In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  I panicked then and ran to get Charlie.

  It was the dizziness that really scared me, the weakness that swept over my body. It was that realization that I'd never be anything or anyone in this life, that I’d let Dad down, that I was giving up the most important thing in the world: a chance. I had a chance to turn things around, and I was saying no to that. It’s just not in my nature to give up, I guess. The feelings of loneliness and helplessness though, they were so strong. I wish someone had noticed beforehand how much I was hurting.

  After that, I spent some time recovering in the hospital, and once they decided I was no longer a danger to myself, they sent me home. Zack and I started dating, and then we shared our first kiss. He broke up with me, and that was that. I didn't see him anymore.

  Not until he stepped out of that limo outside Burberry Prep.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks me, and I look up, remembering him pulling my body against his, his fingers opening my mouth, making me throw up. I sobbed and sobbed as he rocked me, my fingers clinging to his shirt. He brought me that low. For a bet. For a game. For the fucking Infinity Club.

  “How did you feel when you found me in here like that? What was going through your head?”

  Zack curls his arms around his legs and rests his chin on his knees. His gaze is so far away, I can tell he’s not here in the moment with the current me, but rather in the past with the girl he tried so hard to destroy.

  “Shame. Anger. Hatred. Not toward you though, but toward myself. I don’t know if you remember me screaming. I don’t think I stopped until they took you away, and I punched the wall so hard I broke my knuckle.” He sits up and points at a tile, still cracked from that incident so long ago. It’s like life, I guess, how one small action can change the fate of the world forever.

  “And your grandfather … why did he cut your parents off in the first place?” Zack’s mouth tightens into a thin line, and he looks away, focusing on a dick drawn in Sharpie next to the toilet. It says Emily Loves Brad’s Cock. I stand up and dig around in my purse for a moment, pulling out my own permanent marker and scratching the words out with the squeak of pen on tile.

  “My dad, and his dad, they don’t exactly see eye to eye on … well, anything. Politics, religion, economics. They’re polar opposites. They got in some huge fight over the direction of the company. My dad never joined the Infinity Club. He wanted to make an honest living with the business. My grandpa …” Zack scoffs as I turn back to look at him. “He said there was no chance to make real money without the Infinity Club. He’s right, by the way.”

  Zack stands up and leans back against the wall as I toy with the idea of writing a few choice phrases on the tiles myself. But then I just feel bad for the janitor and end up tucking the pen away again.

  “He’s right about the money, that is. But he never should’ve pushed me to join, and my dad never should’ve let him.” Zack stares at the floor for a moment, and when he lifts his gaze to mine, I can see the worry there, the worry that I’ll never truly be able to forgive him and Lizzie for what they did. “I was young, and stupid. If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t do it again. I’d go to Lower Banks High instead. My only regret would be that I didn’t get to go to Burberry with you.”

  “Miranda says you’re too perfect,” I tell him, turning around and trying to gauge his reaction. “She says you do all the right things and say all the right things, but that you’re probably full of shit.”

  Zack grins and shrugs his shoulders.

  “She’s probably right. Marnye, I’m not a nice person. I’m learning, but … I still have a long way to go.” He exhales and his grin fades into a tempered smile. “Do you want to grab the food I got from the Station and walk over to the elementary school? I’ll push you on the swing and we can eat silver dollar pancakes on the picnic tables?”

  “I think I’ve seen all I need to see here,” I say, letting Zack put an arm around me and lead me back outside and over to the fence. Just before I climb through, I look across the campus one last time, say a silent goodbye, and leave Lower Banks Middle School behind for the last time.

  Charlie wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of me going to a rock concert with a bunch of dudes, but I think having Miranda and Lizzie there mollified him a bit. That, and he gave me the whole you'll be eighteen soon talk again.

  Pretty sure the hidden undertones to that conversation were I'm not going to be around forever, so you need to make smart choices as an adult. I chose to ignore that part. Well, just the not going to be around forever bit. I try to make smart choices always.

  The tour bus is pretty much just a rich person's version of an RV. I mean, I like it, but it doesn't wet my panties.

