No Saint

by Jo Raven

  “You’re funny,” she says with a small laugh.

  Really.

  I mean, sure. Funny, confident, cool. That’s me. This brand new me. Not letting Ross under my skin. Not letting anyone get me down.

  ... yeah okay, who am I kidding? Maybe my confidence still needs some more work after all...

  Chapter Four

  Ross

  I drag the last of the smoke from my cigarette, then chuck it to the street and look up at the sign of my dad’s garage. It’s rusty, creaking in the warm summer breeze. The entrance is padlocked, but through the gate I can see husks of cars and smell the familiar smell of car oil and gasoline.

  I basically grew up in here, much more than I did at the house down Oak Alley, twenty minutes away on foot. The house was never ours. Dad rented it. I don’t have the heart to even pass outside these days, and it’s been cordoned off by the police. I snuck in and slept a couple of times, but I felt so fucking creeped out.

  Knowing my mom was buried not far from here, in the woods by the river.

  Believing it was my dad who killed her.

  Even if no evidence has been found—so far.

  Yeah, the house doesn’t feel like home anymore, but the garage...? Padlocked since Dad went to prison, empty, it calls to me.

  Gripping the steel bars of the gate, I press my forehead to them and close my eyes. In my mind’s eye, I see Dad sitting in his small, stuffy office, I hear him yelling at me, yelling at the mechanics. At Evan who used to be his right-hand man. Matt Hansen who called him out on his bullshit.

  Called me out, too.

  What a stupid little shit I was. Always have been. Stupid and angry, always so fucking angry at the world. Mocking it. Mocking everyone.

  Mocking good everywhere I saw it. Because I thought it was weakness. Cowardice.

  Fucking stupid, like I said.

  But who the fuck cares now?

  It’s late afternoon. The sun has dipped behind the buildings on main street, and my day’s work is done. I work at a new construction site now, out of town, and I come back in the evenings to find a place to sleep. Sometimes I stay at the site, hide until they lock it up and curl up in a nook, but the supervisor found out the other day and wasn’t too happy about it.

  Can’t afford to lose this job, so... back to Destiny it is.

  Back to avoiding the house and hanging around the empty garage and this fucking sad town like a curse you can’t shake off, washing my clothes in the stinking sink at the back, in this shanty town of a place, drinking and smoking and putting off the decision of where to spend the night this time.

  In a bar? In a store entrance? Under a tree somewhere?

  The latter appeals. I mean, it’s not cold outside anymore as Summer settles in, the nights warm as shit, smelling like that, too. I’ll buy a bottle of booze and drink myself to sleep.

  Same old, same old. How fucking exciting.

  Stacy scowls at me from behind the counter when I enter the town’s grocery store. Scowls even worse when I ask for a cheap bottle of Vodka and count out the money, bills and pennies and all.

  Her gray hair is coiled in a tight bun, her features drawn, skin brown and wrinkled from the sun. This woman has worked here for as long as I can remember. Dad often sent me to buy him cigarettes and booze since I could walk and talk.

  The same items I come to buy now for myself.

  With another baleful look in my direction, she turns, grabs a bottle from the shelf, slams it on the counter, takes my money. Nods and stares unblinking, as if waiting for me to look away first. To break first.

  “Thanks.” I hold up the bottle and turn to go.

  She doesn’t tell me I shouldn’t drink. Doesn’t ask if I need anything else.

  Serves me right. And it’s nothing new. I made an enemy of the people of this town long ago and nothing has changed—a fact I’m made even more aware of now, as I step back onto the street and into the waiting arms of my old victims.

  ***

  It wasn’t all that bad this time. Just a shove and a curse, a kick at my bruised legs, and I’m left to continue on my way, as if nothing happened.

  Nothing out of the ordinary, the new routine.

  A stray dog is following me, a small mutt with stiff ears and short legs. He often does. His name’s Buddy. I gave him the name and he seems to like it, wagging his tail and barking at me when I call him.

  He dances around my feet, and I throw him a piece of bread I had in my pocket. He goes after it, all excited-like, and swallows it in one bite.

