A Poised Nuisance (Lithe Book 1)

by Iris RIvers

  “Lara?” someone said. She looked up. It was Evelyn. She was eyeing the dagger, taking in the blood.

  Lara shook her head, her body shaking. “I couldn’t do it,” she whispered. The confession shook the room. She hadn’t done it.

  Evelyn’s face softened. “We need to get him out of here,” she ordered, walking toward Kai’s motionless body. Lara’s body throbbed as she stood from the floor, lifting her sticky hands to her face.

  Kai’s blood coated her fingers. Kai’s.

  “Lara,” Evelyn said loudly, getting her attention. She was already dragging his body along the stage, careful not to make any noise. “Hurry, before the dancers file on stage.”

  Lara grabbed Kai’s arms, aiding her in pulling him offstage. Evelyn used her right hand to slide open the curtain.

  “What if someone sees?” Lara asked as they laid his body on the floor.

  “No one comes over here,” Evelyn answered. “They all exist on the opposite end of the stage.”

  Lara nodded. “What now?” she asked.

  “I need to clean off the stage,” Evelyn whispered. “Do you know anyone you could call for him? To take him to the hospital?”

  Lara searched her mind. “Yes,” she said, “I think I do.”

  Evelyn nodded, turning around to reach for Kai’s bag. “Where’d you find that?” Lara asked.

  “The dressing room,” Evelyn answered, pulling his phone from the front pocket. “I brought it here just in case anything went wrong.” She handed Lara his phone. “Now, you call them. I’ll be back.”

  Lara looked down to Kai’s phone, the screen bloodied. Her hands shook so violently it nearly fell from her hands, onto Kai’s body. She unlocked his phone easily, for he had no password—nothing to hide.

  Opening the phone app, she scrolled through the few contacts he had, looking for someone. Lara found them, their contact, and pressed call.

  They answered on the first ring.

  “Baker?” Lara said, attempting to mask her voice by lowering its pitch. “Kai’s in trouble. Come backstage.”

  Then she hung up, placing Kai’s phone onto his chest.

  Evelyn came back. “You ready?”

  Lara didn’t trust herself to speak without her voice breaking from the pain, so she simply nodded, looking down at Kai’s body one last time. Evelyn grabbed her hand, saying, “Let’s go.”

  And then they were gone.

  KAI WOKE IN A BED HE didn’t own, in a room he’d never seen. Everything was white: the sheets, the walls, the lights. He grimaced against the brightness, shutting his eyes slowly.

  “Kai?” a voice said. He couldn’t make out who it belonged to. “Are you awake?”

  Kai peeled open his eyes, gradually accepting the blinding color of the room. “Baker?” he said.

  Baker was here, sitting on his bed, squeezing his motionless hand. “Hi,” they whispered, blinking carefully against the swell of their red eyes.

  “Am I in the hospital?” he asked, looking over at the monitors surrounding him. An IV rested in his left arm, pushing fluids into his bloodstream.

  “Do you remember what happened?” Baker asked in return, letting go of his hand. Kai attempted to sit up in the bed, but a sharp pain rang across his body, stemming from his left shoulder. He winced, drawing his hand to where it ached. “The police have been here for a while,” they continued. “They want to ask you a few questions.”

  Kai shook his head. “No police.”

  “You were stabbed in the shoulder, Kai. With no evidence left behind. They can help you remember.”

  The air stirred as he thought back to the recital, to what had happened. He could only remember one thing though.

  He could only remember Lara.

  “They don’t need to,” Kai said, looking up at the ceiling lights. “I remember everything.”

  THE CLOCK HANGING ON the wall of Kai’s hospital room was ticking, each second passing by in miserable agony.

  The seconds to his life? He didn’t know.

  Kai was dreaming, but the ticking followed him into his nightmare.

  Tick.

  His mother’s blood.

  Tock.

  His father’s smile.

  Tick.

  His sister’s voice.

  Tock.

  Lara holding a blade.

  Lara.

  Lara.

