A Poised Nuisance (Lithe Book 1)

by Iris RIvers

  “Ah, Baker,” Kai mused, turning his head out the window, watching cars blur by, trees melt past, “quite the architect you’ve become.”

  “I’m offended,” Baker replied. “I’ve had this intellect since I left the womb.”

  “Mmm,” Kai agreed, looking back to Baker’s placid face. They watched each other for a few more seconds until, abruptly, Kai pulled Baker to his side with his right arm. Baker grabbed his arm and touched their finger to his skin, tracing three words.

  I love you.

  And at that, Kai smiled.

  EVELYN’S DORM ROOM was utterly silent. Eerily silent. She looked over to her roommate’s unmade bed—she hadn’t slept here in days. She wondered where she’d gone—wondered but hadn’t bothered to call. Instead, she’d spent the last few days tucked up in her bed, allowing the inky pit in her stomach to pull her under, to coax her mind and heart with foul words and brutal lies. She smelled of unwashed clothes and sticky embarrassment.

  Dizzy, Evelyn stepped out of bed, walking to the small, unlit bathroom adjacent to her roommate’s desk. She didn’t turn on the light. Her hand shook as she reached for the pale orange bottle sitting patiently beside the sink. The pills rattled against the plastic of their container.

  The pill was blue—the blue of the sky, the blue of life, of ocean water—and starkly contrasted against the pink of Evelyn’s tongue, the white of her teeth. Her muted blonde hair caught in her mouth as she leaned toward the faucet, turning it on, and swallowed a gulp of tap water. It tasted dingy. Evelyn wiped her mouth.

  She hazily moved to the shower beside her, turning the knob counterclockwise until the water burned against her skin. Undressing and stepping beneath the water, Evelyn showered quickly, impatiently. She heard her phone ding from her bed as she turned the water off.

  It was 11:23 p.m., she noticed, and with a startling abruptness, she remembered she had a meeting to attend in thirty-seven minutes. Tonight’s was only the second of the year and, sadly, Evelyn was expected. Leaders could not miss.

  The text she’d received in the shower was from her boyfriend, Sam. He hadn’t texted in days—but she hadn’t either. It read: Busy? Evelyn shut off her phone.

  A familiar sense of dread washed over her—a type of melancholy that, if it was to be explained, would associate itself with the violent realization that the person you had been your entire life was gone; that the identity you had cultivated previously had been stolen from your tightly wound hands by a being you had only just met. Evelyn had shoved this grief down deep into her soul—she’d been covering it and coating it with a false sort of euphoria—but, recently, since Will had moved back, the fine layer protecting the dread had begun chipping away.

  Evelyn combed out her mid-length hair as she thought of her best friend—of his dark curls and his worn shoes and his slender fingers. She thought of the day he’d transferred to a small liberal arts college in California from Juilliard. When the goodbye hug they’d given each other was so painfully relieving that when Evelyn let go, she felt as though a piece of her soul was being torn from her body.

  The door to her dorm shot open, jolting Evelyn from her shrouded thoughts and making her clutch her towel tightly.

  “Hey,” Heather—her roommate—said.

  “Where have you been?” Evelyn turned to her closet, pulling faded jeans and a black hoodie from the singular shelf.

  “Out,” said Heather, jumping onto her bed and letting out a sigh of relief. She aggressively pulled at her red hair like it might pull the anxiety from her mind. Evelyn nodded as she dressed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  Heather laughed sharply. “Anyways...”

  Evelyn turned back to her, now fully dressed, and stared at her from where she stood.

  “Can you take that flag down tomorrow?” Heather pointed to the pink, purple, and blue flag Evelyn had hung up after she’d come out to her friends. “I don’t want Ethan to see it. You know.” Ethan—her boyfriend. They were so unbearably straight.

  “Go fuck yourself,” said Evelyn, grabbing her phone and wallet from the bin beside the door and slamming it on her way out. She had ten minutes to get to the bell tower.

  IT WAS DARK IN LARA’S apartment.

