by L V Chase
But if she talked about it, my family and I would be fucked. Even worse, she’d become a victim of my father’s arrogance.
In the distance, an echoing voice calls out for Sadie.
Ethan.
“You should go, Bell Jar,” I say, swimming away from her.
A few seconds pass by before I hear her moving through the water. I turn to watch her pull herself out of the pool, her clothes soaking wet and her jeans sliding down enough to reveal her red underwear. Even drenched, her ass is a sign that the devil is real and he wants me to fail.
As the doors start to close, I hear Sadie greet Ethan. If she tells him the truth, he’ll assume it’s part of the Hunt, and that I botched my own attempt. And, on the latter point, he’d be right.
19
Sadie
When Ethan takes me home, I’m wearing one of the country club’s jackets and tennis shorts. My clothes from earlier are in a plastic bag on my lap, still damp.
“It’s fortunate that we found clothes that fit you,” Ethan says as he turns onto my grandmother’s street. “Their store’s inventory can be rather scarce at times.”
“It’s good,” I say as I stare out the window.
Hidden in my own reflection, I swear I can see Klay sneering at Ethan’s words.
He tries to talk like he thinks smart people talk. It says something about you that you can’t see through that.
I thought Ethan’s dialect was a bit unusual, but I’d thought it was an effect of having lawyers for parents or a childhood where a significant amount of emphasis was placed on proving his intelligence and education. But Klay has known him longer. Maybe I’m a fool for seeing authenticity when it was all an act.
“This was quite an enjoyable experience,” Ethan continues. “I would be honored if you’d let me take you out to dinner in the near future.”
I twist my hands over the plastic bag. The faint crinkling noise accompanying my movements makes my lack of immediate response more obvious.
“Ethan,” I say. “I’m sorry, but with my grandmother’s health issues, I don’t want to think too far into the future.”
“Of course,” he says. “I should be the one apologizing. I wasn’t considering your situation at home. You also have to deal with the possible solicitation charge. Have you considered my prior offer?”
“It’s not about that ad,” I say, but those words are turning into a mantra I don’t like. “You mean the conservatorship? I told you I wasn’t interested.”
In the corner of my eye, I see his right arm straighten, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. When he catches me looking over, his grip loosens, his arm drops back down, and he smiles.
“Again, completely reasonable,” he says. “I want to ensure that you’re ahead of the problem instead of behind it. I wouldn’t want us to lose a potential case because we failed to take prior action in advance.”
Ethan purses his lips as if in thought. “If it helps, think of it less like a romantic marriage and more like a corporate shield.”
His words tangle in my head, forming knots and contortions, but I have to wonder if he’s right. I don’t want the police knocking on my door, my grandmother greeting them, and having to rush to call Ethan to save me from going to prison.
Then again, I’m not sure why he’s even bringing up the m-word. He’s nice, but I’m nowhere near that. I guess he does have a point about the legal protections.
“Do you have any other plan?” I ask. “Couldn’t I track down whoever sent those texts?”
“I already investigated that,” he says. “It’s a prepaid mobile device with no records. To avoid criminal liability, you’ll have to convince the police or a judge that your testimony and character are trustworthy. The only method to ensure that is to have a respected conservator vouch for you. I should point out my parents are on good terms with the police department and well-regarded in the community. I can’t imagine anyone offering a better circumstance.”
Offering? He made it sound like a business competition.
Ethan slowly pulls into my grandmother’s driveway, parking before looking over at me. His chest isn’t as broad as Klay’s, his frame isn’t as imposing, and his eyes aren’t as dark, but he’s also physically and emotionally less threatening. He’s been my white knight, the kind of Prince Charming girls always dream of, and I am lucky that he’s interested in me and my legal future.
But instead of seeing that, I see someone that Klay doesn’t trust.
“I need time to think about it,” I say. “But thank you for looking out for me. You’ve been a great friend.”
After the word friend, his face tightens and his tongue slips out between his teeth. He was likely preparing to say something, but it reminds me too much of a snake.
“Of course,” he says.
He’s smiling now, but the edges of his lips are barely pulling up. It’s the smile of a copperhead.
“You’re a good person, Sadie. You deserve good karma, and I intend to deliver it to you.”
I grab the car handle, slowly open the door.
“Sadie,” he says as I start to step out.
I turn to him. He tilts his head and gives me another smile, but this one is genuine. It borders on child-like.
“I find it necessary to forewarn you, as your friend, that Klay Harrington isn’t someone trustworthy. He and I used to be amiable, but he developed a profound case of narcissism. He sought to control people through manipulation, and I couldn’t keep my friendship with him without ruining my own integrity. I don’t want you to become collateral damage in the strange games he plays.”
If Ethan is lying, he’s skilled at it. If this were poker and he just bluffed about Klay, I would need to bluff through my own weak hand and the fact that I’d rather bet on Klay. I need to play it off like he’s talking about anyone else.
I crinkle my nose. “A narcissist? Really? How do you know that?”
He shrugs. “Have you met the man? He hates everything except himself.”