  Kai peeled his eyes open slowly, his mind fogged by the pain medications the doctors had given him. Nothing seemed real. He lifted his hand up, moving his fingers slowly before his eyes.

  A figure moved in the darkness of Kai’s room, quick and unidentifiable. Kai snapped his head at the sight, but his eyes were slow, dragging sluggishly across the room. The world spun around him, and Kai’s head fell back onto his thin pillow.

  A weight shifted beside him, careful and steady, but Kai was trapped in a state of indolence, physically unable to lift his eyelids. Wordlessly, he brought a hand to his chest, his fingers tenderly feeling the bandages that wrapped around his bruised torso. Kai took two fingers and pushed deeper, gasping at the raw pain that ignited throughout his body.

  His thoughts whirled back to the recital—to the way Lara’s own fingers had pushed into his skin.

  Even then, with a stab wound on his body, the feeling of a blade pushed into his skin still there, still imaginable, the memory of Lara’s touch felt more agonizing than anything—more agonizing than his near death, when blood had poured from his wounds as he rested on the stage.

  It was Lara who had tried to kill him; who had effortlessly slid her dagger into his skin, unable to feel remorse.

  He hated her—he hated her so badly. But he couldn’t help but wonder where she was, what she was doing. He couldn’t help but fill his mind with her cruel lips and bronze skin.

  Kai was dying—he was nearly dying—but he was thinking of his worst enemy. His greatest destroyer.

  Something is wrong with me, he thought. Something must be truly wrong with me, to want what I want, after everything she’s done to me.

  Kai felt something brush across his face, the sensation crude and familiar. It was like someone was leaning over him, the strands of their hair dripping like a waterfall across his battered face. He felt a finger trace the outline of his jaw, up to the curve of his lips, the wrinkles beneath his eyes. A tear slid against his cheek—though it wasn’t his own.

  Or was it? Underneath the hospital lights and the touch of the stranger, Kai couldn’t tell.

  Kai pushed deeper into his bandages, sucking in a breath as he felt warm blood coat his fingers. His wound had reopened.

  The figure beside him moved away just as Kai began to reach out with his bloodied hand. No, Kai tried to say, but opening his mouth against the medicine seemed impossible. Come back.

  “Lara?” he whispered. His throat was painfully dry, so he wasn’t sure if he had said her name at all. It must’ve slipped out as only a breath, for no one responded. No one came back.

  As the numbness began to smother Kai’s palsied mind, his limbs weighing down the bed and the light above him flickering into darkness, the door to his room slammed shut.

  The clock continued to tick.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Life is for the living / Death is for the dead / Let life be like music / And death a note unsaid.” ––Langston Hughes

  January 2020

  Clarke hated hospitals.

  He hated the smell of ammonia, the tang of metal that filled his nose—from blood or from machinery, he couldn’t tell. The bareness of each wall gave him a horrible headache as he walked through the corridor, searching for a particular room.

  Room 2342. Clarke rapped his bruised knuckles against the dull white door.

  “Come in,” said a weak voice. He stepped inside. Kai was lying in his hospital bed, a gown wrapped around him like a child, idly flipping through a worn novel with a great number of pages.

  “Hey,” Clarke said, nearing the bed. “How are you doing?”
>
  “Fine,” Kai replied, not looking up from his book.

  Clarke eyed the skin that peeked through the gown. Bandages bound his torso, reaching to his chest. “I heard what happened,” he said.

  “So has everyone else,” Kai said, sounding bored. “You’re not special.”

  Clarke narrowed his eyes at Kai’s impassiveness. “Did you file a police report?”

  “No,” he answered, resting his head on a pillow and shutting his eyes.

  “Why, Kai?” Clarke asked. It seemed odd to him—getting stabbed, nearly killed, and choosing to remain quiet.

  Kai shrugged. “I didn’t want to.”

  “We need to find out who did this,” Clarke said. He looked over his shoulder, confirming they were alone. “This could be connected to your parents. To Lithe,” he hissed.

  “We?” Kai asked, opening his eyes. “Since when was there a we? I hired Farrow—not you.”

