by Scott, Eliot
She gasps. "Alex, I don't know what you're doing right now but I can only think it's your father making you act like this. I've always been just me with you and just me is calling you out. How you are acting is not you. Not after what we just did together. No way."
Her words—which ended with a shaking whisper—are all true. JoJo, just being JoJo, is the reason I fell in love with her. She's always been so open. She is light, laughter and everything beautiful. She's being herself even now, working to find a way out for me even after I've said these unspeakable things to her because this girl is also pure love. And she's told me more than once that she loves me.
Love and JoJo.
I almost laugh out loud at myself for going there.
Love and JoJo are two things I was allowed to touch but that were not ever meant to be truly mine. Ever.
She sits up, her movement drawing the moonlight to new places on her hair and skin, drawing my eyes to linger where they shouldn't. "You convinced me to make love with you. And we did it—and I loved it—here and now, with you," she pleads. "We waited so long. I thought it would be amazing." She spreads her arms wide like we've just made love inside some sort of gold-walled palace. “And it was. So special," she whispers. "And so amazing. But only because we are in love, and we're best friends, and you're my everything."
I turn away, watching her now out of the corner of my eye. When I don't answer her, she starts shaking her head like she wants to wake up from this bad dream she's having. "Alex?"
"That's all you, Jojo. Always making fantasy fiction shit about my actions being all special and heroic. Like the times Grady messed with you. Like the time he broke your collarbone."
“You were there and helped me every time he messed with me. You punched your brother at the hospital. You're my protector and yes, always heroic." She remembers it right, but I have to change her memories somehow.
I shake my head.
"Think about each and every time a Sinclair hurt you during high school. Think about Grady and how I was always there. The shit my mom said to you, the crap my dad pulled? Every time, you cried—and hell yes I was there. I was participating. And every time I told you the truth. That my family meant to hurt you, that Grady was a devil and the Sinclairs enjoyed making you cry and would do it again. Don't you see? I never helped you. I only watched and waited to pick up the pieces, every time, because that was the part my father ordered me to play. You should have walked away from me long ago—the first time we figured out who I was to you—but you never did."
"Because we’re best friends. Because I wouldn't leave you for pages written down about some stupid storybook feud between the Wallaces and the Sinclairs! Because you needed me to protect you from your father—you needed me to pick up your pieces, as much as I needed you. I'm not stupid. I know Grady and your father would hurt you if you ever directly stood up to them. Despite their plan, I know you've been protecting me all along. And I think you're doing it now by making love to me and dumping me in this terrible way. You want me to hate you. I don't know why…but I will find out. They won't win! You're not like them."
I shake my head, willing her to get it. "I am them. Oh, and let's just please keep the facts straight about tonight. I didn't convince you to make love." I snort, rolling my eyes at her ridiculous words. Painful words. "You begged me for it, and I finally gave in. When you think back on this night, please remember the part where I told you it was a very bad idea, that I didn't want to do it at all. And now that it's over, don't blame me because I enjoyed what went down. You did, too. Obviously. And twice."
That last line had made her gasp—just how she'd gasped when I was pounding into her, taking the air out of her lungs with my thrusts—and dammit! That little sound. The way she's stood up and is walking over to me all naked and unashamed—despite what I'm doing and saying to her right now—has made me want her all over again.
Jojo Wallace has always been magnificent. And I've always wanted her so much. I pull in a ragged breath because, damn me if even now in the middle of this, all of the blood I can't control is rushing back into my cock.
"But I love you."
"No! You. Don't. Love. Me.” I reel back from her, angry for real now—angry because she won’t listen to me. “Think back, JoJo. Think back, and think about you and me becoming friends. Think over how many times you were hurt and I was right there—I was a part of each horrible moment.” She shakes her head. “You can't love me. It will be impossible once you realize the truth. A real friend would have confessed what was going on. A real friend would have ended how I exposed you to pain year after year. I’m not even human, because a fucking human would have told you at least to stay away. But I didn't, did I?”
