by Ivy Fox
The tension is thick and palpable between us. So much so that I catch a few kids whispering behind us. Of course, no one has the nerve to say anything, fearing both Saint and Elle’s wrath. Well, almost no one. When Trevor Manning walks into the room, his loud snicker is heard by all.
“Looks like we have a lovers’ quarrel. What happened, Elle? Chad got tired of waiting for you to open your legs for him? About time if you ask me. I wouldn’t wait a day for that pussy, let alone years.”
“Bite me, Trevor,” Elle rebukes, never once lifting her head from her phone.
“I’ve got something for you to bite alright.”
I snarl at him, but it’s Saint who beats me to the punch.
“Put your pencil dick away, Trevor. And move the fuck on.”
“Fuck you, Santiago.”
“You wish, asshole.”
Trevor stays rooted to the spot. The way his eyes linger on Elle makes me ball my hands into fists.
“Hard of hearing, Trev? Move along before I make you.”
He snickers at my threat but walks to the back of the class to grab his seat. Neither Saint nor Elle say another word throughout the class. Once the bell rings, I rush to get out of there but freeze when Elle places her hand on my thigh, stopping me in my tracks. When Elle sees that Saint catches the intimate touch, she immediately withdraws her hand from me.
“Sit. The both of you,” she orders, arms crossed over her chest to show that she means business.
“I got shit to do, Princess,” Saint protests, packing up his things.
She covers his hand with hers, and the way he melts at her touch for that split second has my throat tightening.
“Sit, Santiago. This is important.”
He slumps in his chair while the rest of our classmates leave us alone in the room. Elle is the only one who gets out of her seat to close the door. She heads back to where we are sitting, preferring to keep to her standing position, her back ramrod straight while she looks down at us.
“I know things between us are off right now.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.” Saint scoffs resentfully.
“Just let me finish, Saint. Please.”
There is another pang in my heart at the way she says the word ‘please.’ Elle isn’t known for using that word, much less for Saint of all people. It sounds awfully like submission, even though she’s the one who has us sitting here, waiting for any scrap she’ll throw at us.
“Like I was saying, things are rocky between the three of us, and I hate it. Don’t you?”
I nod, turning over to Saint to see if he’s too much of a stubborn jackass to show her his vulnerability. But he surprises me when he gives her a clipped nod, too.
“What’s your solution, Elle?” I ask, needing to know where her head is at, even if I can’t pinpoint where her heart is in all of this.
“I say we forget what happened over Thanksgiving break. Pretend it never even happened. Give us all a clean slate so we can go back to how we used to be.”
“Just like that, huh, Princess? You want to act like you don’t still feel me inside of you?”
Burning heat rushes to my face while Elle’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink.
“Yes. I’ll forget that just like I’ll forget how your hands were on my best friend’s cock.”
“Say cock again, Elle. You know that gets me hard,” he provokes.
“Will you fucking be serious?!” I yell at him, slamming my fists onto the desk hard enough it almost cracks.
Both of them are stunned into silence.
It takes me a minute to gain back my composure.
This isn’t like me.
I’m usually so controlled, with a good handle on my feelings, but lately, I feel all it will take is one wrong word or look for me to become completely unhinged.
“Fine,” Saint retorts, a serious expression on his face. “You both want to pretend nothing happened with the three of us. I’ll play along. Just so you two know, sooner or later, this shit is going to reach its breaking point. And when it does, I’ll be here to tell you I told you so.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” Elle counters evenly. “But for the sake of our friendship, I think it’s best we put everything back in its box. Unless, of course, you don’t want to? We are friends, right?”
“You’re my best friend, Elle. So is Saint. Even if neither of you believes me.”
Her features soften, even if only a smidge, but Saint isn’t as forgiving.
“Are we done here or what?”
“Not until we shake on it,” Elle proclaims, holding out her hand, waiting for us to join in.
A reluctant Santiago stands to his feet and places his hand on top of hers, muttering under his breath how this is fucking childish. I, on the other hand, am eager to follow suit.
The first breath of hope fills my lungs with the idea that maybe we can recover what we lost.
“You wanna sing kumbaya or some shit like that now?” Saint interjects, his hand squirming beneath mine.
“No. I just want us to promise that we will stop hurting each other. That our friendship is more important than anything else.”
“I promise,” I swear, having every intention of keeping my word, even if a part of me still resents them both for what they’ve done.
Sensing where my head is at, Saint throws me the evil eye and pulls his hand away.
“Whatever you want, Princess. This is your show,” he retorts, picking up his stuff and heading to the door. With his hand on the knob, he looks back at us, tilting his chin in my direction. “But I wouldn’t put my faith in a guy who has lied to you for most of his life. I sure as fuck won’t. Oh, and Princess, friends can fuck, too. Just putting that out there. You know where to find me when you come to your senses.”
He struts out of the room, and unbeknownst to Elle, I catch the longing look in her eyes as she watches him leave. And suddenly, all the hope I had that we could turn back the hands of time evaporates.
Where love used to bloom in my heart for Saint, the seed of bitter hatred begins to blossom.
