I’m unsure how I feel about this. I feel as if I should be excited to see Foster, but I don’t think I am. Honestly, all I feel is exhausted.
I will my eyelids to stay open, but they start to lower. I try to fight the sleepiness, fight going into the darkness, a bit of fear seeping through that I’ll never wake up again. And while fear isn’t usually a welcomed emotion, I’m glad to feel something other than confusion.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” My mom kisses my forehead as I struggle to keep my eyes open. “You can rest. The doctor said you’ll probably be a bit sleepy over the next few days.”
I shake my head from side to side. “I’m not tired at all.”
“Go to sleep.” My mom smooths her hand over my head. “You need your rest.”
I don’t want to rest. I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing. Resting. Deep, deep asleep in a world full of darkness. And now I feel restless to stay awake. Yet, I’m somehow tired. I’m a contradiction. I was dead, and now I’m alive. And now there are holes in my memory, like empty graves waiting to be filled.
I feel so strange…
“Go to sleep, sweetie,” my mom repeats. “You’ll be fine.”
Sighing, I let my eyelids close and surrender to the darkness, falling into a dream of a memory.
Ten
Harlynn
Do you ever get the feeling your life is just one big, pathetic tragedy? I do almost every single day. Not that I don’t have a good life. My parents love me and, for the most part, they don’t get too upset with me when I screw up. I’ve always had a roof over my head and have never gone hungry. I’m decent at school and have stuff I’m good at, like writing and running. One of my short stories was published in the school newspaper, and I have friends.
So, yeah, on the outside, my life is good. It’s the inside that’s the tragedy. Because I’ve fallen in love with my best friend who will only ever see me as a friend. And, while I’ve tried time and time again to stop loving him, I can’t seem to convince my heart to let go. Instead, it’s stuck its claws into that love and left me struggling to deal with it.
Usually, I’m pretty good at keeping my feelings hidden, but today, my façade is rapidly withering.
It all started when Zoey, one of the most popular girls in school, invited Foster to a party. Normally, Foster gets an invite for me as well, but he must have forgotten this time, something I realize the more he talks about the party.
“I heard there was going to be a band there,” he says, fiddling with the stereo.
School just ended, and we’re in his truck, getting ready to pull out of the parking lot.
“Sounds like it’ll be awesome,” I say, fastening my seatbelt.
“For sure,” he agrees. “Now, if I can just find us a DD, I’ll be good to party all night long.” He sings the last part and laughs.
When he says us, I think he means him and me, so I start to smile. He didn’t forget about me. But then he adds, “I invited Ana to the party, and you know how she gets. A DD is a must.”
My smile falters. Ana. He invited Ana? But he told me the other day she annoys him.
“I thought you didn’t like Ana.” I dig my phone out from my pocket as it buzzes with an incoming text.
“She’s okay,” he hesitantly replies then shrugs. “I mean, I don’t not like her. Plus, she has a hot ass.” He throws me a teasing grin, causing my lips to twitch.
“You know I’m not a guy, right? I’m not going to high-five you over a girl’s ass.”
“It’d be cool if you did, though.” He grins, but then he sighs when I don’t return it. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try not to talk about hot asses around you anymore … unless it’s a guy’s hot ass.” He grins, and my lips start to turn upward until he adds, “Hey, you should be my DD. You can come hang out at the party then give me and Ana a ride home when we’re ready to go.”
My first instinct is to tell him yes. That’s what I usually do. But I hesitate. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I don’t feel like being the DD again. Or perhaps because it feels like he’s only telling me to go to the party to be his DD and honestly, I’ve never really been a huge fan of the parties we go to—I just go because I like spending time with him. Or perhaps I’m just being bitter that he’s going out with Ana and not me.
“You good with that?” He rests his arm on the windowsill as he steers out of the parking space.
“I don’t know …” My willpower withers as he looks at me with his puppy dog eyes.
