by Maya Rose
“This is fantastic. Where did Scotty order it from?” I ask her, looking up after a few bites, when neither of us have talked.
She intersects her arms across her chest, sitting ramrod straight on the opposite side of the table, and then gives a slight shrug. “Someplace.”
Is she bored? What does Scotty do that I’m not doing? I’ve suddenly never been more invested in not spooking a woman out of a conversation. What’s a neutral topic? Something that doesn’t add to this heat around us?
“When do you start classes?” There, that’s neutral.
“January. It’s already been two months since the Fall term started in September, so it’s too late for that.”
This might be the first straight answer she’s given me. I like it, and I don’t. “That’ll make it easier. Because Warren’s on a crusade to cram nineteen years into a few weeks.”
A conflicted look frames her face. Her eyes scatter around before settling on me. “I want to talk to him.”
“It won’t help.” I tell her bluntly. “He’s stubborn as fuck--he’s not going to change his mind.”
But she shakes her head. “That’s not why...I just want to talk to him.”
My hackles go up without notice. “What for?”
Her brows stitch. “I don’t have to tell you, right?”
I have a sneaking suspicion I might have blown this momentary ceasefire between us. Because no, she doesn’t. I'm not going to be the one she shares things with, and that is a good thing. I eat a bite to keep my mouth from reacting.
“Also, I want to keep my jobs till my classes start.”
Mid-chewing, my tongue pushes the bite down my throat in a knee-jerk reaction. “For what possible reason?”
“I don’t have to—“
Oh for fuck’s sake. “Ariel.”
Her arms come loose and...and goddamn. Why are her nipples so hard? Where the hell is my brain? “Then what do you propose I do between now and January, Mr King?”
I can think of a few things. Damn it. Head in the fucking game, King. “Shop. Get a haircut. Volunteer. Learn cooking or fencing or whatever.”
Her eyes fire up. “Right. Because I’m a girl.”
What? “Because you’re 19. And you’re about to be thrown into the limelight. Everything you do will be under a microscope. You want people following you to the club? Taking pictures in your little uniform and selling it to the highest bidder?”
“How would they—“
“Because Warren is going to tell everyone. Give it a few days and you’re going to be on public display. So sit tight and show up for meetings when I ask you to.”
She narrows her eyes. “And am I allowed to talk in them? Or should I carry a book or take up knitting to pass the time while I sit and pretend to not have a brain?”
That seriousness on her. That solemness in her voice. I don’t think she could pretend if she tried. It’s making me anxious. Does she want more, now that she’s had time to reconsider what she’s going to get out of it? Fuck, I never brought the contract home from the office.
“Ariel, we agreed on how this is going to work.” I remind her stiffly.
Temper straps to every inch of her face. “On what exactly? What did we agree on? Remind me, because I can’t tell. What’s the deal? I live in your house but I’ll never see you beyond a 2 minute nightly check-in? Or you’ll come calling whenever you have a whim to? Summon me when Warren demands it and you have to show him what a good boy you are? Otherwise I’m on my own with Scott? Which suits me just fine by the way--he’s freaking amazing. But I deserve to know where you and I stand--from you--instead of being blindsided by whatever that thing next to you in the morning was.”
He’s freaking amazing. He’s freaking amazing. My heart gallops, in agony with four simple words from her. There’s so much ache, I have to give some of it back. “In case you’ve forgotten, you and I are putting on a farce, Ms Jenning. What is it that you’re expecting from me? Actual friendship?”
Her features harden. “Oh don’t you worry. Scott already warned me to steer clear of expecting anything from you.”
I don’t even see her pulling the trigger. I just feel the damn bullet hit, right there on the left, in the soft tissue. “I see. And what else did Scott tell you?”
She takes a moment before she shoots again, eyes disenchanted. “That you disappoint. A lot.”
