Yeah, there’s a lot of reasons for me to be skittish right now.
Sucking in a breath, I hike toward the front door, open it, and then enter. The instant I step over the threshold, my guard goes up. Only the hallway light upstairs is on. The air is quiet, too.
Where is everyone? Did they go out for a family dinner or something?
Pressing my lips together, I step inside, shut the door, and tiptoe for the stairway. I’m not even sure why I’m tiptoeing other than I don’t want anyone to know I’m home. That is, if anyone is home.
Right as I reach the top of the stairway, I pause as my phone buzzes. I assume it’s Harlow again, but nope. It’s a text from Dixie May.
I almost don’t read it, but curiosity gets the best of me.
Bitchy Bitch of the West: Found your little stash. Didn’t know you were such a drug addict. Good thing my dad’s a cop. Have fun in jail, beotch.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I whisper in horror.
My heart slams against my chest as I rush to my room and shove the door open. The lamp is on, revealing the stash of drugs that I stole from my uncle scattered across my bed.
Shit.
I spin around to run, but my uncle steps out from behind the door and blocks my path, anger blazing in his eyes.
“So, you thought you could steal from me, huh?” He crosses his arms and stares me down.
He’s not a very tall man, which is strange since my dad was really tall, but he’s bulky and has a mean right hook. That I know personally. He’s also still dressed in his sheriff uniform, even though he’s probably been off work for a couple of hours. He wears it when he’s trying to intimidate me. I don’t know why he thinks it does.
“I didn’t steal that from you.” My voice comes out even. I’ve learned not to show fear when he gets like this. That it only seems to rile him up more. “That’s stuff I bought.” Yeah, I’m basically admitting that I bought drugs, but I’d rather have him believe that than know I stole from him.
He gives a hollow laugh as he steps toward me while reaching back for the door. “How stupid do you think I am, Raven? I’m well aware that you’ve been stealing from me. But do you want to know what pisses me off even more?”
I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood, resisting the urge to throw out some snarky remark.
He slowly closes the door, then click, he locks it. “That you know a little secret of mine.”
I push down the fear wanting to emerge from inside me, let out a slow breath, and inch back. “I don’t know anything.”
“Liar.” He matches my move, stepping forward and stealing the distance I put between us. “You’ve always been good at that—being a lying cunt.” He steps toward me again, his fingers drifting toward his holster. “Remind me; have I marked you with that word yet? Sometimes it’s hard to remember with all the marks I’ve put on you already.” He pulls out his knife and flips the blade open. “You make it so easy with that mouth of yours. It’s like you like me cutting you up.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in …
Exhale.
“Look, I’m sorry for stealing your drugs. I don’t know why I did it, but I’ll stop. And I won’t tell anyone about the stash you have. I’m a lot of things, but you know I’m not a narc.”
He lightly traces his finger along the edge of the blade. “You know the only way I can get you to listen is to punish you. It’s the only way you’ll obey me.”
He always says this, but it never makes any sense, since I rarely obey anyway. In reality, I wonder if he gets off on this, on seeing me in pain, which is so messed up.
“I’ll start behaving better,” I lie, the backs of my legs bumping against the bed as I take another step back.
Shit. I’m cornered, but I refuse to allow myself to panic.
Numb, Raven. Tune out that fear.
He shakes his head. “Don’t lie to me again.”
“I’m not lying, “ I insist. “I promise. Just please don’t cut me again.”
His eyes flicker with delight for who the hell knows why. Then he reaches out and grabs my wrist. “You know I can do this. You know we have rules in my house.”
“Why am I the only one who has to follow them?” I growl out, jerking on my arm. “Let go of me, you asshole.”
A sinister grin curls at his lips. “And there she is.” He shoves me down on the bed. “I don’t know why you always try to pretend like you’re obedient in the beginning. It never lasts. And you want to know why?”
I move to climb off the bed, but he wrestles me down, climbing on top of me and pinning me down. “Get off me!” I scream. “Now—”
He smacks me so hard my ears ring. Then he pins my hands down beside my head, leaning in and breathing into my face, “Because you’re just like your stupid mother. You’re a spoiled little brat who thinks you can do whatever she wants.”
“Shut up!” I scream, tears pooling in my eyes.
“Aw, am I hurting your feelings? Well, good.” Pinning both my hands in one of his, he leans back and lifts the hem of my shirt. “The next time you even think about trying to steal from me, you look down at this and remember.” He points the tip of the blade at my side and nicks my skin, causing blood to pool out. “Remember what you are.”
Then he starts cutting, moving the blade over my flesh. I barely feel the pain, though. I’ve become numb to this. Numb to everything.
Memories of my past—of the day my parents were murdered—begin to surface. It sometimes happens when I shut down like this. Although, it’s always fragments of images that don’t complete a full story.
Warm blood covers my hands as I stare down at my parents. Blood is all over them, covering their clothes, their hair.
Why is there so much blood? And why is it all over my hands?
“Mom,” I whisper as I collapse to my knees.
