by L V Chase
It must mean he also sent out the prostitution ad, though he didn’t mention it when he told me about pissing in my locker and shoving me into it.
I shouldn’t have trusted him.
I feel the prick of warm tears, but I hold them in. Maybe I was wrong about my memories. My mind created a fantasy where my tormentor was my secret boyfriend because that’s what I needed at the time. It was stupid. I should have known better than to trust my brain right after I left the inpatient program.
I am crazy.
Ethan abruptly moves from his chair to Klay’s chair, carrying his microscope and the box of slides with him.
“Fuck off, Ethan,” I mutter.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off.
“Sadie, it’s okay. Do you want me to walk you out of class?” he asks.
His voice is so kind that one of my tears tries to escape, but I wipe it away.
“We’ll deal with it together,” Ethan says. “Whoever did this will face the full wrath of the law. We’ll litigate the shit out of them. They’ll be shitting financial penalties for decades.”
I focus on the box of slides, unlocking it and plucking out a slide. I steal a glance at Ethan. I don’t feel that burning passion for him that I feel for Klay, but he’s the only person who’s been consistently kind to me.
He’s a good man. He’s the type of man I should have been bicycling toward at ungodly hours in the morning instead of Klay. I shouldn’t keep choosing a self-destructive path. This edited photo of me is my karma for ever feeling anything towards Klay.
What did Dr. Murray tell me? That I chose the self-sabotaging path every time, because I’d seen my parent’s death as an omen for what happens when everything is good.
“I’ll be okay,” I say. I take a small breath, knowing I’m risking more tears, but they don’t come. “I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself.”
“That’s fair,” he says. “You need a break. Hey, come with my family to the city—New York City—this weekend. We’ll show you a good time. Nothing inappropriate. You deserve some compensation for how badly this school has treated you.”
I move the slide under stage clips of the microscope. I check the lens.
“Sadie?” Ethan asks. “You don’t need to say yes. I want to help, but I don’t want to pressure you.”
I wish it was Klay asking, but Klay isn’t that type of man. He’s the type of man to apply enough pressure until I break.
“I’d love to,” I say.
I focus on this offer, ignoring everything else, like it’s what I’m observing under my microscope. It’s the one thing that will save me from all of the questions in my mind, and the knowledge that I’m not only crazy but also a fool.
29
Klay
I use the wood-burning pen to create mountains on my nightstand in shop class. Everyone else is still struggling to ensure their table doesn’t wobble or fall apart the moment something is put in the drawer, so Mr. Pilbrow told me to occupy myself.
He didn’t tell Ethan the same thing, which is why there’s a decent chance my shop teacher will be a witness in the court case when I inevitably kill Ethan.
Ethan pulls a stool up to me as I create the peak of my third mountain.
“So…” he says. “You missed biology.”
“You’ve made a habit of pointing out that my father is a surgeon and how I have an unfair advantage in class,” I say. “you know that I don’t need to attend biology.”
The pen wavers in my hand. I hold on tighter as I form the declining line.
“But it means that you don’t realize your plan failed,” he says. “I can’t pretend to understand what your plan actually was, but you pushed the asshole narrative a little too hard. You broke our girl’s heart in half. Luckily, I was there to pick up all of the pieces and make sure that I’ll be there for the rest of her life.”
“What?” Roman snorts as he walks up to the two of us, cleaning off a flat-head screwdriver that, inexplicably, has paint all over it. “All you did was sit with her during class. I didn’t see you getting on one knee to propose.”
“No, but I got her to agree to a weekend with me. That’s all I need.” He leans back, barely balancing on the stool. “I told her my parents will be there too, but she doesn’t know they’ll be busy running all over the city the entire time and doing a TV appearance. A weekend in the greatest city in the world will get her to believe that I’m her best option, and the rest of you suckers won’t know about it until Monday.”