  She’d come to realize within her few weeks of living there that she preferred it that way—preferred the ashen sky filtering in-between the cracks of her windows, the nooks of her doors; the way the moon hung high above the city’s tattered buildings, the secrets and sins of the wicked night gliding into her rested mind.

  It was well past any reasonable time for one to go to bed, so Lara stayed awake—as usual. She had just finished watching a video of her recital rehearsal, making mental notes she knew she would soon forget on how to fix her form—her balance. The frustration crept up on her silently as she clutched the TV remote, pressing the buttons forward and rewind in a constant, infuriating pattern. Her eyes would narrow slightly as she criticized her movements, her mistakes—though most, if not all, were barely noticeable.

  To her mother, however, these mistakes would be the only things worth noticing.

  When her own image had become too disheartening, Lara turned off the TV and left the remote mindlessly on her gray, dust-colored couch. She got up and walked past Ebony—who was snuggled peacefully in her cat tree—and into the kitchen, the flickering lights from beyond her window easing the dullness in her heavy mind. She squinted as she opened her refrigerator, the light reflecting off her face in a muted yellow. She thought of the days when both her mother and father would forget to feed her. She’d quietly skip down the stairs after they had fallen asleep—afraid to wake them up—and pull open the fridge door, the light identical to that of her current fridge.

  Lara grabbed a single slice of old, cold pizza and shut the door. When was the last time I had a real meal? she thought fretfully. It must’ve been over a week, at least.

  She leaned across her granite counter and took a bite, swallowing a dry piece against her even drier throat. She was so tired—so hungry. Blood pounded against the thickness of her skull. Lara shut her eyes, exhaustion weighing her down.

  It was when she opened them again that she noticed the note on the floor—the note from a few days before—crumpled and shoe-stained from days of walking over it. It sat atop her wooden floor, calling her, beckoning her—pulling a sinister yearning from within Lara’s stomach that she could not resist. She set her pizza down, bent to the note, and picked it up. The movements were all too similar in her mind. She felt the rigged paper beneath each sensor on her honey-toned fingertips. She did not need to uncrumple it. She knew what it bore. What it wanted her to do.

  She’d been thinking solemnly of the note since she’d first received it and her curiosity had become a drum beating against her soul; she couldn’t ignore it and, even if she wanted to, she couldn’t refuse the desire that rested in her pounding heart. So, silently, she promised herself that she’d walk to the bell tower, stay for a few minutes—to see what the meeting was about, and that’s it—then leave. But curiosity was a vice—a horrible, relentless vice that Lara had never learned to disregard. She knew she would stay for as long as they needed her.

  It was ten minutes to midnight and, according to the covert note, she had to be there by then. So, with wounded pride—she was not one to succumb to such naïve interest—she reluctantly padded to her closet, her bare feet cold against the floor, and searched through her clothes. Lara quickly tugged on a pair of fishnet tights then pulled a pair of light mom jeans up her long legs. For the top, she simply grabbed a large, black hoodie from the second shelf and slipped it over her head.

  She said goodbye to Ebony first and then, with little reluctance, headed out to the dampened streets of the city. Her black, platformed Converse skidded across the sidewalk as she headed toward campus.

  The streets were surprisingly busy for the middle of a Wednesday night. Lara’s steps were muted by the sounds of cars, of sirens, of
screams. By the quiet mumblings of sleepwalkers and the bold outbursts of suddenly woken children. She quickened her pace.

  The moon hung in a perfect crescent as Lara neared the bell tower—the structure standing tall against the midnight sky; stars sprinkling the landscape like the freckles of a young girl. She shivered against the cool air then stepped closer, not nearing the front steps completely but carefully, stopping before the edifice, noting its appearance. A broad wooden door served as the entrance to the tower. It was large—so large that it must’ve been twice Lara’s height of five foot eleven. Iron ran vertically down the door in perfect lines—they seemed polished, new, a sharp contrast to the stained, tan surface they rested on.

  Lara hesitantly continued her trek, lifting her head to take in the full structure. The bell tower itself was a medieval structure, the color of a child’s fingers after playing with gray chalk. Naturally, a bell rested toward the top, its metal rusted—looking like it smelled of wet concrete, of pennies thrown into a wishing well. The head of the tower arched up, toward the sky, and ended in a skinny line, mimicking the Eiffel Tower. If one looked closely, they’d see the imprint of what used to be a cross at the tip of it—shadowed over from years of decay.