“Com on, Har,” he begs. “I’ll love you forever.”
“Oh, fine …” I trail off as my phone buzzes again.
I glance down at the screen and see I’ve received two messages from Star, a girl in my English class who loves reading and writing just as much as I do. She also dyes her hair blood red, wears a lot of black, and has a ton of piercings. Sometimes, I wonder why we’re not better friends, since we have a lot in common. But Star isn’t a fan of preppy jocks, and Foster and a lot of our mutual friends are the definition of that, so maybe that’s why. Or maybe it’s because she sometimes hangs out with Porter and Kingsley and it’s kind of an unsaid rule that friends of Kingsley’s are off limits for people who are friends with Foster.
Star: Hey, crazy girl, I thought I’d let you know the deets about the party I told you about, just in case you change your mind about coming.
Star: It’s going to be wicked fun. There’s a live band playing, and they’re really good.
I turned down her offer to the party because of who her friends are and also because I assumed Foster and I were going to be doing something tonight. But you know what they say about assuming? Apparently, I’d forgotten that motto. I’m painfully starting to remember it now.
“Earth to Har.” Foster lightly tugs on a strand of my hair. “Where’s your head at?”
I shrug. “In La La Land.”
He chuckles, flipping on the blinker. “Isn’t it always there?”
“Most of the time. In fact, I’m thinking of applying for residency soon.”
He grins as we roll up to a stop sign. “Sounds like the perfect plan, just as long as I get to visit you.”
His smile is contagious, and I start to smile myself .
“I think I’ll—”
“Wait. Hold that thought.” He holds up a finger then glances at his phone. “It’s Ana. She wants to know if I found us a DD.” He looks at me expectantly. “You’re good with me telling her yes, right?” He starts to reach for his phone without waiting for me to reply.
Something snaps inside me.
Breaks.
And is replaced by a very strong frustration that sizzles and burns through my veins.
“Actually, I have other plans,” I say, surprising myself.
Before I can back out, I send Star a message.
Me: You know what? I’m in.
Foster’s brows rise in surprise. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” I cross my arms and slump back in the chair, staring out the window. “I do have a life, despite what you think.”
“Hey, I’m sorry if something I said upset you.”
“You didn’t do anything,” I lie, glancing at him. “I’m just bummed I’m going to miss the party.”
He eyes me over. “What’re you doing tonight?”
“Helping my mom clean out the attic,” I lie again. I do it so easily, too, and it makes me question what kind of person I am.
Who lies to their best friend without even second-guessing the decision? Have I always been like this?
“That sucks. Your attic’s a mess.” He pulls out onto the road. “If you get done early, maybe you can still come to the party.”
“Maybe.” I glance down at my phone as another message pings through.
Star: Awesome. You want a ride?
Me: Sure. As long as it’s not out of the way for you.
Star: I’m actually riding with someone else, but they’re cool with picking you up.
“I
f you do decide to come, let me know,” Foster says. “I’d rather you be my DD than some dude Ana knows.”
“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” But I make a vow to myself right then and there not to go to that party. I’m going to do my own thing tonight without having to watch the guy I’m in love with be with someone else again.
I don’t say much for the rest of the ride home, something Foster notices and asks about several times. I attempt not to be pissy and tell him I’m fine, but it’s obvious I’m in a sullen mood.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks as he parks in my driveway.
Nodding, I shove open the door and hop out. “Have fun tonight. And be safe.”
He smiles but his forehead creases as he glances at my house. The lights are off inside, and it looks extremely dark with the cloudy, stormy sky above.
“It looks like no one’s home,” he states. “Are you sure you have to stay home and clean the attic tonight?”
“Yep. My mom will be home soon.” I move to shut the door.
“Har, wait,” he calls out, and I pause. He rakes his fingers through his hair, making the strands go askew. “Are you mad at me or something?”