I don’t try to read his face. It’s not hard to believe that Klay is an architect of hate, building vicious skyscrapers out of that stuff, but Ethan’s throwaway comment also reminds me that Klay will never value me.
Even if I thought I’d seen glimpses of lust, it would be insane to think he wouldn’t toss me aside once he’d had sex with me, or once he’d gotten bored. He’s a lion, and I’m a mouse he’s been batting around. I’m a distraction in a world he despises.
I nod. “Right. Well, thank you.”
I pull myself out of his car. As I cross in front of the vehicle, I catch a glimpse of his face. It’s contorted with fury. His demeanor has changed from a golden boy to a rabid jackal.
When I blink, he’s smiling again, and his features are as soft as usual. It must have been a trick of my mind after today’s chaos—Klay pulling me into the pool, the rioting of my emotions, and the rebellion against all of my preconceived notions.
It’s all in my head. It’s insanity. I’m Bell Jar.
20
Klay
When I get home, I shouldn’t be surprised to see Ethan’s Maserati in my driveway, his thin body leaning against the bumper, but my body aches from swimming for so long, and I can’t stand his existence right now. The only thing that stops me from getting out and beating him is the knowledge that if he’s here alone, it means that he isn’t with Sadie.
When I jump out of my Jeep, he doesn’t move. I don’t mind. Unmoving—that’s exactly how he’s going to be if he wins the Hunt. I can already imagine my hands around his neck, the muscles of his throat bending under my fingers like plastic, and how his body would frantically spasm in my grasp until his last breath escaped. Finally, he’d be still enough for my tastes.
“Can I help you?” I ask, stopping a couple of feet in front of him.
“I saw your Jeep at the club,” he says, biting off the last word.
“That makes sense.” I glance at my Jeep and back at Ethan. “Because I w
as at the club.”
“You shouldn’t have been there,” he says. “That was my place, my plan.”
I shrug. “The last time I checked, the Society owns it. Not your family.”
Ethan scowls. “Why were you there?”
“My house doesn’t have an indoor pool like Roman’s,” I say. “Would you prefer I went over there? Roman wouldn’t mind. He was interested in collaborating with me a few days ago.”
Ethan’s lip curls up in a snarl. It was a risk mentioning Roman’s offer to team up. It could push Ethan to recruit him instead. It’s too late to consider the consequences now. I only wanted to set Ethan on edge, and I slipped doubt deep enough under his skin. Frustration mars his face.
“I just thought it was interesting that you were at the club,” he says. “Especially when it was the same time that Sadie and I were there.”
“That’s interesting,” I say.
“Don’t play dumb. You knew we were there.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s interesting that you dropped your genius act, talking like a pretentious prick. Obviously, I knew that you’d both be there. I didn’t interfere.”
Ethan is nearly baring his teeth now. “Harrington, my parents are lawyers. They have to lie for a living without the judge or anyone ever finding out. You think I can’t spot a liar when I see one? You may have gotten Sadie to say that she dropped her bracelet in the pool, but she’s a shitty liar, too.”
There he is. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. The sociopath dressed up as an intellectual.
“I talked to her,” I say. “But she came to me. It’s not my problem that you couldn’t keep her entertained.”
He takes a step up to me, as menacing as any skinny little shit can be. “I’m not going to lose. My family has a legacy, and I’m not going to disappoint them. I’m going to bring my family name to new heights.”
“A lot of talk for a boy who can’t hold onto a girl for more than an hour,” I say. “You consider a different approach. Roman’s tactic is money, not yours. Stick to your nice guy act. Someday, someone might actually believe it.”
He knocks his knuckles against the hood of his car. “Knock on wood. Or a Maserati. See you later, Harrington. I have to text her about our dinner plans. I bet she likes roses.”
As he gets back into his car, he keeps glancing back at me like I might attack while his back is turned. It crosses my mind, but this isn’t a test of physical strength. It’s playing the long game. If it was based on brute force, Ethan would be squirming uselessly at the bottom of the totem pole. As it is, he’s a dangerous contender.
He nearly nicks my Jeep as he drives away. If it were anyone else, I’d consider it a warning, but Ethan is just a shitty driver.
21
Sadie
I’m lying down in bed at eleven, the moonlight striking through the shades, as I try to shed away the confusing parts of the day while keeping the good memories with Ethan.
Ethan was a sweet gentleman the whole day. He insisted on buying everything. He never tried to make a move on me, and, until the car ride home, he never brought up the conservatorship.
The frustration I saw in his face as I walked around his car completely contradicts how he treated me the whole day. The only conclusion is that my mind was trying to make him look bad. He’s the only person who has tried to be my friend and, after what he did for my grandmother, he’s a saint.
And Klay destroyed my affection for him by badmouthing how he talks
I try to convince myself that Klay is only messing with my head. It’s his newest form of torture. Ethan is highly intelligent. It’s not an act—he simply talks differently than other people in high school.
I shouldn’t be suspicious of him based on the fact that he acts differently than the rest of the school. I mean, that should be a good thing, seeing as no one else will even give me the time of day. I shouldn’t avoid him because he’s not Klay.