  “I’ll getcha some dog chow,” I promise him. I often carry a bag of it around, in case I see him, but I forgot. “Next time.”

  He comes back to me and whines, winding between my legs, almost throwing me down. I lean down to pat his head, and he follows me.

  “Can’t take you home, Buddy,” I explain like every time, as if he’d understand. “I don’t have a home. Better find someone else.”

  I leave him behind at the main street, a glance confirming he has stopped to sniff a trash container. I hurry on, the booze in my blood making me feel liquid. It makes me feel fucking warm and slow, though something’s pricking at me, like thorns under my skin, inside my chest.

  Stopping outside Mike’s diner, I lean against the wall by the entrance, one boot propped up, the half-empty bottle hanging loosely from my hand, and try to focus.

  My thoughts are hanging loose, strung together with anger and bitterness and a gut-wrenching sadness that I never talk about to anyone. Who would I talk to? My half-sister, Octavia who insists I can be saved? Merc, my half-brother who insists on checking on me?

  Bullshit.

  I’m not even sure what it is. The fact that Mom is dead? That dad killed her? That her body was left to rot in a shallow grave not far from where I lived all my life? That a second skeleton was found nearby, probably also done in by Dad’s mighty hand? The same hand that slapped me, punched me, wielded the belt that lashed me as I grew up?

  That he later tried to kill me, too?

  Or maybe it’s just life. The world. Too much. Too straight. Too bright for the likes of me.

  God fuck, booze sometimes puts shit into my head, drags me down like a stone hanging around my neck. I sink down, bring the bottle to my lips and drink some more. Maybe it will balance the world out. Balance out this fucking misery in my brain.

  Footsteps register right before a shadow looms over me.

  “Hey, get off the premises,” Jim says, Mike’s cook, scowling down at me. “You’re not allowed to sleep here, you know that.”

  “Fuck you.” I give him the finger and seeing him from this perspective, down here on the ground, he looks funny. I snicker. “Fuck. You.”

  “I mean it, Ross. Look...” His voice goes quieter. “I’d let you if I could but the boss won’t allow it, you know that.”

  “And I said fuck you. And fuck him.”

  “You’re drunk,” he says, and he sounds almost sad. “You’re wasting your money, your life on booze, just like your dad did. You could—”

  “Fuck you for comparing me to him.”

  “Hey, watch your mouth.”

  “Well, fine, you’re right. That’s who I am, Jim. My father’s clone.” I gesture at myself and bare my teeth. “I drink and fuck and get into fights. Didn’t you know?”

  “Oh come on, Ross...”

  “Why don’t you run on home to your wifey and kids, Jim? Tail between your legs, no mind of your own, huh?” I stalk toward him. “Fucking coward, no life to talk about, no balls to fuck the girl you really wanna fuck, playing house all your life? Your wife fucks a neighbor but you don’t do a thing because you’re chicken shit.”

  “You motherfucker.” His face has gone dark red. “You fucking motherfucker. And here I am, trying to be kind.”

  I sneer. “Kind doesn’t work on me, Jimmy boy.”

  “Damn you.”

  He’ll fight me, I know it. I touched a nerve. Or more.

  Did it on p
urpose, of course. I’ve known Jim all my life. I know what makes him tick. His fears. His regrets. So I toy with him. Push his buttons.

  Until he comes at me.

  I let him get the first punch in, then it’s on and we’re rolling in the dirt, trying to choke each other.

  That’s all the fun you can have in a town like Destiny. Beats watching the dust settle. And takes my mind off darker things, thoughts that prey at the edges of my mind, waiting to pounce the moment I let down my guard.

  Asking why I’m still here.

  Why I don’t let go of the lifeline. Why I don’t let myself sink all the way down, let the dark close over me. It would be so easy, so fucking easy. So calm. Such a relief.

  But even though I’m accusing others of being chicken-shit, I’m the one who’s scared fucking shitless of giving up on life. So when I finally shove Jim off me and wipe blood off my mouth and chin, when he glares at me and threatens to get the cops, I climb up to my feet, grab my goddamn bottle and limp away.