“You’re not going to get her,” Roman says. “She owes me. If she even thinks a little bit about spending the rest of her life with you, she’ll remember that I’m the reason she can escape to the city. I got someone to watch over her grandma.”
Ethan shakes his head. “Your money isn’t going to do shit. She’s going to see her Prince Charming in me, and it’s all thanks to Klay. Thank you, Klay, for being so reckless and vicious. You’re a real friend.”
I sneer at him, nearly letting the pen skip across the wood.
“You’re wrong,” I say, focusing on my mountain again. I let the pen dig deeper into the wood than it needs to. “She’s going to see straight through you.”
“You tell yourself that,” he says. “But you’re the idiot who sent that photo to everyone. What was the plan? Did you really think you could tear down her self-esteem so much that she’d jump into your arms? Your father is going to shit a brick when he finds out how you lost. I almost thought you were decent competition. The Hunt is over, boys, and I’m the leader of the pack.”
“It’s not over until she’s chosen,” Roman argues.
I block them out, focusing on the buzzing of the pen. It’s all bullshit. Sadie was just being nice. There’s no other possible motive, because if she chooses Ethan, she’s worse than prey. She becomes a pet.
I’m the worst asshole. Unlike what Ethan believes, I didn’t push the envelope in some misguided attempt to impress the Society. I did it because it’s who I am, and it’s necessary for her safety.
Sadie was never meant to fall in love with me, even before this. When I first saw her in front of the hospital, trying to get through to one of her friend’s parents to pick her up, I had a predator’s mindset.
She looked so vulnerable and enticing. But as I drove her home, she captured me with her perseverance, her optimism, and the way her ass looked as she walked away. I thought I was the hunter, but it turned out that she was the one who pinned me down.
“Harrington,” Ethan says. “After I publicly embarrass your family, how’s your mother going to fuck up her head without access to benzos? You know, once we move up in the Society, the things we could do to you bottom feeders—”
I grab onto the front of his shirt, yanking him closer. I shove the wood-burning pen so close to his eye that the pupil continuously twitches. He tries to pull his head back, but I only pull him closer.
We’re in the backroom, so my only witness is Roman. Even a complete moron would know that Roman would rather let Ethan’s eyes be burned and skewered than interfere or snitch.
“You say one more word about my mother, the only intimacy you’ll experience is the intimacy of knowing what it’s like to be enucleated. I’ll carve out that eye, cauterize the remaining tissue, and enjoy every second of it. Understood?”
I press the pen a little closer, burning the tip of his bottom eyelash. He blinks rapidly, causing the eyelash to burn farther. “Understood?”
“Y-yeah,” Ethan mumbles out.
I let him go. He staggers backward, stumbling into the stool. He trips, the stool clattering down as he falls on top of it. I turn back to my end table. Roman shifts his weight between his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets.
I know what's in store for Sadie if she sticks around. If I could win this, by my definition, not theirs, I would. But if I win, that means a lifetime of torture for her.
I can’t allow Ethan or Roman to win, either. Their winning
is nearly as bad as mine, made worse by the knowledge that they’ll take advantage of her in ways I can’t imagine.
And that’s going to happen if she spends the weekend with Ethan.
I didn’t think she would fall for Ethan’s act, but I pushed her too far. Before this, she wasn’t the type to be desperate for affection, but instead of saving her, I’ve broken her. Now, part of her’s willing to run into the arms of a shit stain like Ethan.
I could warn her away again, but it was a risk the first time. If the Society finds out that I’ve interfered with the Hunt, the penalties would be deadly. They wouldn’t hesitate to punish me through her.
If no one wins, though, they’ll move on to someone else. It’s her only chance at freedom. That was the plan before, and that’s the plan now.
The school bell rings and, over the PA system, the principal starts his monologue about after-school activities. I unplug the pen and return it to its hook. While the rest of class breaks into their pointless chatter, Roman rushes to put the flat-head screwdriver back and leaves.
Roman’s never in a rush.