“They made you. You’re not like them.” Her arguments are weakening.
“But I am. Exactly. I let you come back and come back until tonight when I led you to this boathouse and fucked you here—not in any way that I promised you, either. Where’s the bed? Where’s the roses and all that romantic shit I promised you? I didn’t even have the decency to take you to the lake.”
“Our lake…” she whispers out.
“My lake. Not yours!” I shout and point, and those words do the trick. Her face crumples some.
“You don't love me. You only just met me today. Pleased to fucking meet you, stupid Wallace girl. You've been pranked. I'm Alexander Robert Sinclair.”
I pull in a deep breath and straighten out my shoulders, trying to make myself appear bigger and scarier to her. “Josephine Annabelle Wallace, this whole thing was planned—hell maybe even it was preordained when they named us after our great grandparents.” I shake my head at her. “You knew more about the feud than I ever did when this started. We researched it together, and then your father died, and still you stayed. How did you think this would ultimately work out?”
I bark out a harsh laugh and pause to kick at the sides of my father’s boat.
"Did you really think any of this was real? This was simply our destiny. It’s been my father’s grand plan ever since he found out about you that summer before we met. The lake, you being homeschooled all those years—that was your mom’s biggest mistake. It was their game played out by us. Your mom and my dad, and my grandfather and your grandmother. And now that your mom is dead and I’ve popped your cherry and made good old Dad proud, well, it’s done. You’re off to summer University for stupid dyslexics who need extra help how you always do—and there will be no reason for you to ever return here. I can guarantee you that, Jojo.”
Finally, like it's all sinking in, she blinks and small lines form creases in her forehead.
“Alex, you're talking about years and years of our lives here. All of our perfect moments, all of our firsts together, the lake, the campouts, the school dances, all that you said to me at prom—how you made me wait until tonight?” She sighs meeting my gaze. "So many...best and wonderful days together…no. I don’t—I won’t believe you. It’s impossible what you’re saying.”
"Don't feel bad—it went on so long the entire town fell for it. Fell for us." I bark out another harsh sounding laugh. "Hell. Even I forgot sometimes, but only for a minute or two because you’re annoying as fuck, and it's a lot of work playing boyfriend to your high maintenance bullshit life. Your father dies, and your mom gets cancer again. Christ!” I roll my eyes and run both hands through my hair. I wish I could dig into my skull. I hate this monster that I am.
"The learning disability? All the homework help. All of that farm work I did to help out your family. Stepping in to be the man as needed. I'm sure you can imagine how much I'd rather have been fishing." I snort. "Two funerals, all of the damn needy texting you did. I had to text back and then show up and talk to you all the damn time. Sleep over, be there for you and hold you—fuck, Jojo…no dude likes to spoon! And you're ridiculous with all of that that hold me shit. It was worse than babysitting.“
I roll my eyes again, hoping she doesn't call me out on the part where it was always
her holding me, and I forge on. "Maybe when you look back you'll feel sorry for me—because—" I swallow down the sand-brick that's formed at the back of my throat from these lies. "You, JoJo Wallace, were the most soul-sucking, needy girlfriend ever. And, God, but it took your mom so damn long to die. Had she not lingered on so much, I would have been free of you a year ago. But see…” I smile wide, trying to make it maniacal. “She fucking knew! That bitch refused to die. She knew what we were doing. She knew this was my father’s revenge.”
“Don’t ever call my mom that!” her voice wavers and her face crumples more.
I wait, letting her absorb the information, watching as she puts the bits together to form what can only look like a terrible new reality to her. Thankfully, she doesn't make me wait too long.
She whispers exactly what I've been waiting to hear. "If it's true, then...I'll have to hate you. I don't care about what you did to me—but if you—if your family actually plotted to hurt my mother all those years while she was widowed and sick? My mom, who's the most amazing and kind woman in the world—if one second of just that part of this is true, then I won't have any other choice." She puts both hands over her ears. "How can I hate you? How can I not?" She gasps out, "But if it's true then...I hate you, Alex Sinclair."