  No salvation to be found from within.

  With little else to do, Lara neared the stairs. They were surrounded by a string of neon caution tape—signaling danger and finality. She wondered if it had to do with the boy she’d seen fall that night and, fearfully, wondered if the police were here now—if the note had been from an officer, a complete and utter mockery before they locked her up in a humid cell.

  That was stupid though—and Lara wasn’t stupid.

  “Boo,” came a whisper directly behind her. Lara jumped forward, her breath fogging out of her mouth as she silently yelped.

  “What the fuck?” Lara’s voice shocked not only herself but also her companion. It was a girl, Lara noticed, and she was laughing. She was Indian, wearing her dark hair straight down her back. Her clothes were all black.

  “Calm down,” she said. “Ana told me you’d be here.” The girl pulled on Lara’s arm, guiding her to the entrance of the bell tower. Their steps sounded indescribably loud in the plush silence of the night. “You’re Lara, right?”

  Lara wasn’t sure if she should give up her name that easily but, since she already seemed to know it, she answered, “Yes.”

  “My name is Sana. Sana Hassan.” Her smile gruesomely reminded Lara of Kai’s—the rare smile that he gave the only friend she’d seen him with—and it made her uncomfortable. She looked to the door.

  Suddenly, as if she’d heard Lara and Sana’s voices, a tall girl opened it. Her wavy hair was dark—like Sana’s—as were her clothes. Lara stared at the girl’s face and, strangely, felt a sense of familiarity. She sharply realized that it was her. The girl from the bell tower. The one she’d seen shove a boy to his death.

  She wondered how the girl could be standing here, a smirk spreading across her lips, without collapsing from grief. Lara questioned, for a small moment, if she’d be able to stand with a guiltless conscience after murdering another person. A quiet voice at the back of her mind told her she would.

  “Hello.” Her voice sounded like it belonged in the shadows—like she was meant to remain inside the stone walls of the bell tower.

  Lara said nothing. Sana shifted on her foot.

  “I’m Ana,” the girl said. “You must recognize me.” A murderer. This girl was a murderer.

  “What is this?” Lara blurted. I should turn back now, she thought. Ignore the fact that the girl in front of me isn’t in jail. Resist the urges. The temptations.

  “We’ll show you,” replied Ana before Lara could move. She grabbed the two by their arms and pulled them inside, shutting the door behind them. Lara tried to pull her arm free but Ana’s grip was overwhelmingly strong.

  The inside of the tower was incredibly dark—there were no lamps and only a few windows. Lara looked up, eyeing the stairs that seemed to take up the full structure. Strangely, her heart was at ease, beating calmly as if she was walking through Central Park and not an insidious tower.

  “Am I supposed to walk up those?” Lara said, pointing to the almost eroded staircase before her.

  “Yes,” said Ana. “Clearly.”

  Sana laughed. Lara groaned.

  “I’m not doing that,” Lara said firmly. It wasn’t worth it.

  Ana shrugged, saying, “Suit yourself.” She and Sana started up the stairs, their steps echoing across the stone. As Lara listened, she realized she could hear voices—quiet noises; whispers even—coming from above. Damn them. Curiosity would end up killing her.

  She followed them up the stairs, noting the way the rock crumbled beneath her, battered down from years of usage.

  A few minutes later—after a couple of complaints from Lara and two or three giggles from Sana—they made it to the bell. Lara drew in a breath. She wasn’t afraid of heights—she wasn’t afraid of anything really—but the view to the ground was staggering. She walked over to an arched hole in the stone and, hesitantly, looked down.

  “Are you afraid?” said Ana.

  “No,” Lara said with a laugh, turning away from the window, “of course not.”

  Lara suddenly noticed they weren’t alone. Two or three girls sat on the floor, others leaned against the walls, their shoulders dusting against the stone, and some sat in-between the window ledges. All were unnaturally silent, yet expressions of determination and pride coated their faces.