“No.” It’s the truth, too. If I’m mad at anyone, it’s myself for falling in love with a guy who clearly isn’t going to ever see me as more than a friend. “Have fun tonight.” I wave at him then close the door, turn around, and hike up the path to the single-story home I grew up in.
Foster lives a few blocks down the road. Our parents have had a ton of barbeques with each other, thrown joint birthday parties, and celebrated the holidays together. Foster and I were always there, hanging out together, opening presents, laughing, pulling pranks, and when we got older, sometimes we snuck a few beers and drink in the basement. Almost every memory I have is with him, because I’ve spent every second I could with him. And now I’m here, alone with no plans of seeing him tonight, and I feel … weird. But not necessarily in a bad way.
Honestly, I feel sort of free. Free from suffering through another one-sided night of love. But that doesn’t mean I feel bad about lying to Foster. I do. A lot. In fact, I feel so terrible that, for the next few hours while I’m getting ready for the party, I almost text him several times to retract my answer about not going to the party and being his DD. But I never fully get there, and before I know it, Star is texting me.
Star: Are you ready to go? Your chariot has arrived.
Me: Yep! Heading outside now.
I give a quick glance in the mirror. My long, brown hair that has streaks of violet in it is swept to the side in a mess of waves and braids. I decided to wear an off-the-shoulder, black velvet top and paired it with cut-offs, fishnets, and clunky boots so I’m a little bit fancy and a little bit grungy. I kept my makeup minimal, sticking with my normal kohl eyeliner and lip gloss look. Still, I think I look okay. Decent even.
As a horn honks from the driveway, I yank my gaze off the mirror and hurry out of my room. My mom and dad are gone on a date, so I don’t have to explain where I’m going looking more dressed up than I normally do, and where I’m going without Foster.
Grabbing my set of house keys and some cash, I step outside, a bit excited. Of course, when I spot the beat-up Cadillac parked in the driveway, most of my enthusiasm fizzles.
Star rode with Porter. Awesome.
“Hurry your cute ass up!” Star hollers from out the window.
As I near the car, I can see she’s sitting in the back by herself, Porter is in the driver’s seat, and sitting in the passenger seat is …
Kingsley.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. Why did I not think about this before? I know she sometimes hangs out with them. It should’ve crossed my mind at least once that maybe they were going to be with her tonight.
I force myself to keep walking forward.
Don’t be rude. You’ll be fine. It’s just one car ride.
“You look cute.” Star leans over the seat and sticks her head out of the rolled down passenger side window.
I smile. “So do you.”
She does, too, with her hair down and curled in wild waves, her lips are stained red, and her eyelids are covered in glitter.
“And we all know I look sexy as hell.” Porter throws me a grin.
I roll my eyes. “That wasn’t the words I was going to use.”
“Handsome as fuck?” he offers, his grin widening.
“Not even close. In fact, I was thinking the exact opposite.” I smirk then sneak a glance at Kingsley.
He’s engulfed with his phone, tapping buttons with a crease between his brows.
“Dude, stop.” Porter snatches Kingsley’s phone away from him and chucks it in the console. “No more phones for the night.”
Kingsley cuts his gaze to him. “Are you being serious right now?”
Porter smirks. “I’m always fucking serious.”
“Yeah right,” Star and I say simultaneously then laugh. “Jinx!” we both call out then laugh again. “Jinx, jinx, jinx!”
Star swats my arm. “Stop trying to jinx me.”
“You stop trying to jinx me,” I say through my laughter.
“Will you both stop trying to jinx each other so Harlynn can get her cute ass in the car? I’ve got big plans for this party.” Porter smirks at me as I glare at him.
Kingsley shakes his head, thrumming his fingers on top of his knee. “Of course you do. You’re a drama queen.”
When I smile at that, Kingsley cracks a tiny smile in return. Then he chews on his bottom lip, studying me undecidedly.
“You want me to let you in?” he finally asks.
“No, she wants you to make her stand out there until it rains,” Star quips. “Of course she wants in, dumbass.”
