was unusually quiet that night. I stood in front of the full length mirror that Elsa had graciously sold me. I didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. Her long hair fell in tangles to her waist; a dirty color. I would have to go into town soon and buy more black dye. I fingered the skunky strands, it was almost like the yellow underneath was struggling to breath. I sighed and pulled it back, my fingers quickly pleating it into a french braid that snaked over my shoulder. I needed to be more careful, especially now that the cops were poking around.

That thought brought back the memory of Meep and I nearly doubled over. It wasn't that I particularly cared about Meep. In truth, he made me deeply uncomfortable, and I couldn't help but feel sad for the fluffy baby chicks that he brutally slaughtered. Still, Meep wasn't a murderer. I was. It should have been me in the back of that cop car.

I pulled on a white, sleeveless dress that I had brought with me from home. It had been my mother's before... I shook my head, grabbed my sketchbook and stepped into the warm Florida night.

Jimmy was at my picnic table. He was sitting like I usually did; on the top with his feet on the bench. He hadn't seen me seeing him yet, I could still run. My leg muscles twitched to flee the scene, crawl back into my little cot, and hide under the covers.

Before I could decide Jimmy looked up. I noticed his eyes were wild and a little unfocused as they met mine. My eyes fell to the bottle of whiskey in his deformed hands. It wasn't even halfway gone.

I tried to smile but imagined that it came off as more of a grimace. He shook his head and gestured to the space next to him, "Join me. It's not like tonight can get any worse." He laughed without humor and took a long pull from the bottle. The comment stung, but I wasn't such a horrible person that I would be...well...me to him right now.

Wordlessly I took a seat next to him, putting my feet next to his. We sat like that for a while, silently staring at our feet; his large, and confined in work boots. Mine, small and bare.

I lit a cigarette.

"What are you doing here Bridget?" He asked me, I knew he wasn't talking about here at this picnic table with him.

I shrugged, "Why are you are? Why are they?" I gestured at the smattering of tents and trailers, "Why are any of us here?"

He nodded saddly and offered me the bottle of whiskey. The smell that invaded my small tent every night wafted from the open top. I wrinkled my nose and pushed his arm away, "No, thanks." My eyes watered from the fumes and I took a drag off my cigarette just for something to do with my hands, "That shit will kill your brain cells." I nodded at the bottle.

Jimmy laughed ruefully, eying my lit cigarette, "Those things are worse for you than alcohol."

I shrugged, "I may die young, but at least I'll die smart."

Jimmy smiled at me, for a fleeing moment it was a real smile. A rush of pleasure shot through my toes and tingled my hairline. Every so often Jimmy would give me a small smile like that, like I surprised him.

He suddenly reached over and fingered a strand of my hair that had fallen from the loose braid. He tugged it gently as he considered it, "Why do you dye your hair?" He asked, in a voice barely above a whisper.

Boom. My doors locked and my walls went up. I swatted his hand away, "None of your business." I snapped. I tried to sound mad, but even to my own ears I sounded scared.

"I don't understand you." Jimmy's voice came out rough. He was angry.

"That's the point, Jimmy." I tossed my cigarette butt to the ground, "You never get me."

"What are you so afraid of?" Jimmy asked, looking me dead in my eyes. The alcohol was making him bold, fueling this fire. My skin prickled in warning. Danger! Danger!

I stuck out my chin, "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Bullshit." Jimmy spat, "You're afraid of this fucking conversation."

I opened my mouth to protest but Jimmy just spoke louder, "You're even lying to yourself."

I felt like he had just slapped me across the face, or worse that he was treading dangerously close to figuring me out. It was a violating feeling; after years of being invisible to have someone trying to decode you.

"Fuck!" Jimmy screamed, he slammed his palm on the table between us, "Fucking Meep! It should have been me." Jimmy's voice was mangled with sobbs. I felt the space between us grow wider as he cried. I knew I should confort him but I couldn't find the words.

Instead I opened my sketchbook and tore out the drawing of Jimmy that I had done the day before. I laid it on the table between us and stood up.

"You're not ugly, Jimmy." I whispered. The words were late. They were what he had needed the day before, not the ones he needed now, but they were the only ones I had so I gave them. I turned just as the weight of my words registered on his face and walked quickly and deliberately back to my tent.

I felt so closed off and cold that I almost didn't register the large pick up truck that pulled into the camp. I turned and watched them back up toward the entrance. Jimmy had stood up and walked closer to investigate. Two men in the back hoisted a bag of something heavy over their heads and tossed it off the back before driving back the way they came.

I started running as Jimmy approached the bag. Jimmy's screams that pierced the night confirmed what I had known in my heart of hearts. Meep was in that bag. He didn't survive the night in jail.

Hot tears fell down my cheeks as I buried myself under my thin blankets without getting undressed. Meep was dead, and it was my fault. Jimmy would blame himself and that was also my fault. I cried until I was sure I had no tears left and then I cried some more. I cried for myself, for Meep, for Jimmy, for my father and then for myself again.

/

That night, in my dream; my father held me down while Jimmy opened me up; pulling apart my insides, removing my stomach, my brain, my heart. I screamed when Jimmy held up my heart and smiled, his teeth bloody. "We found it." He sewed me up without putting everything back in. I felt hollow and empty and the worst thing was that without my heart I couldn't even cry.

A/N:

Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter! It was a hard one for me to write. Don't forget to leave a review if you liked it, if you hated it. Any feedback is deeply appreciated!

As always, thank you guys for your support. You're amazing. And a special thanks to NotMarge, for your unwavering support. You're amazing. Seriously you guys, if you like Jimmy you should read her story 'Just People.' Its so good. And her story 'A Winter in Wisconsin' is seriously my favorite.

xoxoxox