I can’t remember how I got here. Can’t remember where the blood came from. All I can remember is screaming. So much screaming.
“Raven! No!” my mom shouts a plea. “Please don’t do this, sweetie. You don’t want to do this. Just go. Run!”
But I can’t go. Not until I get to her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t forget.”
She screams—
“You’re quiet tonight,” my uncle says, yanking me back to reality.
Droplets of blood are on the blade of his knife and his hands.
Blood. Just like in my memories.
I never told anyone that I see myself covered in blood sometimes. If I did, I’d be under more suspicion. Maybe one day I can finally talk about it when all the dots are connected. I just hope I don’t end up seeing something I don’t want to.
Not wanting to think about my parents anymore, I focus on the pain in my side because it’s easier than dealing with the emotional pain piercing inside me.
“Got nothing to say?” My uncle stands by my bed, staring down at me with expectancy.
I stare at the ceiling, not moving, refusing to say a word, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a fight, something I’ve learned he wants.
“Looks like it worked then.” He wipes the blade of his knife across the side of his pant leg, cleaning off the blood. Then he puts the knife away and looks at me again, waiting for something. When I make no effort to even budge, he shakes his head. “Whatever. At least I got you to shut up.” He moves to leave when his gaze zeroes in on my wrist. The wrist where the pendant he tried to burn is. His eyes flare with anger. “Where the hell did you get that?”
I swallow hard. “I found it in the yard at our old house.”
Gritting his teeth, he yanks the bracelet from my wrist. “You fucking little thief. You’re lucky I don’t arrest you.” With that, he storms for the door. “Don’t ever touch any of my shit again,” he snaps then walks out of my room, slamming the door behind him.
I don’t move. Barely breathe.
I don’t want to be here.
I want to fade away
.
After what feels like hours, I drag myself off the bed and walk over to the mirror to see the damage. My side feels like it’s on fire as I lift the hem of my blood-stained shirt and peer at the newly marked word branding my flesh. Then I shake my head, my jaw ticking.
He didn’t only carve one word into my flesh, but three.
Disappointment.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
I lower my shirt, go to the bathroom, and clean and bandage the wound. Then I return to my room and sink down onto my bed, sitting in the middle of my drug stash that he just left in here, probably trying to send me some sort of cryptic message—my uncle really likes his mind games. What the message is, I haven’t got a clue. And I really don’t care.
Shoving the drugs out of the way, I lie down and close my eyes, trying not to think of anything other than sleep. Because sleep means forgetting. Of course, being an insomniac complicates that. So, eventually, and even though it’s a bold move, I grab a joint and head over to my window.
I’m about to open it and light up when I spot someone creeping around in the backyard. As far as I know, my aunt and Dixie May aren’t here, probably because my uncle sent them away so he could torment me in private. Dixie May thought telling her dad about my stash would lead to me getting arrested, so she’s going to be severely disappointed when she realizes she’s wrong.
I’m not sure if I am. If jail sounds any worse than what just happened.
I bounce back and forth between which one sounds worse as I watch the figure as it moves through the yard. At first, I think it’s my uncle, going out there to try to burn the pendant again. But this person is moving like a stealthy ninja, and that’s something my uncle definitely isn’t.
If I cared, I’d tell my uncle, but honestly, part me hopes it’s a car thief about to steal my uncle’s car. But that hope gets squashed as the moonlight casts across the person at just the right angle so that I can make out their face …
My jaw drops. “Hunter?”
What in the actual hell?
I watch as he moves closer to the house. He’s wearing all black, so it’s hard to keep track of him, but his blond hair stands out against the darkness just enough.
After spying on him for a while and trying to figure out what the heck he’s doing, I decide I’m just going to go out there. It could be a risky move, depending on if he’s trying to rob us or not, but at this point, I don’t really care.
Slipping on my jacket, I carefully step out of my bedroom and shut the door behind me. Then I tiptoe down the stairs, moving slowly, partly to be quiet and partly because my side hurts like a little beotch. When I reach the bottom, I sneak a glance toward the kitchen. The light is on, and I can see my uncle sitting at the table, staring at the pendant he jerked off me.
What’s his deal with that thing? I hadn’t thought about it too much when I picked it up, but with the way he acted when he saw it on me … Something’s up, and I want to find out what.
I make a mental note to look into it, even though I’m unsure where to start, then I quietly walk over to the front door and sneak outside. The front porch light isn’t on, so I easily make my way around to the back without being seen.
Instead of stepping out into the open, I pause at the edge of the house and peer around for Hunter. He’s gotten closer to the house, right beside it, and is hunkering down below the kitchen window where my uncle is.
At this point, I’m unsure how to proceed. I mean, the entire situation is bizarre.
“I’m not sure,” Hunter suddenly whispers, startling me. “I can look through the window, but I’m worried someone is in there.”
I squint against the darkness to see who he’s talking to and manage to make out that he has what looks like his phone in his hand.
“I know,” he whispers. “But … I just don’t want to get caught, okay?” He pauses again. “The only way to see if he’s in there is to look through the window, but what if he’s right there?”
