To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  He visibly swallows, answering me quietly, “I’m bringing a date tonight. To the party.”

  His green eyes are wide and etched in enough worry to make me feel momentarily culpable. But then I remember what he just said and a raging tremble overcomes my limbs. My jaw grows tight as I attempt to get a handle on my emotions, but it’s tough.

  I want to panic. I want to scream and cry. In my mind I do, because I don’t want him to have a date. I don’t want him moving on. It’s too much.

  Lazarus and my Dad… both dating women. I hate how everything’s changing. It gives me a terrible stomachache.

  Sure, Dad has gone on a few dates in the last year or so, but it was an abstract concept because I didn’t have to witness it happening. The same goes for Lazarus and Evangeline. If I don’t see them together, I can pretend it’s not real.

  But Dad bringing a date to a party at our home, where Mom lived with us. It feels wrong.

  I suppose he would need to move on eventually, but I just figured eventually was in like ten years, when I’d already moved out, and again, I could pretend it wasn’t happening.

  “T… please,” my father shifts until he’s kneeling on the floor in front of me. “Say something. Tell me you’re alright.”

  His tone has tears pushing behind my eyes, of frustration and sadness. I hate that he sees me as fragile. I’m a lot stronger than he thinks I am.

  He has no idea the kinds of things I deal with.

  I finally swallow, straightening up on my bed. “It’s fine, Dad. Do you.”

  His forehead creases, and he looks perplexed. “What the hell kind of response is that?”

  I scoff and shake my head. “It just means, whatever. Do whatever you have to do to make yourself happy, I guess.”

  He stares at me for a while in bewildered silence. I feel bad for stressing him out, but if he wants me to be okay with him seeing someone who isn’t my mother romantically, he’s got another thing coming.

  My dad is an attractive man. I know this, and not just because Merci is constantly gushing over him. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed how women react around him. The same way they do around Lazarus.

  The same way I do around Lazarus…

  And being a good-looking guy his age, I’m sure my dad has needs that I don’t want to think about. Even outside of the sexual, things like companionship, laughter, fun. He deserves to have that with people other than me and Laz. My dad is a good man. The last thing I wanted was for him to die alongside my mother, and for a few dark years, it looked like that had happened.

  But now he’s getting back out there, and I have to be alright with it, objectively. I know that no one will ever replace Mom in his eyes, but who’s to say he can’t enjoy the company of someone?

  I shudder a little because it reminds me of Lazarus and Evangeline. I’m not okay with that, but for a very different reason.

  “Dad, it’s alright,” I pat his shoulder. “I’m okay. Just, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not have to like… talk to her. I really don’t know if I can -”

  “T, honey, that is fine,” he grasps my face in his hands, locking his moss-green eyes on mine. “Really, it’s not even that serious. I just wanted to warn you so you weren’t surprised, but I’m definitely not at a place where I want to be introducing her, or anyone to you. It’s not like that.”

  He clears his throat and I’m getting it a little more. My dad is sewing his newfound oats as a widow. Well, that’s sort of disgusting, but as long as he doesn’t want me to talk to anyone, I’m good.

  “Cool.” I shoot him a weak smile and he smiles back, much brighter than my own. I’m happy to see him looking like this again. For a while there I wasn’t sure if it would happen.

  “You’re so damn smart,” he kisses my nose. “And mature beyond your years. I’m the luckiest dad on Earth.”

  “Pretty much,” I grin and he chuckles, standing up slowly.

  “Alright, baby girl. Get dressed in something fancy and get ready to party.” He winks at me before turning and leaving my room, taking the smiles with him.

  Because as soon as my door shuts, I’m a ball of stress once more.

  Not only will I spend the night alone, surrounded by boring adults, but also the only two people I would want to spend time with will be preoccupied with bimbos.

  Yea, I’m gonna need that Moet now.

  Sneaking downstairs, I tiptoe through the kitchen, peering around for any sign of my dad. When I spot him outside talking to the caterers, I quickly snatch one of the open bottles of champagne from inside the fridge, scampering back upstairs unseen.