  “But Lithe—”

  “I don’t care about them anymore.”

  Clarke watched Kai’s face, trying to find a tick—something that proved he was lying. He had to have been lying, for how could he not care? How could he not care when they were so close?

  Clarke thought back to the day Kai had called him, hesitant and unsure, and introduced him to Lara—someone he knew; someone in Lithe.

  What are you going to do with her? Kai had asked—asked like he cared.

  Clarke rubbed his jaw, fingers itching against the stubble he had been too lazy to shave. “Is this about her? Lara?”

  “What?” Kai asked, his brows furrowed.

  “Did she threaten you?” Clarke dropped his hand from his face, realization dawning upon him. “Did she do this to you?”

  Kai played with the thin material of his blanket, fingers moving quickly. “No,” he said simply.

  “Then who did, Kai?”

  Clarke watched as Kai shook his head, looking away from Clarke’s intense gaze.

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  I don’t know.

  THE FORCE OF ALEXANDER’S lips against hers made Lara dizzy with anticipation. She kissed him back just as vigorously, pushing against his shoulders until he dropped to the bed, his skin flushed and wanting more.

  She sat on top of his body, dominating their kiss, as she reached for the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up.

  “Are you sure?” Alexander whispered into Lara’s mouth, his breath hot.

  Lara nodded eagerly, quieting him with her lips. She couldn’t bear to hear him speak—not when she was imagining another voice. Another boy.

  She imagined it was him pulling the plaid skirt from her hips, biting at the thin skin of her neck—that it was him whose hand cupped the small of her head, fingers entwined with the strands of her hair.

  It was him... It is him.

  “Do you have a—”

  Lara pushed him deeper into the mattress. “Can you shut up please?”

  Alexander flipped their positions, leaving her beneath his pale body. Lara huffed.

  “You’re pretty,” said Alexander, eyes softening as Lara’s squinted in confusion.

  “Okay,” Lara said dumbly. He didn’t speak. “You too,” she said into the silence.

  Alexander laughed, pressing his lips to her left collarbone. Lara could feel his smile as he trailed lower, to the skin above her breast, and kissed her there. She stared up at the ceiling, incredibly bored.

  “During winter break,” Alexander started, moving his free hand to her thighs, “I missed you.” He kissed her again—softer, lighter.

  Lara wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t missed him. She hadn’t thought of him, not once during her empty days. So, instead of speaking, she pushed his head down lightly, moving his kisses to between her legs.

  It was all too different. The way his lips met her skin—careful, like she was made of glass. The way he held her in his arms—afraid to squeeze her too tight.

  There was no fire—no passion. Lara didn’t want to cut open Alexander’s heart like she wanted to do with Kai. She wanted to tear Kai’s skin, but she also wanted to kiss him; she wanted to mend his broken bones only to break them again because she could.

  He has ruined me, Lara thought. I only find pleasure in pain—in the pain we cause together.

  “Lara,” Alexander whispered into her skin, pushing more of her skirt away. Her name didn’t sound like venom on his tongue; it didn’t sound like charred smoke or church doors. Instead, it sounded sweet and mellow; like a ripened song from ancient heavens. Like the drops of nectar pouring from a yellowed honeysuckle—grown in summer and dead by winter.

  It sounded nothing like the way Kai had said her name—malodorous and hostile—and that, for some strange reason, bothered her. Lara wasn’t something to protect. She was something to be feared. Kai knew that. He had never treated her like she was about to break in his grip, like she was fragile and weak.

  Alexander gripped Lara’s thighs, pushing her further. And when she broke, her mind delirious and her skin florid, she could only think of one person—of his blood and animosity and incontrollable languidness.

  Her abandonment. Her Kai.

  WHEN KAI HAD LEFT THE hospital, his skin sweaty and his wounds bruised, his breaths eased and his anxieties faded. He wasn’t sure why, but the coldness of the hospital had left him uncomfortable—restless.

  He entered his apartment clutching a bag of his belongings, the smell of old books and dying candles welcoming him home. He squinted against the sunlight pouring from his large windows, quickly walking over to shut the blinds.