Chapter 4
Saint
“Santo! You’re going to be late for school,” my mom yells out, banging on my bedroom door. “I have to leave for work. Are you up?” She continues to bang.
Reluctantly, I get out of bed and march my ass to the door and open it.
“Yeah, I’m up. So is probably all of East River with the ruckus you’re making, FYI.” I try to joke, but instead of the laugh I expected from her, all I get is a worried frown.
“Qué tienes, cariño? You’ve been moping about the house for days now, Santo. You’re starting to worry me.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Just some stuff at school I’ve got to get a handle on. Nothing you should be worried about.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, concern marring her features.
“I’m positive. Now go to work before you’re the one who’s late.”
She looks at her wristwatch and cringes when she sees the time.
“You’re right. I have to leave or miss my bus. We’ll talk more about this over dinner.”
“No double shift today then?” I ask, surprised.
“Not when I feel my son needs me at home more than he needs soda in the fridge. Besides, since you started working over at the garage, we’ve been able to make ends meet just fine. A night off so I can cook dinner for my boy and have a heart-to-heart is long overdue. Don’t you think?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I repeat in frustration.
“Then you can tell me just how fine you are when we have dinner later tonight.” She pinches my cheek lovingly. “Te quiero, Santo.”
“Yo también te amo.”
She waves me off, looking less troubled.
At least I did that right.
Everything else I touch seems to turn to shit.
It’s been a week since Prince
ss called Boy Scout and me into her office and laid down the law. Apparently, we’re all supposed to act like the cat isn’t out of the bag or some shit and pretend that everything is hunky-dory.
Newsflash.
It fucking isn’t.
How could it be?
Chad and I went from spooning and making out on the down-low to wanting to beat the living daylights out of each other. If he even looks at me funny one more time, I can’t promise that I won’t wring his pretty little neck. And then there’s Elle. Princess insists on living in fucking denial that her BFF wants in my pants as much as he wants in hers. And don’t even get me started on how she refuses to acknowledge that she has feelings for me, too.
And me?
I’m left with my dick in my hand, not knowing who I want to declare my love and hate for more.
So yeah.
Everything is fucked.
Which leaves me with another question—why the fuck are there so many books, movies, and songs written about love anyway? In my experience, it’s all one giant shitshow after another. Love is for suckers who like to live in a constant state of misery and longing.
And I’m no sucker.
Or at least I thought I wasn’t until those two came into my life and turned it on its head.
Fuck!
Instead of dwelling on shit that won’t get fixed in a day, I jump in the shower for a cold one. But to my chagrin, even that takes me twice as long since jacking off to both Chad and Elle is another mindfuck all on its own.
When I get out of the bathroom, I rush over to my room to get dressed and hightail it out of there once I’m done. Maya’s anxiety must be off the charts, wondering why the fuck I’m twenty minutes late to pick her up for school. And having to have an awkward conversation with the kid about my morning routine is not something I want to do.
I knock at her door while trying to come up with a reasonable excuse to give her explaining why I’m late. A cold shiver runs down my spine when Maya doesn’t come out of her apartment straight away. I knock again, and still no answer.
Unlike me, Maya is never late.
Never.
Going to school is the highlight of her day, even if it means dealing with Pembroke High skanks that give her a hard time. I know for Maya that shit is preferable to spending time at home.
I’m about to bang on it for the third time when suddenly the door swings open. Damasio walks out with a sinister shit-eating grin, a few of his goons trailing right behind him.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I growl, balling my hands into fists.
“Easy, Santo.” He pats me on my shoulder. “We’re just here conducting Kings’ business. You know how it goes.”
“Right.” I grind my teeth, eyeing the other motherfuckers behind him that look just as eager for a beatdown as I am. But that won’t do. I’ll be no good to Maya if one of these assholes shank me right in front of her doorstep. “Are you done then?”
Damasio sucks on his toothpick, swinging it to the other corner of his mouth.
“Not yet. But I will be soon.” He winks.
He then calls on his boys, telling them they’ve got work to do and to head out. I watch all of them snicker and talk animatedly with each other as they walk down the hall. Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I walk into Maya’s apartment, instantly becoming enraged at what I find.
Maya’s dad is beaten to a pulp in the kitchen, while her mom is lying naked, face down on the couch, too out of it to move. I scan the small apartment and find Maya crouched in the corner of the living room, bawling her eyes out. I sigh in relief when I see that she’s fully dressed in her usual hoodie and jeans. The poor kid is so out of it that she doesn’t even realize that the danger that was tormenting her a few minutes ago is no longer near. I walk over to her and bend down, so we can be at eye level. She continues shaking like a leaf, mumbling incoherently, completely oblivious to my presence.
“Maya, are you okay?”
I touch her cold hand to grab her attention, but she immediately flinches, letting out a blood-curdling scream, crawling further back into her corner.
“It’s me, kid! It’s me.”
She opens her bloodshot eyes, blinking a few times to register her surroundings. When she finally gets a grip on reality, she launches herself at me.