I follow him. After Ethan’s boasting, he has to be nervous, and there’s nothing more dangerous than an ambitious, nervous Shaw man.
I know he’s heading to Sadie’s locker before he reaches that point. I also know he’s about to act desperate, considering he hasn’t noticed that I’ve kept within ten feet of him down two hallways and a staircase.
If he attacks her, I'll get that flat-head screwdriver and shove it through his C4 and C5 vertebrae. Respiratory failure will hit him before he can have another thought about her.
“Sadie,” Roman calls out.
I stop near the bulletin board, tearing down a poster about Yearbook Club as I try to focus through the noise to eavesdrop. Still, Sadie mumbles a response that I can’t hear. In the corner of my eye, I see Roman close her locker and lean against it.
His voice carries over the noise. “I just wanted to invite you to this massive party I’m having at my house tonight.”
He’s not going to hurt her, at least not yet. He’s trying to undermine Ethan by beating him to the punch.
“I’m really busy,” she says. “With the biology project, the English essay, and the Spanish—”
“Everyone’s going to be there. If you don’t show up, everyone’s going to assume that you’re too busy doing other things.”
“I am too busy,” she says, her confusion and disdain making her louder. “That’s what I was just telling you.”
“Nobody’s too busy for a high school party,” he says. “Unless they’re doing something illegal. Robbery, heroin…prostitution.”
“Nobody’s going to assume that,” Sadie says, but the doubt in her own words weighs heavy on her voice.
“Plenty will,” he says. “I hear them talking already. If you want to fix your reputation, you can’t hide. Come to my party. There’ll be plenty of liquor. Everyone will be relaxed. Show them you’re just a good girl trying to get through the night.”
Roman pauses and coughs. “And it would be real good for your grandma. I’d hate to be so sad that I needed to take away her aide.”
It’s a weak ploy, but Sadie has always been smart. She’ll be able to tell that he’s frustrated and reckless enough right now to be a genuine threat.
“Fine,” Sadie says.
“Good. The party starts at eleven,” he says.
His hand pats her arm before he walks away. He notices me and winks. I might just paralyze him for the fun of it at this point.
I glance over at Sadie. Her fingertips are bouncing against her bottom lip as she stares down the hallway. It’s the courage and perseverance that I fell in love with before—that’s what’s keeping her here. But now it’s going to lead her straight into a trap.
I’d rather die than go to a party at Roman’s, but I’ll be walking straight into his house tonight.
30
Sadie
Roman’s house is the one that’s on the same street as Klay’s—the one with three floors, eight bay windows, and elegant stonework. When I walk up to the front door, the music is loud enough to send vibrations through the cement steps. Crowds of people are visible through the first floor’s windows.
As I stand at the door, wondering if I should push the doorbell or walk straight in, the door yanks open.
“Sadie,” Roman says, grinning from ear to ear. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt with hula dancers depicted as pin-up girls. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“Were you waiting near the door for me?” I ask.
“Something like that,” he says. “What do you want to drink? I’ve got one of the best bartenders in the state, so if you want a lemon drop, cosmopolitan, mojito, or anything, it will be the best one you’ve ever tasted. You know what? I bet you’re a tequila sunrise girl. Sweet like grenadine, and the OJ convinces girls like you that you’re not getting too fucked up. But…”
He trails off as he walks away.
I don’t recall going to high school parties, but I don’t recall most of the last two years. And even the things I do remember, like the fractured memories of Klay, are in question now, so I can’t trust anything in my past.
Still, even without any past ones to compare it to, I don’t think most high school parties look like this.
People gather in the hallways and rooms in large groups, and at least half of the crowd has a glass of alcohol in their hand. I’d imagine it resembles a nightclub except with better furniture and brighter lighting.
The music’s bass is thumping through the house like a heartbeat. Water tracks across the hallway, and I can’t figure out why until I make my way through the crowd to see an indoor pool through massive windows. The men jump in and out of it like frogs, unable to decide if they prefer the land or water, while the women remain on the edge of the pool or lounge in one of the corners.