Don’t ask me why I do what I do next. Maybe my mind is so drained that I’m not thinking clearly. Whatever the reason, I say, “If you’re talking about my uncle, he’s right in the kitchen. And if you look through that window, he’ll for sure see you.”
Hunter lets out a string of curses then pauses. “Raven?”
“Yeah.” I step out from my hiding space, and he moves out from underneath the window, straightening.
“What’re you doing out here?” he asks, sounding on edge.
I inch toward him. “Shouldn’t I be asking that question?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Look, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“So, you’re not trying to spy on my uncle?”
“Okay, maybe it is exactly what it looks like.”
Crickets chirp in the distance as a beat of silence ticks by.
“So, are you gonna tell me why you’re spying on my uncle?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“It’s … It’s complicated,” he says through a sigh.
“Well, I’m good with complicated stuff,” I assure him.
“I’m sure you are,” he mutters then releases a loud exhale. “Look, I can’t give you all the details. All I can tell you is that I’m here because someone hired me to look into your uncle.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Okay … Well, can you tell me why you’re looking into my uncle?”
“Because he’s the sheriff, and this person wants to know if he’s corrupt.”
I let out a low laugh. “I could’ve just told you that he is.”
“Really?” he questions, but he doesn’t sound that surprised.
“Yeah, really.” I consider what I’m about to say, but not for very long. “What else do you want to know about him?”
“Everything, basically. It’s difficult to find information on him … Honestly, it’s almost like he’s had a name change or something.”
“If he has, I don’t know about it.” An idea is coming to me. One that I might not have acted on earlier before he carved disappointment into me. But now, well, I might as well live up to my name. “You want some help? I can try to look through his stuff for you instead of you trying to break in.”
“I …” He pauses. While I can’t see his face, I’m sure he looks confused. “You’d do that for me?”
Would I?
Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m doing it for him or myself.
“I hate my uncle,” I admit. “So yeah, I’ll do it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I want to.” I’m not even positive why I agree to this. Revenge maybe? Or to finally find out for myself who the man is that has taunted me since the day I moved in with him?
“How about this?” he says. “You sleep on it and let me know tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I agree with a nod.
“Okay.” He grows silent again. “About seeing me out here …”
I hold up my hand. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“Thanks,” he breathes in relief. “I owe you big time.”
“Well, considering you bought me lunch and offered to help me with art, we can probably call it even.” When he doesn’t reply, I quickly add, “Unless you don’t want to do that yet.”
He swiftly shakes his head. “No, I definitely do. I’m just … You’re being very nonchalant about this.”
Am I? I guess I kind of am. “You just caught me at a weird time.”
He’s about to say something else when I hear a voice murmuring from somewhere. He curses and puts the phone to his ear, making me aware that whoever was on the call with him probably just overheard this entire conversation.
“What?” Hunter hisses. “Oh … Why?”
While I can’t see his face, I can almost feel his eyes on me.
“Let me ask her.” He pauses, then snaps, “Dude, I’m not gonna do that. I’ll ask … Hey, Raven?”
> “Um … yeah?” I reply with a drop of apprehension.
“This is going to sound a bit weird, but I promise it’s not,” he starts. “I just … Well, Zay, Jax, and I want to talk to you to really quickly.”
“Like right now?”
“Yeah … They’re in my car, parked out in the forest right over there.” He nods in the direction of the trees covering the landscape of the property bordering the yard.
I nervously fidget with the leather band on my wrist. He wants me to go into the dark forest with him to meet up with his two friends, one who for sure hates me?
He steps toward me, and suddenly, I feel his hand cover mine. “I promise you’ll be safe with me.” He gently squeezes my hand.
I could quite possibly be a dumbass for trusting him, but the reality is that going into the house with my uncle probably isn’t any less dangerous than going with Hunter. So, I nod.
“All right, yeah, I’ll go.”
“Awesome.” He releases my hand. “Did I mention you’re the best BFF ever?”
I giggle at that. “You know Harlow already claimed me as her best friend.”
“We’ll see about that,” he teases, then takes my hand again and tows me with him as he hurries across the backyard. “And FYI, you have the cutest giggle ever.”
“I do not,” I protest. “I don’t even giggle.”
“You totally do,” he assures me. “In fact, you just did it one minute ago.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Did I?”
“Yep. Don’t worry; it’s cute, not obnoxious.”
Unsure what to make of what he says, I press my lips together, warmth rushing to my cheeks.
I’m blushing. I never blush. What the crap is wrong with me?
“Why do I get the feeling you’re blushing right now?” he asks amusedly, his boots scuffing against the ground.
“I’m not,” I lie, jogging to keep up with him, my side groaning in protest. But I ignore the pain, something I’m becoming a pro at.
“And now I get the feeling you’re lying,” he teases as he steers me into the trees.
I swat a few branches out of the way. “I never lie.”
He snorts a laugh. “I call total bullshit on that.”
The Art of Being Friends Page 10