“Saint!!! Oh, God. Oh, God!” She cries, wrapping her arms around my neck so tightly it makes it hard for me to breathe.
“What happened? Tell me everything.”
She hiccups through her sobs, shaking her head, gripping onto my T-shirt.
“He wants me! He wants me, Saint! What am I going to do? What am I going to do?!”
“What? Who wants you? Maya?”
But she’s too freaking out of it to make any sense, her tears soaking my T-shirt. I hold her to me, telling her that she’s safe, that I’m here now until her cries subside.
Shit.
She’s in no shape to go to school today.
Not like this.
Once she’s simmered down a bit, I unlatch her hands from me and walk over to her old man, who is still bleeding on the floor, to get some answers. I kick his foot to get the useless piece of trash to look at me.
“How much do you owe, Emil?” I ask him point-blank.
“Two thousand,” he retorts, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve.
“You motherfucker! How the hell did you get in deep with the Latin Kings for two grand?!”
His glassy eyes squint at me, his forehead wrinkling as if he didn’t understand the question.
“The Kings usually don’t collect all of it at once. Besides, we had an arrangement.”
“And by arrangement, you mean your wife sucked dick to pay your debt off?” Emil bows his head in shame.
As if the asshole had any.
“It’s been that way for forever. But they don’t want my Carla anymore. They want Maya now.”
This fucker!
I go to my haunches and grab him by the lapel, his revolting stench twisting my stomach.
“Of course they do, you stupid ass motherfucker! What did you expect?! Your old lady has been passed around more times than they can count. Did you really expect Damasio and his guys wouldn’t get sick and tired of ratchet-ass pussy?”
“But Maya’s our baby.”
“You stupid cunt! That’s not what they see when they look at Maya. That’s not what Damasio sees! And Maya is not a baby anymore. She’s fucking legal, not that Damasio would care if she wasn’t. How much do you have to pay them?”
“Ten dollars, maybe.” He shrugs, making my nostrils flare in disgust.
“I should finish the job Damasio started and just end you. It would be a kindness to Maya. She fucking deserves better than the pieces of filth she’s got for parents.”
The fucker actually has the audacity to start crying, gripping my leather jacket with his filthy paws.
“Take her,” he begs. “Take her, Santiago. They can’t have my baby. It would kill Carla.” He looks over at his wife, who is still too high to know her own name, a used condom and dirty needle placed by her head.
“That smack is what’s going to kill your wife. Not her daughter being gang-raped.”
“Please, Santiago! You have to take Maya. She’s not safe here.”
“You think, motherfucker?!”
I slap his hands off me, stepping away from him before I do something stupid like really kill the bastard with my bare hands.
Goddamn junkies.
But I’ve got bigger problems than this idiot.
Where the fuck am I going to take Maya?
If Boy Scout and I were on different terms, I’d ask him to let her crash at his place. Doc would be cool with it. Of that, I’m sure. But my pride is still hurt by the way he’s been acting. Having him play the white knight and come to my rescue will only make me hate him less, and right now, I need to hate him.
I could ask Princess to t
ake her in.
But then I would have to explain how fucked-up my life is.
I don’t think we’re there yet.
Shit!
I have to come up with something, or Maya is going to lose her V-card in the worst way imaginable, to pay off her parents’ debt.
Like fuck I’ll let that happen.
I’ll just have to talk to Hector to pay off the debt myself. I’ll take on more hours at the garage if I have to. Things will be tight again at home, but after I explain it all to Mom, she’ll be okay with us tightening the belt again if it’s to ensure Maya’s safety. It will suck to know that my hard-earned money will go to paying off these junkies’ smack, but someone needs to look out for the kid since it’s obvious no one else will.
I walk over to Maya, who now looks like an extra on the Walking Dead, her stare vacant and empty.
“Get up, kid. We got class.”
I really wish there was somewhere else I could take her, but right now, Pembroke High is the safest alternative to keep her out of harm’s way. Hopefully, by the end of the day, I’ll have somewhere else to hide her. Push comes to shove, she can crash at my place, even though Damasio won’t think twice about bringing my door down just to take what he thinks is owed to him.
“Maya, we really need to go.”
On shaky knees, Maya gets up with my help. She’s so spaced out that for a second, I wonder if the fucker drugged her too.
“Kid, are you okay to walk?”
She nods, still looking like she’s in a trance.
“You can hide in the library. I’ll tell your teachers that you’re sick or something.”
Again she nods.
“Where’s Maya’s bookbag, Emil?” I shout from across the living room to her dad.
He points at the couch where his wife is, the bag shoved into the corner of the armrest. Since I don’t want Maya to have a better view of the state her mom’s in, I lean her against the wall while I grab her stuff. Bile forms at the back of my throat when I see spurts of cum sticking to her mom’s ass cheeks. I make the mistake of glancing up at Carla’s face to see if she’s at least breathing, only to find the same sticky substance strewn across her forehead, eyelids, and mouth.
Damasio and his boys did a number on her. In retrospect, pumping her veins up with poison was a kindness. The same can’t be said for Maya. I wonder how close she came to being used up like her mom today?