Klay. He should be removed from Marshall High School. He’s a time bomb waiting to explode and annihilate everyone. If he ended up expelled, life would be simpler.
But it wouldn’t be as enticing.
Klay looked like a god of war in the pool. Water droplets sliding down his naked chest. The toned muscle turning his body into a shrine of masculinity and power. His expression was electric, a spear of lightning that struck me to the core.
It must have been the chlorine. It must have been the warmth of the pool seeping into my skin. I don’t know what caused my reaction to him, but if he hadn’t swum away, and I hadn’t heard Ethan’s voice, I couldn’t have left that pool. I could have stayed there with him forever.
He could have pulled me closer, my wet clothes making me twice as heavy, and I wouldn’t have resisted. I would have drawn closer.
He could have grabbed me by the back of my neck as his mouth pressed against mine, the intensity taking me by surprise.
His hands would be on my hips, pressing me tight against him, our bodies rubbing against each other as we fought to stay above the water. I would feel his hot erection, and it would send volts of heat straight between my legs.
I’d feel his hands sliding down my jeans. I’d watch them slowly sink below us. When he’d tug down my underwear, the pool water would wrap around my most intimate parts, the current washing any shyness from me. I’d catch glimpses of his face as he kept kissing me with an endless fervor.
In my bed, my fingertips rub over myself. My eyes are closed as I squeeze my legs against my hand.
Klay’s hands would slide between my legs. When one of his fingers would slip inside, it’d burn a little bit, but it would only secure my desire for him. He’d ask me if it was my first time. I’d admit that I’m not certain.
I’d start telling him about the memories I’d had, but before I could get much out, he’d rip his swimming trunks off, letting them sink down beside my jeans. Even through the water, I could make out the hunger of his twitching, engorged cock.
He’d guide me to the edge of the pool. While my back is against the ladder steps, he’d kiss me once more. He’d thrust into me with an unnatural ease. There would be something familiar about it, but undeniably thrilling. One of his hands would be on the ladder, and the other tightly gripping onto my ass. My hands would be behind me on the ladder rung, clinging tightly to it as our bodies crashed together hard enough to make tsunami waves.
My sheets are tangled around my ankles as my legs tense. The orgasm crashes over me like the waves in the pool. My heartbeat rockets in my chest.
As my back flattens on my bed, the sheets feel cool against my skin. As my breathing slowly steadies, I clumsily throw my legs over the bed and cradle my head in my hands.
Everyone is right. I am crazy. I’m batshit insane.
22
Sadie
While my grandmother is at her doctor’s appointment, I wander through the streets of Marshall. Not much has changed in two years. Main Street is dominated by small businesses and banks that are built like Greek temples.
It’s strange to wander down Main Street because it looks quite different from other parts of Marshall. The center of Marshall is a thriving village, both charming and industrious, but away from the shopping district, there’s enough poverty to drag down the county’s median household income. Two years ago, I didn’t notice, but now the huge disparity is glaring.
I turn on a corner that leads to a restaurant and a clothing store, and I nearly run straight into a man in a wheelchair.
He has long blonde hair, grease gleaming near his part while the rest is darkened by dirt. He’s wearing a pair of ragged shorts despite the colder weather and a shirt that’s a size too small. The left wheel of his wheelchair is off-kilter, and a cardboard sign lies against his feet as he jangles a plastic soda bottle with the tip cut off.
“Miss, miss, please, I need some…I need just a little bit of money,” he says. “I’m a good man, but I can’t use my legs. I can’t keep a job.
Please, just a little bit. You look like a nice girl. You’re a nice girl, aren’t you?”
His hand is trembling as he holds his bottle forward and the skin of his knuckles is mangled. When I was younger, maybe ten or eleven, my grandmother lectured me when I wanted to give money to a man who was on the street.
She told me that I couldn’t be certain if they were homeless or just scamming people out of their money, and I couldn’t be certain if they were going to spend it on alcohol or drugs. I didn’t have her same pessimism, but her lesson remained stuck in my head.
“Miss?” the man asks. “Please. It gets cold out here at night. You get to go home to a nice bed. I just want—I just need a little money.”
I pull my bag off of my shoulder and take out my wallet. I pull out the three dollars my grandmother had given me in case I was hungry or wanted a drink while she was at her doctor’s appointment. It’s morally questionable to use her money for something she disagrees with, but this is something I should do.
I hand him the three dollars. He slumps back into his chair, checking the denomination of the three dollars. I glance down the road, deciding if it’s worth it to keep going, or if I should have kept heading straight.
“Hey, bitch, where’s the rest?” the man asks.
Heat rushes to my face as I turn back to him. “That’s all I have,” I say. “I’m sorry. I just went through something, and I don’t have a job—”
“Bitch, do I look dumb?” he spits. “I know all you whores get paid hundreds of dollars to look fuckable for your daddies. You don’t just have three dollars. You wouldn’t be walking these streets like a hooker unless you had enough to shop with. I don’t see any shopping bags in your hand.”
I glance down at my shirt and jeans. “I’m just here while my grandmother is at the doctor—”