Her eyes connect to mine and she says again, stronger this time. "I really hate you." Her eyes have gone wild.
I close my eyes for a second, my knees growing weak, because if she's already hating me I won't have to play all of my cards and tell her everything she doesn't need to know. My cruel lies are way gentler than the truths I'm still hiding.
"Hate away," I sigh out, almost giddy with relief. "It's the Sinclair goal." I fake a grin, cruelly raking my gaze down the length of her, noting the layer of goosebumps now covering her skin on this very hot summer night. I'm unable not to let my eyes rest for a moment at the swell of her breasts and on her perfect, rose-tipped nipples as I listen to her jagged breathing.
When I'm certain my voice won't give me away, I recapture her unwavering gaze as I continue. ”My father says it's the hunt we Sinclairs love, and what a long and successful hunt your family has been for us. If only there was a way we could each put some sort of trophy on our mantel to prove that I placed first and you lost. But here…” I hold up our knotted, used condom. "You did get this small ounce out of me. Keep it if you want. For your fireplace."
I drop it at her feet.
"Fuck you, Alex Sinclair." Her voice is even stronger as she shouts at me now. "And the day they put your devil-father in the ground I'm going to be here to dance on his grave. I promise I will. I should kill him, and kill you and—and— Grady, too, for this."
I laugh again, this time agreeing with her—because after what I've done all these years, I deserve to die, and if anyone deserves to kill the Sinclair family, it's JoJo Wallace. Only, JoJo is the kind of girl who rescues ugly dogs and stray cats despite being allergic. She won't even kill the spiders and moths that sneak into the house—so yeah—she won't be back to kill anyone, that's for certain.
"Always so dramatic. I'm sure Father would want you to come back and try to take us all out. See how the feud is in our blood? It's irresistible, even to you, isn't it? " I refocus my glare on her because what I need to say next is the most important part of this whole conversation. It has to stick. "My father is too evil to die. But if we both get lucky and he croaks, please don't come back. If you do, Grady and I will kill each other fighting over who will get to finish destroying you."
She crosses her arms over her bare chest and nods. “Oh, I’ll go. But I suppose you know that. You're so stiff and fake right now, I bet you're reciting from a script your father made you memorize!"
"I'm glad you finally understand." I smile, making sure my voice is condescending yet approving. I point to the throbbing lump in my jeans. "You standing there still naked is making it hard to talk. If you don't want to have another go maybe you should cover yourself."
I toss her the flannel shirt I'd tied around my waist. As she puts it on and draws it closed with shaking hands, I add, "Like I already mentioned, this was generations before you and I were born. I simply executed the final…strokes." I snicker.
JoJo doesn't even flinch at my words. This time her voice is as cold as mine. "The scholarship you helped me to apply for—all the way in New York City?"
"Farthest point on the map away from Tacoma."
"The generous offer to ‘help’ me with the sale of my family’s property that your father ruined with that oil spill?"
"Stop calling it your property. It's Sinclair property now. Sold to pay for your mother's medical bills and to ensure you had no reason to return here. We bought it as a favor even though your mom had willed it to us already, you ungrateful little bottom feeder. I could show you the legal documents that highlight the details of that deal, how much money we lost on it." I hit her where I know it will hurt her the most. "Considering you wouldn't be able to read it very easily, how about you just take my word for what it says this time?"
She winces and my chest constricts with a wave of regrets. She’s standing there in my shirt—my fucking shirt. This is killing me…killing her is killing me.
"How about you go straight to hell," she calls out, but all of the fight’s gone out of her voice.
"Already been there awhile, JoJo."
From the way her hands are shaking more now, and how she's got them clutched into my shirt, I can see she's all the way where I need her to be.
Finally, just make it through. If you waver she will waver. If she stays, she will die.