Terror streaks through me. At how much I want to do something--anything--to put the light back in her eyes. At how much her opinion hits where it hurts. I can’t let it. I won’t. I’ve worked too fucking hard, to get to a point where nobody matters to me. I rely on myself, because I won’t leave. Money is the only constant, the only companion I need. If I start giving a shit about one woman and what she thinks of me, where does it end? What do I know about her anyway? For all I know, she’s playing me and Scotty both.
So I sneer, and look her straight in the eye. Hurting her first, before she does it again. “And yet here you are. Sitting with me in the middle of the night. Half fucking naked. Practically begging for it. Keeping your options open, Ms Jenning? First my brother, then me--you sure are getting around. Are you diabolical or just insatiable? Or a bit of both?”
Her face pales. “That’s…” She stops, I’m sure in a bid to mess with me, before continuing, “...that’s who you think I am, Eli?”
My ears are ringing, the sound of my own name spearing my consciousness. She’s so barely audible that I wouldn’t have recognized her voice if I hadn’t seen her lips form those words.
What the fuck is she doing? Where’s the comeback? I need the damn comeback. I need her to give me pain, not this doe-eyed earnest look, searching for a confirmation that I meant what I said. So I twist the knife deeper. Shrugging, I lean against the back of the chair. “The apple can’t fall far from the tree.”
She freezes like she’s gone into shock. Until she starts blinking furiously. Then there’s a slight quiver on her bottom lip, before she uses her teeth to suppress it. I can’t feel my heartbeat when I decode her reaction, as her eyes glisten. Somehow I’ve pierced her armor, and victory has never felt so hollow. Cutting pangs build up in my chest when she pushes her chair and gets up, knocking over a glass in front of her in the hurry. Her hands are unsteady as she tries to right it, and then frantic as she grabs some napkins and starts dabbing the table to clean the water. Fuck fuck fuck...
“Ariel—“
She looks up from the table with a start, and it’s like she’s surprised I’m still here.
“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be home for dinner so I didn’t make a lot.” She says in a strange voice, tender but clear, in a quick ramble, and I’m trying to solve the riddle until she adds, “But there’s a little more still left in the fridge.” She halts, then looks like she’s suddenly thought of something. “By home I meant your home. It was just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
And then she leaves. Practically runs. But not before I see the drop run down her cheek.
I must be a cold hearted piece of shit, because where my fucking appetite should have pulled a solid one eighty, it instead heightens the craving in my mouth. To feel anything she has touched, inside of me. So I ingest every last succulent, perfectly balanced bit of that carb-heavy cheesy goodness. What’s in front of me and what she stored in the fridge. Only when there’s no more of it left, and I’m still nowhere close to having had my fill, do I deduce that the emptiness I feel is not in my goddamn stomach.
Chapter 9
Ariel
◆◆◆
“Seriously?!”
“Jesus, shit!” I jump at Scott’s voice, as he walks into the kitchen, out of some hiding place near the door. “What are you doing, Scott?!”
He irately slams his backpack on the table. “Hiding like a thief in my own house is what. Just so I can get a hold of you when you make a clandestine ghostly appearance outside your room. Three days, Ariel? Really? Three??! You don’t respond to
texts, you don’t open your door when I knock, but you’re cooking breakfast and dinner for us every single day? What are you—our goddamn maid?!”
I don’t know what the hell I am. Doing things around this place is the only way I can stay sane. And I want to earn my keep. I don’t want anything from Eli King for free. “I was just...uh...tired.”
“Of what?” He asks, face giving me a ‘is that the best you can come up with’ look. “The room or the cooking? Or me or Eli?”
Of everything. Every single thing in my life. Past, present, future. The lack of money, the promise of it, the absence of a father, the excess of him, missing mom but being too lily-livered to see her again, the shortage of friends, the unexpectedly soul crushing knowledge that Eli thinks I’m a mercenary slut...can I just hide in that room for eternity and not deal with anyone or any of this?