  As I get dressed and do my makeup, I take a half a Xanax and wash it down with the cold bubbly liquid straight from the bottle. I choose a dress; long, black, slinky and backless, with a slit up the side that might be considered too high for a sixteen-year-old, but who cares. I’ll pretty much be my own date tonight anyway, and if the champagne has me feeling frisky later, might as well look good for myself.

  I’ve always got my fingers and my imagination to take me to bed.

  Dancing around my room, I’m already feeling much more relaxed, and with a side-braid to hold my blonde locks away from my face, and a shimmery highlighter on, I’m pleased with my appearance. I might even be giggling when a song comes on Mom’s playlist about the singer not liking a boy’s girlfriend.

  I imagine myself singing it to Lazarus and laugh even harder.

  As the sun sets, I hear music outside in the backyard which means the band has started. My stomach goes back to twisting as I slip on some heels and make my way downstairs, the sounds of a party coming from outside. People talking over the music, dishes and glasses clinking. As I pass the kitchen, caterers bark quiet orders at each other. I slug back the last of my champagne bottle and leave it on the marble island, heading toward the veranda.

  As soon as I step outside, I’m taken aback. Everything looks beautiful. Twinkly lights are strung up across the entire backyard, and a clear top covers the pool, like blue magic with the spotlights on. There are silver and black glass decorations everywhere, and white flowers scattered along the entire perimeter of our property.

  It’s like a fairy tale.

  And the first person I spot, from across the crowded party, his presence calling out to me amongst a sea of ordinary, rich faces, is Lazarus.

  His normally unruly black hair is swept back, though there are still a couple strands falling by his face. Dark brows pull together in concern or distaste for whatever the person speaking to him is saying; perfectly plush lips pursed in his normal scowl, jawline dusted with stubble that I’m sure would feel like pain and pleasure brushing against my sensitive skin.

  Taking a deep breath to calm my staggering heartbeat, I swallow all the saliva in my mouth from how positively delicious he looks. As usual.

  He always looks this way. Phenomenal. Like a work of art.

  But regardless of how many times I see his tall, strapping body made of muscle, soft golden skin and dark ink, whether it’s covered by a perfectly elegant tux like it is now, or a simple t-shirt and jeans, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to brush him off. I’m not sure there will ever come a time when I spot him that I don’t stop and stare, in awe. Just to marvel at his beauty, every rapture of his cruel, tainted and severely handsome exterior covering the little bits and pieces of passion and humanity I know are inside.

  As I’m standing up on the veranda, ogling him, while everyone else goes about their business without even noticing me, Lazarus looks up, and does.

  And in his true fashion, he doesn’t acknowledge me. Not really, anyway.

  But this time, his eyes lock on mine and there’s the slightest quirk to the corner of his mouth, imperceptible to anyone but me. Not even the people he’s standing directly in front of would notice. It’s not a smile, not a frown. It’s nothing to the outside world.

  But from Lazarus, I know it means something. I can’t help the giddy smile that crosses my mauve lips, b
efore I bite the bottom one to smother it, looking away in timidity. And sure enough, as soon as I look up again, he’s back in conversation with whoever he was talking to.

  The insignificant moment is gone, but I’m alright with it. That one look was enough to light up my sky.

  Despite the warmth in my belly from my buzz and the illusive presence of Lazarus Weston, the party goes on and I’m just as bored as I knew I would be. I see Dad, and he introduces me to some clients. Then I converse with a few of his business associates I remember, and by the time that’s done, I seem to have lost him. I’m sure he’s off with his date somewhere. I don’t want to know.

  I say a quick hello to Evangeline, but immediately scurry off to avoid speaking to her for one second longer than I need to. I discreetly sip more champagne while overhearing the very enlightening conversations rich people have when they think no one’s listening.

  Men talking to their dates, who are clearly escorts and not their wives, about money in exchange for certain favors; business talks about shady ventures; women dishing on which of these married men they’ve slept with. I could write a manifesto with all this information, or probably do some very lucrative blackmailing.