  Anyway, it’s all my fault. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

  But anger kicks in as I drag my sorry steps away, like it usually does. Could be the only thing keeping me back from the edge, alongside with fear. Fuck you, world, fuck you. I’m gonna fuck you up, because I am rage, I am fury, I am all the thorns you have to offer pointing back at you. You made me who I am, so now, sit back and enjoy.

  Chapter Five

  Luna

  “Heya, Josh,” I call out to my brother as I come down the stairs, skidding to a halt just long enough to check I have my house key in my purse. “Gotta run, I’m late!”

  “But Luna. You promised you’d play God of War with me!”

  “Did I? Shit.”

  “Luna, language!” Dad shouts from the other room, and it’s not in me to remind him I’m eighteen now and can do whatever the hell I want.

  Curse. Have sex. Move out.

  Anything but drink in public, and even that... I look old enough.

  Not that it matters. That’s not my style, going out for a wild party night—not then and not now. Who would I go with, anyway? Dena? We’d have to drive to one of the big towns, like Columbia, or Jefferson City just to find a decent bar or night club.

  And why am I even thinking about it now? Since I came back home my mind’s gone haywire. My goal is to go to college. I’ve got the grades, just waiting for replies, and—

  “Luna.” Josh sounds exasperated. “I’m talking to you!”

  I blink. “Sorry. I’m late for work.”

  He glances at me, with big, sad eyes, like a kicked puppy. “You never stay. You’re always leaving.”

  That stops me cold at the door. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it? You left for three years, and now you’re back and we’ve barely seen you.”

  I sigh. “Did Dad put you up to this? To make me feel guilty?”

  He only shakes his head, mouth thin, and turns back to his computer.

  I wish he’d yelled at me. Cursed me. Anything but this sad look on his face. I want to tell him I’ll stay, I’ll never go away, I’ll play all the games in the world with him. But how can I, when all I want is to run away again, just like he said?

  Undecided, confused, I stand at the door, on a threshold I can’t see, caught between the past and the future, between Destiny and the outside world. Between my old and new life.

  Ross’s face flashes in my mind, another tether, another anchor. The greatest perhaps of them all. He never touched me, not once, never shoved me or kicked me.

  But his mocking words won’t leave my mind. And he was always there, watching, the maestro behind the bullies, the face to my pain and humiliation. I can never forgive him. Never forget. Rich small town boy who thinks he owns the world. The prince of Destiny, climbing on the throne the moment his dad went to jail.

  Our very own cruel royalty.

  As I walk out of the house, closing the door softly behind me, I think about him. I always think about him. Oh, I may want to ignore him, but he’s always with me. A mixture of loathing and fascination that has followed me away from Destiny anywhere I went.

  My hatred for him... my hatred burns brighter than a thousand suns. Nothing can redeem him, ever.

  Ever.

  Only question is why do I have to keep reminding myself of this little fact every day? You’d think there would be no need for it by now.

  ***

  “There he is, there he is!” Dena hisses in my ear two days later, startling the crap out of me.

  “What? Who? Jenner?”

  “Jenner. Psht.”

  “Then who?” I pass her by with my tray loaded with dirty dishes and cups and only turn around to look after I’ve unloaded it in the kitchen, catastrophe. I’ve never been known for my amazing sense of balance, sadly.

  “Ross of course!”

  That stops me in my tracks. I wipe my hand down my thighs, try to hide the tremble in them. “No way. He’s back?”

  Then again Dena did say he comes here sometimes. And doesn’t pay.

  Typical, right? No-one’s surprised. Well, I am surprised, actually, that Mike allows it and doesn’t kick him out once and for all.

  Does Mike know Ross is eating here for free? I doubt it, and I vow to tell him if I see him. Why should I let Ross take advantage of the place where I work? He’s taken enough advantage of people, of me, already. Screw him.

  “What’s up? You look upset.” Dena is carrying two trays loaded with dishes, but still she stops to ogle Ross. “Come on, you think he’s hot, admit it.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes! Love and hate are sides on the same coin, you know.”