  Ten girls.

  For the first time in her life, Lara wasn’t sure what to say. Not one person turned to look at her, only stared at the three, oddly placed chairs in front of the large bell. Two girls sat expectantly on the latter chairs, their hands folded like a queen’s would be, while the middle one remained empty. Lara assumed it belonged to either Ana or Sana.

  What the fuck is this?

  “Is this a joke?” Lara asked, her eyes gazing over each girl, taking in their features and postures. They all looked unreal. Like they had come from the core of the moon—the esoteric depths of the ocean. Spirited dolls made from glass and gravestone, from blood and bone.

  “Does it look like one?” The voice wasn’t one Lara knew. She followed it, her gaze passing a few of the seated girls, their skin glowing under the moonlight, and landed on a blonde white girl. She recognized her—Lara remembered when she’d asked about a dance assignment once. She didn’t know her name and instantly felt pitiful.

  “Kind of.”

  “Sit down, Lara,” interrupted Ana—who now sat in the final chair upfront. Lara looked around for Sana until she saw her seated beside a plus-sized brunette. They met eyes. Sana mouthed Sit down and pointed to the empty spot beside her. Lara huffed as she moved to sit.

  She squeezed between Sana and another girl she’d never seen. She was Chinese, Lara observed, and her mid-length black hair was tucked behind her ears. The girl met her watchful gaze and—reading her curiosity—whispered Irene. Lara assumed that was her name. She looked to the three chairs.

  “As you can tell, there’s a new member,” said the blonde girl.

  “Member?” Lara asked, her tone hardening. “I am a member of nothing. I—”

  “Then why are you here?” a girl questioned Lara, her tone accusatory.

  “We went over this, Violet,” the blonde at the front answered, clearly annoyed. Violet—with dark hair and pale skin—rolled her eyes.

  “We could’ve threatened her,” said Violet. “How do you know we can trust her?”

  “I’m right here,” Lara interjected, glaring at her.

  “Yes, I see you.”

  “Lilah,” said Ana, not allowing the argument to continue, “why don’t you explain why Lara is here.”

  Lara turned to the girl Ana addressed and admired her. Lilah was Pakistani and wearing her hair in dark curls, framing her brown skin like the halo of an angel. She was beautiful—every girl here was beautiful, as if they w
ere carved from ancient sculptures, wet clay molding their structured cheekbones, their full lips, their arched brows. The color of their skin painted from the finest of artists—each tone different from the one before—bounded proudly around their bodies, gloriously wrapping their souls to show who they were—who they’d become. Not a flicker of shame nor doubt could be seen.

  They were made to be praised. To be goddesses. Lara longed for that confidence.

  “You saw Ana on Sunday,” said Lilah. It wasn’t a question. Lara looked to her, the black curls surrounding her face seeming to blend with the darkness of the room, and nodded. “Do you remember what you saw?”

  “Of course I do—I’m not stupid.”

  Lara heard a laugh shoot out behind her and turned to the noise, finding a girl with dark skin and dark hair, her dreadlocks pulled into a bun, the highlighter on her cheek shining atop her smooth skin. She looked Lara up and down, her chestnut eyes gleaming with a sense of delight, but said nothing.

  Lilah looked to Lara with expectation—she wanted to hear what she’d seen, wanted to confirm Ana’s story.

  “Your friend pushed a guy from this bell tower—I saw him fall. I saw him die.”

  “Did you?” This time the blonde girl spoke.

  “Cut the act,” Lara snapped. “Why am I here? What is this?”

  Lara suddenly felt incredibly stupid for lasting this long—for sitting in an abandoned bell tower with a group of girls she did not know, could not trust. Her patience was running thin.

  “Just tell her, Evelyn,” said Lilah. Evelyn. That was her name.

  “You weren’t supposed to see Ana that night. We’re usually careful,” said Evelyn, as if she were reprimanding herself.

  “So, what—this is a common occurrence? You guys murdering people?”

  “Not people,” said Orion—a Sudanese girl Lara recognized from some party she’d drunkenly stumbled into—“men.”