  Darkness bathed the room.

  As he set his bag to the floor—the same bag Baker had packed for him after they’d watched him being carried to the ambulance—he looked down to the note his doctor had given him, written with clear instructions on how to treat his wound.

  Bandage every eight hours. Apply ointment after each wrap.

  Do not remove bandages while showering.

  Take an over-the-counter medicine if needed.

  Kai sighed, knowing prematurely that he would most likely forget to follow each of the doctor’s carefully scrawled instructions. He knew his parents would have helped him—they would’ve taken the first subway here if they’d known—but he hadn’t wanted to involve them. Not when he knew he would be okay. Not when Kaden was gone and they were alone.

  His apartment was empty of noise, of people. It was quiet and still. Stifled and cool. No one helped Kai as he fell back onto his bed; no one asked him if he needed water or if his wound was sore. Kai was alone—so obviously alone that, for the first time, he felt it. He felt it like another stab to the chest.

  The memories of it all—of the recital; of Lara’s ribbon and her arms and her polished blade. The cold air pushed against Kai’s skull as he thought back to the pain he had felt as he’d watched her push the dagger into his skin. He’d heard her whispering, but, even now, the words were muddled. He heard the soft consonants that fell from her lips like dripping blood—like the blood that poured from his wound. But nothing had been real, no words or sounds could be understood—distinguished—for the only thing that had been was Lara.

  The only thing that had been was Lara killing him—stealing the breath from his lungs and ceasing his blood flow.

  Kai wondered why he hadn’t told Clarke who the perpetrator had been. He knew it was Lara—he knew it like he knew his own name. But still, imagining himself gifting Clarke Lara’s name in that way seemed horribly unendurable.

  Why? he thought. Why did I—after being the subject of Lara’s attempted murder—feel so compelled to save her skin?

  It made no sense to Kai. He couldn’t comprehend his own feelings. The malice and burning hostility he had felt for Lara was beginning to fuse with lust and desire and the need to hold her—to touch her.

  She tried to kill me, he told himself. She hates me.

  But even that couldn’t stop his perfervid mind. Kai knew what that meant, what that said
about him.

  Lara was horrible—she was unfeeling and heartless—but so was he, for wanting to kiss her just as badly as he wanted to kill her.

  Kai fell asleep knowing his mind couldn’t be stopped, but neither could his heart.

  VIOLET PULLED UP THE zipper of her Docs—platformed, because the thought of wearing anything but revolted her—and slipped out of her apartment.

  She hadn’t bothered to say goodbye to Ana, and she felt uninclined to let her know her soon-to-be whereabouts. Violet did neither, because she knew her roommate would only hound her with questions. Viable questions, but still. She didn’t feel the need to share every second of her life.

  Her father had already taken too much of her time, and she wouldn’t let another second go to waste.

  Not when there was so much to explore—so much to discover. Violet’s mind was a curtain of knowledge and thirst, always desiring more than it could take. She had always felt the need to uncover every secreted corner of this world. It haunted her like a whisper against her skin as she took long walks on an isolated night, book clutched in her hand like a weapon.

  When Violet reached the outside of her building, she caught Sage sitting on a bike stand, phone in hand.

  “Hi,” Violet greeted as she approached her. Sage looked up, whistling at Violet’s outfit. Apart from the shoes, Violet wore a dress tailored to fit every curve of her light skin. Her legs were covered in fishnet tights, holes opened at her knees. Against the chill of the midnight air, she wore a black denim jacket, the material cropped just above her waist.

  It was a flirtatious outfit, but an easy one. Blood would not easily stain the clothes.

  “Are you ready?” Violet asked.

  Sage nodded, standing to link their arms. Violet tried her best not to pull her arm from her hold. “Of course,” Sage said.

  The pair started their walk into the night, and Violet raised a brow, craning her head to assess Sage’s features. A light blush tinted her cheeks, her eyes distant and refusing to meet Violet’s stare.

  When Violet had first joined Lithe, it hadn’t taken her long to figure out that something was wrong with Sage.