"That land deal goes way deeper and darker than even our fucked up relationship. Should that throbbing between your thighs fade away and you forget how all of this feels. Should you get sentimental or stubborn, like you always are and decide to visit, your Aunt Shelly for example, or even think you should come back home to rehash any of this, let me be clear. You or she might end up in some sort of terrible accident. Like the kind your father had."
She puts her hands up to her ears. "What are you saying to me? Alex. What do you mean by accident? What are you saying to me right now?"
I don't give her any more details.
She's smart enough. Long after she's gone from here I know she will connect the dots and those dots will tell her everything.
I only add, "For the first time since your father died, I'm allowed to tell you the goddamn truth about me, about what my father is capable of and what he will do. So, if you need to see your Aunt Shelly make sure she comes to visit you. That's what I'm saying. Be happy it was me that got assigned to fuck you over. Grady wanted to get you drunk and have his way with you the first day he saw you when you were a freshman. Do you remember our first fight?"
She nods, eyes wide and body still shaking like she’s going into shock.
"Grady's plan was to get you to a football party, get you loaded, and loan you out to his friends. He'd meant to send you home bloody and crying to your daddy after anyone who’d wanted to had their taste. My father almost went for it, too. But then your father ended up in a grave, and we found out your mom was sick." I shrug like that memory isn't about to make me vomit. "And suddenly my father didn't think dealing with you quickly would be as lasting or as extreme as what we ended up doing to you and your mother. What do you think? Was I a better choice than Grady? Or worse?"
Her eyes flash and she tilts her chin toward the skylights. "You were better. So much better. The best," she whispers and I wonder if she's calling my bluff right now or trying her hand at sarcasm.
Her voice is so soft it's threatening to crumble me, so I avoid looking at her face at all to make my own words come out harsher. "You want to know why I waited so long to fuck you?"
“No.” Her voice is stone cold.
"There's paper in my father's desk drawn up between our parents that actually states I couldn't touch you until you were eighteen. Family honor and all that shit."
"Our parents?" She's shaking
her head more now.
"Yes. My father. Your mom."
"My mom...what do you mean...my mom?"
"They made an agreement at the end of sophomore year just after she was diagnosed. Apparently, your mom understood how gone you were for me and made a deal with my dad that I had to wait until you turned eighteen. Your mom assumed you’d grow tired of me, move on—wise up, maybe. But really…who would you move on to? Your mom got scared I'd accidentally plant a half-Wallace, half-Sinclair abomination inside of you. A baby like that would try to strangle itself inside the womb, I'm sure, so I don't know why they were so worried." I shrug at her horrified expression. "Guess my father didn't want to add drowning newborns in buckets to the list of secret felonies we each seem to collect."
"You're so sick."
"Like I said. Just one of the monster clan, and it all runs deeper than you could imagine. Which is why I had to wait all of this time until your birthday, because had I fucked you sooner, the land my father bought off of you would have reverted back to you—though I would have denied touching you. And you can't really afford an attorney, can you? So, even though I tried to talk you out of this, in hindsight, I'm not sorry I took your V card after all. Oh, and if I didn't say it yet, with emphasis on the word fucking: Happy Fucking Birthday, JoJo"
"Don't say anymore...please. Stop. Stop."
She brings one hand up to cover her heart as if that move could block more of my words from pelting into her. And now she’s trying to ruin everything for both of us. With one small sound, she has pierced my heart, drawing my gaze to exactly where I didn't want it to go.
Back to her big, wide, beautiful eyes, to tears I'd never seen fall from them before that day.
Oh, my JoJo. My sweet JoJo.
You don't ever, ever cry.
Not when her father's body was found.
Not when she'd been bullied and laughed at around town after everyone found out who she was, the secret girl hidden away, the unwanted Wallace baby because she was born so dumb—a rumor my brother started and my family perpetuated. Not after each of Grady's cruel pranks and frightening threats, and not when the mean girls or even the teachers taunted her for being slow or unsophisticated.