Kingsley shoots her a playful dirty look then opens the door. I may be tall, but Kingsley has always made me feel short, his height resting somewhere around six-foot-four or so.
Foster is a couple of inches shorter than him and doesn’t make me feel quite as small. And he doesn’t make me feel as intimidated either.
Kingsley gives me a quick once-over as he hops out then turns around, frowning as he shoves the seat forward.
Great. Did I overdress or something?
I discreetly check out their outfits. Porter is sporting dark jeans and a black T-shirt, along with a studded belt and gauges are in his ears. Kingsley is rocking his typical all black attire, with leather bands on his wrists and chains dangling from his belt loop. And Star has on a red velvet dress and lace-up boots.
No, I’m pretty sure I look fine. Maybe Kingsley is just annoyed I’m going with them. But, oh well. He’ll have to get over it, because I spent way too much time convincing myself to go to this party and I’m not backing out now.
Squaring my shoulders, I swing around Kingsley and lower my head to get into the back seat.
“You look nice,” he mutters softly.
“Um … thanks?” I sound as perplexed as I feel. But I seriously think that might be the first nice thing he’s said to me since he kissed me on the cheek all those years ago.
“Aw, look, he does know how to be sweet,” Star teases as I drop down onto the seat beside her.
Kingsley scowls at her, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. Then he turns around, slides into the passenger seat, and shuts the door.
For most of my life, Kingsley has acted either sad or angry. Never joking. Apparently, he’s different around his friends. I wonder why. Because he doesn’t like Foster? Because he doesn’t like me? Do I really care if he does? After all, I made a promise to myself after the day I fell into the lake that I’d keep my distance from him.
Of course, here I am, breaking that promise.
“So, I feel like I should warn you about a couple of things,” Star tells me, flipping her hair off her shoulder.
“Okay, what’s up?”
“Well, for starters, don’t drink anything at this party. And don’t smoke anything either.”
“
Okay …?” Confusion swirls through me. I mean, it’s not like I have to get high or drunk every time I go to parties, but what she said seems weird.
She must read the puzzlement on my face since she adds, “Don’t worry; we’re totally going to pre-party in the car.”
I frown. “While we’re driving?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, we’ll park at the party, then pre-party in here before we go in.”
“Oh.” How … weird.
“You look so confused.”
“I’m not,” I lie. I totally am. And I feel like a loser because I am.
She trades a look with Porter then Kingsley, making me feel like the butt of a private joke.
I never should’ve done this. I don’t fit in with them.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in with anyone.
“Relax.” Star pats my leg. “You’ll have fun. I promise.”
“I’m not doubting the fun part. It just seems weird we’re going to party it up in the car before we go to the party. And, why can’t I drink or smoke anything while I’m there? Do people, like, drug drinks and stuff?” Because, if so, then I don’t think I want to go.
“No, James—the … dude throwing the party—has a no drinking and drugs policy at his house to avoid that problem,” she explains. “He’s cool with people drinking and smoking before they arrive, though. We’re just not allowed to bring anything in with us. And he’ll kick out anyone who does, so if someone offers you something, don’t touch it, okay?”
“That’s cool. I can totally respect that.” It still sounds a bit weird, though.
“Of course you can.” Porter tosses me a smirk from over his shoulders. “Because you’re a fucking saint, right? In fact, I bet you’ve never even been fucking drunk or high, especially with how much you hang out with Foster, who thinks he’s a fucking saint, even though he’s not.”
What? Is fuck his favorite word or something? Or is he just trying to make himself seem more bad boyish?
“Actually, you’re wrong,” I cut in. “I may not party all the time, but I’m not a fucking saint, and Foster doesn’t think he’s a fucking saint either. But, even if I was a fucking saint, it’s none of your guys’ fucking business.” I flash Porter the same haughty smirk he always gives me.
Breathing Lies: (The Breathing Undead Series, Book 1) Page 7