  “Most girls get soaked when they look at this thing,” Zayd is saying, sitting on the counter and drinking a beer. I keep waiting for us to hit a pothole, so I can see his arrogant rock star ass go flying. I've already threatened to film it and post it on YouTube.

  “Well, I guess I'm not most girls,” I quip back, enjoying the red leather bench seat I'm lounging on. With Creed on my right and Windsor on my left, I feel like a freaking princess.

  “Nah, you're different than most girls for sure,” Zayd says, voice softening, green eyes going half-lidded. That sensual look of his only lasts so long as it takes Miranda to chuck her empty beer bottle at him. He dodges it and it plunks into the sink. “What the fuck was that for?”

  “Saying someone isn't 'like most girls',” Miranda starts, making little quotes with her fingers, “is misogynistic as fuck. It implies there's something wrong with being like a girl in the first place. Don't do it.”

  Zayd snaps his fingers, bounces off the counter, and disappears into the back to dig through one of the drawers. When he comes back, he's halfway to taking his shirt off.

  My eyes skim his tattooed body as he tears his top off and replaces it with a loose black tank that says Feminist AF in white cursive on the front. My mouth breaks into a huge grin, and Zayd grins right back at me.

  “Pretty fantastic, huh?” he asks as Windsor sips his tea and studies him.

  “I'd wear it,” he adds, shrugging as Tristan stares into his own beer and says nothing. He's been so quiet, so withdrawn. I'm sure he's still reeling from everything that happened at Vanderbilt Manor. He was certain he wasn't coming back to Burberry, and then Windsor swept in and took care of it like he does everything.

  I'm worried it's starting to wear on him.

  “You're trying way too hard to be cool. In reality, you're just a douchebag like all the rest of us.” Creed leans back and curves his arm over the back of the seat, trailing his fingers across my shoulder and making me shiver. I glance his way and his pale blue eyes catch on mine. I can't we believe we spent our virgin night together. My breathing picks up slightly, but I look away before I end up embarrassing myself.

  Luckily, it's only a four hour ride to get the rest of the band, and then another couple hours to get to the venue. I'm not sure if I could handle the tension for much longer than that. Lizzie barely looks at me now, but she won't leave Tristan alone.

  I have this irrational urge to pry her away from him.

  He, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be bothered by her constant proximity. My hands curl into fists, fingernails digging into the denim of my jeans. Don’t blame her, Marnye. It’s his choice. If he wants Lizzie by his side then …

  “Am I going to hate your band members as much as I hate you?” Zack asks, raising both of his dark brows. He's dressed in a tight black shirt and jean shorts, his letterman jacket tossed aside for the summer heat. It’s been an unusually warm season for our area, like concerningly warm. At least we have AC in both this silly bus and my dad’s house. The Train Car was sort of hit or miss. We had to use either those portable units or the janky window ones. Oftentimes they’d work for a few weeks and then conk out.

  “If by hate, you mean love with your whole heart and soul, then yes,” Zayd says, sweeping over to the door
as the bus rolls to a stop. He’s practically giddy, running his inked hands down the front of his loose tank. It’s got those big armholes that show off his lean, muscular form underneath. He’s just covered in art, enticing my eye to travel the smooth lines of his body looking for more.

  I liken Zayd to a poisonous tree frog (I’ve told him this, by the way) because he’s very pretty to look at, but he’s deadly to touch.

  He glances over his shoulder suddenly, green eyes bright as jewels, a crooked, goofy smile on his pretty mouth. The black rings pierced through either side of his lower lip and eyebrow add this slight edge to all of his cute. And he really is, cute I mean.

  “Hey Charity,” he says, and Zack makes this irritated sound under his breath.

  “Yes, Zayd-Gets-the-Girls-Made?” I ask, blinking my lashes prettily. He raises both brows at me as Creed snorts.

  “That’s seriously the worst bad boy nickname known to man. Why don’t you just call yourself Two-Pump-Chump? That has more oomph somehow.”