“Scott...I just...I don’t want to drag you into this. This...whatever it is...it’s my problem. I’ll tackle it.”
His mouth twists with disgust. “What did he do? What did that asshole do now?”
It sets my fragile control off. I’ve had it with his shit. I’ve literally only spent like ten to fifteen hours with him total, and every time he opens his mouth to talk about Eli, it’s one disparaging remark after another. And the more he does, the more I want to do something really bad to him.
“Will you stop?!!” I go off. “He’s your brother! You’re living in his house--living off his money--mooching off his privileges! I don’t know if he refused to give you a hug or something when you were a kid, but put on your freaking big boy pants now! If you have a problem with him, talk to him so you guys can fix it, or let it go! Stop treating him like a punching bag!”
Face darkening, he says in a tight voice, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I hold my ground. “He’s providing for you and the least you can do is be grateful.”
He watches me with a hard glare. “So I’m supposed to be grateful because he fulfilled his bare minimum responsibility? Giving me food, clothes and shelter?”
I was betting his next words were going to be either ‘this is none of your business’ or ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about’. But he’s justifying himself?
“You’re supposed to be grateful he did anything at all!! Because believe me, there are some of us who can’t take even bare minimum for granted!! You want to know what it feels like? Having to scrub floors instead of sitting in a fancy university learning what you love? He made that possible for you.”
“Warren made that possible for us.” He amends harshly, but sounds vaguely uncertain.
“Then why don’t you go live with him? Why are you living with Eli?” I really have no business giving him this lecture—I know nothing about him or their relationship—but I’m too far into it now. “Better still, take money from Warren and go find your own place with roommates or whatever, or live in a damn dorm like other kids do. But you won’t, will you?”
He irritates like a child, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are you defending him? You have a crush on him or something too?”
Nope. Not going there. “I’m not defending him--I’m beating sense into you! He’s your family, Scott--and the way I see it, he’s trying. Maybe not in the things you want--but he’s not leaving. Or asking you to leave. If I was him, I would have shifted your entitled ass to a separate place somewhere so I could have all the orgies I wanted here, instead of sneaking around like a highschooler!”
His disgruntled face incredulously cracks a smile. “Orgies? Really? Won’t you have to break your chastity belt for that?”
Ughhh...why did I have to tell him that I’ve never done it? “I hate you.” I mutter, and he grins again, making me wonder how come Eli never smiles. Or he doesn’t just with me? Why do I care why do I care WHY DO I CARE?????
He takes a chair and drops into it. “So what will it take for you to stop being that creepy girl who comes out when nobody’s in the house?”
“I’m not creepy.” I argue.
“Dude, you were tiptoeing into the kitchen even when you thought nobody was home.”
Shit, was I? Wait—he sneakily changed the topic. But he doesn’t seem mad. “Sorry I went all unsolicited tough love on you.”
“Don’t apologize.” He says flatly. “Eli and I...we’re…” Then he sighs. “I don’t know what we are. At a stalemate I guess. Both of us are waiting out the clock on me moving out.”
Same for me, the words stay on the tip of my tongue.
He gives me another sheepish smile before sobering up. “Ariel--what happened?”
Eli King pulverized my heart like it’s a game to him. By suggesting I’m like my mother. By suggesting my mother is like everyone thinks she is. Her family, her friends, her coworkers...no one stood by her once she got pregnant. And I allowed him. Instead of making him eat dirt, I cried in front of Eli. Freaking cried. If he thought I was undeserving before, that must have sealed it. Because nothing from him since. No message, no calls, when I know he has my number, and he saved his in my phone. But he hasn’t checked in.
Last night, I stared at the letters of his name in my phone’s saved contacts till I fell asleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, hot and hurting like an animal in heat. Stroking my clit feverishly to a frustrating orgasm, I imagined riding him in that fancy car of his. His peremptory voice playing in my head, telling me that no one can enter my room unless I want them to. It made me bring food to him that night, and now he has me...masturbating for goodness’ sake.