  It’s a wonder to me that these people manage to hold on to their money. Or maybe I really am just that invisible.

  A couple hours have passed and while I’d love to ditch the most boring New Year’s party that’s ever been had at this house, it’ll be midnight soon and I want to at least say I stuck it out to the end.

  I’m lingering by one of the lemon trees, decorated with all these hanging tea light bulbs, counting how many times the guy I’m watching has checked out the ass of his business partner’s wife, when a tall figure glides into my peripheral.

  “Not exactly a wallflower, but still on the sidelines.”

  The deep and soulful voice of my father’s best friend graces me, and I can’t help the way my head springs in his direction, startled.

  When I look up at his face, dimmed and shadowed by the glow, he looks like the villain from the fairy tale. The one you’re most certainly not supposed to talk to, let alone fall for.

  But then that’s Lazarus for me. Evil only because of his mystery, and how much I shouldn’t want him. And how good he makes it feel to do the wrong thing.

  Snapping out of it, I process his words. “I’m just… observing.”

  “And what have you seen?” His head tilts. “Anything good?”

  Amusement curves my mouth. “Not really good, no. Definitely interesting.”

  He nods subtly then turns his gaze back out to the party, both of us looking on at the opulence.

  “I used to hate things like this when I was your age, too,” he confesses in a soft, forthcoming tone. “And we have something in common.”

  I peek at him. “What’s that?”

  “I was dragged into it by your dad as well.” Lazarus dips his chin to lock his gray eyes on me. And he smiles.

  I almost gasp out loud.

  A real, genuine Lazarus Weston smile, out in the wild. I can’t believe it. I smile back, because I have to. There’s no way I could hold it in now. His smile is the single most perfect thing I’ve ever seen on a face. Straight white teeth, shapely lips… dimples. The whole nine.

  I’m swooning so hard, I almost miss what he says next. But thank God my ears perk up to it, because I would never believe he’d say something like this without hearing it for myself.

  “That dress suits you, Tracien.” Spoken in a raspy-sweet voice, like lemon meringue, his eyes slide to take me in, for only a split second. “Very beautiful, just like your mother.”

  My mouth falls open, but I wouldn’t know how to respond if given an entire lifetime to prepare. The smile is still lingering on his full mouth, and warmth pools between my thighs at the same time that tears threaten to burst from behind my eyes.

  People tell me I look like my mother all the time. Many of them tell me I look like my father, too. But for some reason, Lazarus calling me beautiful like Mom means so much to my fragile heart.

  He loved my mother. Not romantically, but he did love her. And he respected her. She was his family.

  It’s as if he’s acknowledging me as more than just the daughter of his best friends, but a part of his family, too. I’ve always known that Lazarus loves me like one would be expected to love a family member; obligatorily. But if he loves me in the same way he loves Mom and Dad, then it’s real. Solidified.

  I’m not invisible, nor am I a complicated problem he can never seem to solve. I’m here to him.

  He sees me.

  I attempt to speak, but let out a small cough, because everything is caught in my throat. It makes him chuckle.

  First a smile, and now a laugh? What have I done to deserve all this tonight?

  Biting back my giant smile, I warm up a bit, allowing my eyes to travel his figure in return.

  “You look good, too,” I speak softly, regaining a bit of my sass. “Maybe a little uncomfortable.”

  He purses his lips to hide his grin, gray eyes twinkling like the lights above our heads. “You don’t approve of the penguin suit?”

  “I never said I didn’t approve…” I force myself to stop before I blurt out that he looks sexier than any other human I’ve ever seen.

  He sighs, “It’s a big night, after all,” flicking one of the dangling lights with his finger. “I have to look the part.”

  All traces of amusement leave his face in and instant, his tone having shifted to one more pensive and bored. He sounds like the Lazarus I’m used to, and my stomach drops in disappointment.

  I part my lips to say something - anything - to get him smiling again, but before I can, he lifts his arm to glance at the vintage Rolex ever-present on his wrist.