I pass the pool, squeezing my way between a few groups. There are enough people here to make up the entire high school, but I don’t see anyone younger than me. A few people appear college-aged. There’s also nobody here that I couldn’t imagine Roman socializing with—attractive, cool, and recklessly carefree.
I turn as I hear a loud splash, followed by a round of clapping and cheering. When I look forward again, I don’t see Roman there anymore. I rush down the hallway, but I still don’t see him. The house is a maze and the people make it difficult to find which rooms lead to another room and which rooms are a dead-end. Plus, I’m looking for a tall, brown-haired man in a flock of tall, brown-haired men.
I cross into a small room where a couple is quietly kissing in the corner. I’m committing an intrusion, but they don’t seem to notice me, and it’s the only room that doesn’t make me feel like I’m on a brink of a panic attack.
I sit down in an armchair near the door and pull out my phone. As I scroll through the news app, I glance around the room again. The room seems strangely small compared to the other rooms. The walls all have drawers built against them, and above them, a steel bar holds up a curtain of varying shades.
Or, it’s not a curtain. It’s clothes.
I’m sitting in a walk-in closet.
I’m so overwhelmed that I mistook a closet for a room. That should worry me, but my thoughts are centered on a Louis Vuitton jacket. Just a few pieces of clothing in this room could likely pay for all of my grandmother’s financial debts. A deep resentment burns in me, but next to that resentment is envy. Living only for money would be immoral, but money would definitely smooth over a lot of my problems.
I wouldn’t need to be indebted to Roman for the health aide service. I could buy my grandmother a whole new house far away from this godforsaken town. I could hire Ethan’s parents to nail Klay’s ass to the wall for the prostitution ad, for the BDSM photo, for pissing in my locker, and for fucking with my emotions so thoroughly that I’m not certain if I’m capable of caring about anything again.
A man walks into the closet. I pretend to be
deeply invested in the news on my phone. The man steps up to me. I look up. Ethan looks back down at me.
“Roman sent me to give you this,” he says, handing me the tequila sunrise.
The vibrancy of it is almost surreal. The colors in the tall glass slowly shift from reddish-orange to a bright yellow. A tiny umbrella pierces through an orange slice and a cherry. It almost makes me like Roman a little more.
“I didn’t think you’d be someone who would listen to Roman,” I say.
Ethan glances over at the couple. The man is rubbing the woman’s shoulders, letting her blouse slowly fall down her arms.
“I didn’t do it for him,” Ethan says, looking back at me. “I did it for you. We’re still on for the weekend trip to the city, right?”
“Of course,” I say.
He shrugs. “I wasn’t sure. I thought you didn’t like Roman, but you came to his party.”
“I’m not certain why that matters. You said this trip wasn’t romantic,” I say.
He nods. “That’s right.”
He turns around, walking out of the closet. My tongue feels too heavy for all of the things I want to say. The pressure of Roman and Ethan competing for my interest or whatever it is that Roman wants, and the stress of Klay’s mind games is crushing me. I take a gulp of the tequila sunrise. The tanginess, the sweetness, and the chill send a pleasant shock to my system.
Moans start to unfurl from the corner with the couple. I avoid looking at them as I slide my phone back into my pocket and leave, partly out of respect for their privacy and partly because it makes me think of the sex I had with Klay.
I wonder if he’s here.
I wonder if he regrets sleeping with me more than he regrets trying to ruin my life.
I wonder if I could ever sleep with him, enjoying his feral instincts and his friction, without feeling like a needy fool when he rejects me again.
I try to stay out of everyone’s way. I stop in a room with a grand piano. Three glasses, two empty and one half-empty, are on the lid of the piano. I’d imagine the water stains would enrage any parent, but I doubt Roman grew up having to worry about such things.