  “Ah, don’t be jealous, man,” Zayd says, leaning his palms on the table and giving me this super saucy look. “If Charity’s heard that awful nickname, then that means she’s been lookin’ me up online, eh?” Zayd ducks down suddenly, and a small squeal escapes me as he drags me under the table and pulls me out, swinging me up into his arms. “Did you need spank-bank material, Working Girl?”

  “You are so gross,” I groan, but he’s at least partially right. I did look him up and find that horrible, awful, not-even-a-very-good-rhyme nickname. There are entire threads online of girls who claimed they’ve slept with him.

  Just thinking about it pisses me off.

  “Guys!” Zayd shouts as the door opens and this huge dude with a beard walks in. “I got me a proper girlfriend!” He lifts me up, and laughter spills from my throat. I can’t help it. Besides the fact that we’ve got some sort of crazy, natural chemistry, this is why I liked him so much during first year. He’s got a natural charm—when he’s not being a total bully, that is.

  “This isn’t the poor girl you tortured, is it?” Beard Guy grumbles, crossing his arms over his lumberjack-like chest. He gives me a sympathetic sort of look. “If you are, then I’m sorry. If you’re not, then … scratch what I just said.”

  “No, you’re right, that would be me,” I say as a boy with electric blue hair comes up next, followed by a brunette with frosted blond tips, a sweatband pushes his short hair into spiky little bits on the top of his head. All three of them are attractive in their own ways, but none of them are my type. Thank goodness, right? You already have five boyfriends. I think that’s enough.

  But as I said, there’s no logic in a broken heart. None in a lovesick one either.

  “This is your girlfriend?” Blue Hair asks, pointing past me to the other girls. “Then who are these other two beauties?” Zayd glances over his shoulder like he’s forgotten Miranda and Lizzie entirely. Lizzie. To be quite honest, I’m not even sure why she’s here. Andrew isn’t, and we’re much closer than me and Lizzie. Stop being a brat, Marnye.

  “Miranda Cabot, Idol of Burberry Preparatory Academy,” Miranda announces, rising to her feet and tossing her white-blond hair in a shiny sheet. “Hardcore lesbian, not at all interested in you.”

  “Fair enough,” Blue Hair says, glancing over at Lizzie, his brown eyes sparkling. “And you are …?”

  “That’s my girlfriend’s other boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend,” Zayd says, and his friends look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Yeah, I forgot to mention that I’m like, poly or something now.” Zayd gestures in the direction of the table with his chin. “Starting with the English bloke on the end, that’s Windsor, you guys know Creed, Zack the football douche, and then Tristan.”

  “Your girlfriend has five boyfriends?” Blond Tips asks, and Zayd shrugs. I can feel his inked fingers digging into my thigh, and it’s making me feel warm in places that don’t need heating up in my current situation. “About time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. Welcome, Marnye, I’m Aiden. The ass with the blue hair is Benji, just the like dog—”

  “Hey, fuck you,” Benji says, grabbing some beers from the fridge and setting them on the table.

  “—and the huge dude with the beard is Bern.” Aiden finishes and then moves over to the table to grab a beer, checking Lizzie out unashamedly. She stares up at him with her amber eyes, and then scoots closer to Tristan. He doesn’t seem to notice, narrowing his gorgeous gray gaze on the band. “So, whose ex are you?” Aiden continues, popping the top on one of the beers with the keychain on his belt before he offers it up to her.

  “I’m, well,” Lizzie starts, and her gaze drifts over to mine, like she’s searching for the right words to say. I have nothing to give her. “Tristan and I were together—”

  “Tristan, right,” Aiden says, and then he looks at the Vanderbilt King like he wishes he could strangle him. “We’ve met Tristan before. Can’t say I was impressed during any of our previous meetings. Didn’t you once fuck a girl Zayd brought back to the bus while he was in the bathroom?”

  Wow. Stuff I didn’t want to know.

  “I’d literally forgotten your existence,” Tristan says, his voice dark, expression darker. “Some two-bit bassist that can be replaced by spitting into a crowd. Forgive me if I don’t swoon.”

  “Yeah,” Aiden says with a laugh, turning his attention to Creed. “Whatever. I remember I hated both of you. You’re the one who’s always sleeping, right?” Creed narrows his own gaze, much like a cat, but says nothing, his fingers tapping an annoyed rhythm on the back of the bench.