………..Fuck that guy. Just fuck him.
“Get out of your head, Ariel.” Scott taps with one finger on the table, calling for my attention. “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. But let me be here for you. Do you want to go out and do something today? Lunch or a movie? Or bowling or whatever?”
That didn’t sound so bad. “What about your classes and stuff?”
“Eh. I’m acing everything.” He dismisses.
“So modest. Your mother must be so proud.” I say before I can think better of it.
His face whitens like chalk.
“Shit--Scott, I’m so freaking sorry.”
He shakes his head, and tries to normalize his expression. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Then he smiles brightly, but it doesn’t extend beyond his lips. “So what do you want to do?”
I don’t get it. What woman just coldly ditches two kids and walks away without even a goodbye? Although maybe that’s healthier than living with the kids and reminding them every moment that they’re unwanted and unloved. Damn it. Mom. I’ve put off visiting her long enough. “Actually, there is something I need to do.”
“Name it.” He says readily.
“Warren moved mom to this fancy nursing home--Blooming Lotus. I haven’t gone and checked in on her there yet.”
Because facing her terrifies me out of my skin. Chips away a piece of my heart every time I look into her dead eyes, hoping that she doesn’t remember me. Hoping that she’s forgotten me completely. So she can’t look at me like I’m the root of her suffering and then tell me that to my face. That she had wished for me to be stillborn.
“Okay--then let’s go see her.” Scott provides.
Us? No. Last time, mom threw a hairbrush at me, screaming die, bitch, why won’t you die. I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of Eli. I can’t let Scott see me being humiliated and debased. I don’t think I can take another hit. “I gotta do this alone, Scott.”
I half think he’ll protest when he opens his mouth. “Fine. Let me at least drive you there.”
Nodding, I head to my room to change. But when I’m inside, the tinkle of a text message comes through.
Half-heartedly, I pick it up, expecting something from goddamn Verizon about an unlimited plan that comes with free yoghurt or hummus or a star named after me. But my heart drops to my stomach when I see it’s from Eli.
>>Eli: Don’t leave the house.
The nerve of this guy. He
hasn’t seen me in 3 days. For all he knows, I’m not even living here anymore. And he’s ordering me around now like I’m his property? What is he made of? And why is my body shamelessly buzzing at his crappily issued communication?
>>Me: Bite me.
I text him maturely. Then I turn off the phone and finish getting ready.
“So are the two of you close?” Scott asks me the moment we’re out of the private garage onto the road.
Why is he still on this? “Will you drop it--I just met him! And I told you--I don’t have a crush on him!”
His eyes squint. Crap. Not everything is about Eli except in your head, crazy woman. “You meant my mom.”
“I did.” He says, drops an astute look on me before being a safe driver again. “But good to know where your head’s at.”
Shit. “No, we’re not.” I hurriedly answer his original question about mom.
“Why not?” He follows up, letting it slide.
“She…it’s...just...we’re not.” I repeat. It’s not that complicated of an answer. Twisted, but not complicated. I could easily tell him. That day we spent at the university, then shopping and then watching that Black Mirror crap--there were no awkward moments, no tension, no internal turmoil about saying or not saying something or trying to protect my pride or fearing judgement. It was just easy. But my mouth stays stubbornly locked up.
“When I was seven, Eli taught me to ride a bike.” Scott says quietly instead, out of context, and I surmise we’re not talking about me and mom now.
Both relieved and eager, my interest suddenly, aggravatingly rises. “That must have been nice.” I say, as breezy as I can muster.
He doesn’t say anything for some time and I’m frustrated at the cliff-hanger. Damn it, was that the whole story? What was the--
“For an hour every day for a week, he took me to Lake Union Park...back in Seattle. He was seventeen and such a handsome fucker. Women would look. Men would look. Hell, I’m sure half the babies had drool on their chins because of him.”