  “Almost midnight.” He straightens up.

  My hand wants to reach out and grab his; to stop him from leaving so soon. But it’s too late. He steps away, turning to me one last time over his shoulder.

  “Happy New Year, Trix. Do us all a favor and keep your lips to yourself,” he smirks knowingly and shoots me a wink.

  Then he saunters off, and I’m left standing by myself beneath lemons and glowing bulbs.

  I release the longest breath I didn’t realize I was holding onto, shaking off whatever that was.

  Regardless of his mercurial tendencies, I can’t deny how amazing it felt to talk to him again. We haven’t spoken much since he started dating Evangeline, and even before that, my crush has made it difficult for me to speak to him normally, without lashing out.

  I hate to think that he’s found a girlfriend, so he’s moving on with his own life and forgetting about me and Dad. I’m sure my father still needs him… I still need him.

  This thing with Evangeline will fade. It has to. But we’ll always be his family.

  Speaking of the brunette devil, I watch as Lazarus joins her across the pool, taking her by the elbow. He still isn’t overly affectionate with her, which I have to appreciate. The day he starts hugging and kissing her in front of me will be the day I pluck my own eyes out.

  Looking around for my father, I see him standing with a redhead who’s hanging on his shoulder, smiling up at him while he watches Lazarus and Evangeline with an odd look on his face. I’m not sure what the look means, but I can’t stop staring at the redheaded bimbo who’s wearing a slinky silver dress and touching my father. It turns my stomach a bit, so I follow Dad’s gaze to Lazarus and his own bimbo, in her red dress.

  Scoffing, I roll my eyes. The red is a bit much. She looks like she’s trying way too hard.

  But suddenly the music fades out and I notice Evangeline’s face more than her gaudy dress. She looks excited and partially bemused. My brow furrows as I watch Lazarus, who is now holding her hand. He’s speaking to her, but I can’t hear him. I’m too far away.

  My stomach tightens into an unforgiving knot as I stomp closer to them. Lazarus and Evangeline’s eyes are locked on one another as I pick up my pace, he
ad darting all around in realization that everyone else’s eyes are locked on them, too.

  Laz’s voice becomes more audible as I rush up to the glass-covered pool that separates us.

  “And so I would like to ask you, Evangeline…” He releases one of her hands, slipping his into the pocket of his tux.

  When he pulls it back out, he’s holding a small black box.

  My eyes widen, and every ounce of air drains from my lungs as time slows to a stop, Lazarus’s voice echoing, “Will you marry me?”

  The words slit me open at the belly. All my guts fall out all over the pool tiles.

  Evangeline squeals and covers her mouth with her right hand, holding out her left to him and looking so choreographed I could retch.

  “Yes! Lazarus, oh my God! Yes, I will marry you!”

  The crowd erupts into applause, and Lazarus smiles at her. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes… Not like the one he gave me just moments ago.

  But a smile nonetheless, and I’m so dizzy I can’t see straight.

  My vision swims and I struggle to pull in the oxygen needed to breathe. My hand flies to my throat. I think I may pass out, but of course no one is paying attention to me.

  Lazarus is sliding a ring onto his fiancée’s finger, my dad is clapping and tugging his date into his side. The band is announcing, Congratulations!

  And I’m dying.

  Bleeding out, slowly and painfully, with flecks of light dancing around the edges of my vision.

  Jesus Christ, get me out of here.

  I cover my mouth and gag as I push, rather rudely, through the crowd of people who are rushing to congratulate the happy couple. Tripping up the steps and inside the house, I grab the side of an armoire to steady myself.

  My heart has been violently bisected into two separate, equally useless chunks. My hands tremble and tears stream from my eyes, though it doesn’t even feel like I’m crying.

  I can’t believe this. It doesn’t make any sense.

  Why would he want to marry her? Why would he need to?

  Lazarus getting married?? It makes no sense. None at all.

  Gagging again, I wobble in my heels past the kitchen where caterers also ignore me. I grip the bannister to ensure I don’t fall, hearing the crowd outside counting down.