  “Well, Tristan, you might not be swooning, but what about your ex-girl here?” Benji adds and Miranda graciously gets up, so he can slide into her spot next to Lizzie. “What do you say, ex-girl?”

  “I’m not entirely available,” Lizzie says, glancing over at Tristan. He looks back at her, but says nothing again. Nothing. Why isn’t he saying anything?! “I’ve just confessed my love to Tristan. I’m waiting on an answer.”

  “Whoa, the plot thickens,” Aiden says, ruffling his frost-tipped hair. He glances up at Zayd who’s still holding onto me. His fingers, however, seem to have tightened just slightly. “Man, this is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

  “Congratulations on your new girlfriend,” Bern says, giving Zayd a dark sort of look. “Try not to fuck this relationship up, okay? She’s a good one, I can tell.” He smiles at me and then moves over to grab a beer.

  Zayd and I exchange a look, and he gives me a sly half-smirk.

  “I would’ve told Lizzie to fuck off by now,” he whispers, and I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze.

  The concert venue is this massive celebrity-owned ranch that I quickly find out belongs to the one and only Billy Kaiser. It’s quite beautiful, that perfect Southern California vista of lush desert hills, dotted with blooming cacti and bushes covered in purple flowers. I’m guessing if this dry heat keeps up for much longer, the landscape will change dramatically. For now though, the land’s enjoying the benefits of a recent summer shower.

  “You dad doesn’t care that you’re using this place for a concert?” I whisper as we walk into the massive foyer with the curving staircase. The décor is Western themed, specifically expensive movie memorabilia that’s displayed behind glass with little placards. A vague memory comes to me of that first Infinity Club party when Zayd and Creed bet each other that Lizzie would show up. What was the prize? A cowboy hat? No, no cowboy boots.

  Interesting.

  Of course, then Creed said he wanted to fuck a cowgirl which I know now is a total lie …

  “Dad lets his friends have concerts out here all the time,” Zayd says, giving me a weird sort of look. He clomps up the steps in his sea green boots, a perfect match to his hair, and turns around with one inked hand curled over the banister. “Well, come on, Charity, I want to show you my room.” Zayd gives me this exaggerated little wink and takes off.

  “#TeamCreed,” Mirand
a whispers, but then she pushes me lightly in the back. “You go, I’ll watch Lizzie.”

  “I—” I start to tell her that I don’t need her to watch Lizzie for me when I turn and see Lizzie’s hands on Tristan’s tie. He’s looking right at me, too, and there’s a sort of challenge in his face that makes my stomach hurt. Maybe he’s … what if he likes me and Lizzie both? I mean, I have a crush on five guys, so why would it matter if he liked another girl?

  My stomach roils with angst, and I take off up the steps, past Zack and Creed, and all the way to the top where Zayd’s waiting.

  “Welcome to Chateau Kaiser,” he purrs in that velvety rockstar voice of his, opening the door to a wing. Yeah. Not a room. A wing. My mouth drops open as I start down the hall and Zayd steps in behind me, closing the door softly. “I’ve got a music room, a bedroom, a sitting room, a game room, and a bathroom up here.”

  I touch my fingers to one of the frames on the wall. There’s a chubby faced little boy with a woman’s arms around him. They have the same nose and the same full mouth. I glance back and Zayd’s face falls slightly.

  “My mom,” he says, padding over to stand beside me. “She was a groupie for Dad’s band.” He taps the glass with a black painted fingernail and his face falls. “He married her, but that lasted for all of a few years because, well, you know, my dad’s a fucking druggie whore.” Zayd scrubs his hand down his face.

  “So they got divorced?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder and studying the harsh lines of Zayd’s expression. The emotion is beyond genuine; he misses his mother, wherever she is.

  “No, she just left. They never actually got a divorce. She was trying to get custody of me, but then she … you know, she died.” Zayd pushes away from the wall and heads down the hall, opening the last door on the right and leaning against the jamb, his strong, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. “You coming in or what, Charity? I promise I don’t bite—unless asked, of course.”