  “Well, my side’s definitely leaning toward hate, if you wanna know.”

  “You’re staring at him.”

  “Am I?”

  Oops.

  “Luna...”

  “I’m into Jenner, okay? Jenner, not Ross. In fact, scratch that, too. I’m not into anyone.”

  “Okay...” She doesn’t look convinced. “Listen.” She leans toward me and whispers, “I thought you might want to know that I heard Ross is pierced down there.”

  “What?” I can’t have heard her right. I must be hearing things.

  “In his dick.”

  Oh dear God. “I got it the first time. Why do you think I’d care?” I roll my eyes, annoyed, yeah, annoyed, that’s what I am—mainly at the small thrill that goes through me at the image.

  Like, really? Come on, Luna. Who cares about Ross’s dick, who cares about Ross, period—and what the hell is wrong with me? I should decide how I feel, sort my thoughts, and for God’s sake, leave Ross in the rearview mirror.

  It’s about time.

  ***

  But the thought of him won’t leave me alone, following me home, following me to bed at night.

  I’m going crazy, right? This isn’t normal. How can you be attracted to your greatest enemy? Can you both hate and want him at the same time?

  Dena seems to think so.

  Not that this is a new question. I mean, it’s hard not to fall for Ross Jones. Let me haste to clarify, that’s before you get to know him. Before he shows his mean streak, his twisted mind. But he’s always been handsome in a pale ivory-and-gold, Nordic-god way. Somehow aloof and distant, though he slept with half the school. All the girls wanted to be his girlfriend.

  He never slept with them more than once, though. Screwed them and dumped them. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. And I always thought they were so stupid, so incredibly stupid—even as I looked, and sighed, and daydreamed about him.

  Then his group turned their attention to me, and well, after that, the daydreams stopped, and turned into dreams of escaping this town, escaping him, and punishing him somehow.

  I knew all along it was dumb. Punish him? How? And what good would it do? I needed to think of myself, escape Destiny, make a life somewhere far from here, from him. I imagined him continuing his reign of terror, bullying generations of
local children, sitting on a throne made of their frozen tears.

  Or something.

  But instead... “His dad tried to kill him.” Like I’m supposed to feel sorry for him. Whatever. I don’t, okay?

  Still, I want to find out more about that. Maybe Dena knows?

  Dena and her ideas. Who the hell cares if stupid Ross has metal in his dick?

  An image forms before my eyes, of Ross, leaning back, pants unzipped, his hand between his legs, working his cock. It’s long, so long and thick and hard, and silver glints on the underside, and... and he looks at me from under his lashes and smirks...

  God.

  God, Luna. This isn’t good. Not good at all. He hurt me badly. Hurt me and it wasn’t even personal. He’d look at me but never show any emotion. Never say a word.

  Did I want him to notice me? To be the one to punish me?

  Whoa, stop that train of thought right there. You can’t be hot for a guy like him. Guys like him never change.

  Guys like him will mock you, not want you. you’re only setting yourself up for more heartache, and who ever needed their heart broken repeatedly over a bastard like him?

  Stupid girls, right?

  I’m not a stupid girl. I will have a future. I won’t be stranded here, and I won’t think of Ross ever again. That’s my new life’s resolution.

  ***

  “How was it, living with auntie?” Josh asks over dinner. It’s TV dinner tonight, and I’ve always loved that—putting on a movie, ordering burgers and fries and sodas and sitting together on the sofa to watch.

  Yeah, we’re not the healthiest eaters on the planet. Could be why I’m also not the thinnest girl in town, but I’m okay with it now.

  Mostly.

  “Aunt Emily is cool,” I tell him and steal one of his fries, just because I can. Haven’t badgered my little brother much in the past three years, got to catch up on lost time. “And so are our cousins. You should go visit them someday.”

  “Nah. They’ve always preferred you.”

  “Josh, that’s not true and you know it. They just don’t know you well. Now give me the remote.”

  “No way, that’s mine.”