The Wicked Truth

by Pru Schuyler

  The boy was fine. There was just something about him I couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe he really had changed.

  The valet approached Austin’s door, and he got out. Austin tossed him the keys.

  I pulled on my door handle, but it didn’t open. I checked to see if the lock was pushed down, but it wasn’t. I pulled it up just to be sure, but it didn’t budge. It was technically unlocked. I tried the door handle again. Nothing. What the hell? I had literally been in here, like, last week, and it’d worked fine.

  FOUR

  “Stop hitting me! Just stop fighting, Stels. I’m almost done.”

  He draws his left hand across his body, past his shoulder, and crashes it hard on my cheek, his championship hockey ring drawing blood.

  I gasp and throw myself up.

  Breathe, Stella. Breathe.

  My surroundings slowly come into focus, and reality floods back in. I grab my throat as I feel the air pour into my lungs. My chest is burning with pressure.

  My song. I need my song. I turn and grab my iPhone off my nightstand, shakily typing my password in. I unwrap my earbuds from it and shove them in my ears.

  My chest is rising and falling so fast. I know I’m having a panic attack. Nothing new, a typical way I start my mornings. Another thing he took from me.

  My peace.

  I open my Music app, click my Breathe playlist, and play the only song in there—“River Flows in You.” As the piano keys begin to hum the melody, I set my phone down next to me on my bed. I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them, slowly rocking. I focus on every key and every note, following the flow of the song.

  Deep breaths, I remind myself. One, two, three, four, five.

  I repeat these steps to the song until I feel my breathing begin to slow and the ache in my chest fade. I don’t exactly know when this song became my rock, but it’s the only thing that can pull me out of these attacks. I finish the song and pull my earbuds out, staying there for a moment. Just sitting with my brain empty of any thoughts.

  Ugh, I need a distraction today.

  Just then, my phone buzzes, and I see Brooke ♥—she added the heart.

  Brooke ♥: Hey, are you up yet?

  That’s just what I need. I exhale the breath and quickly type out a response.

  Me: Perfect timing. I just woke up! :)

  I even add a smiley face, just for her. And maybe a little for me. Seconds after I hit Send, my phone buzzes again.

  Brooke ♥: Okay, so what’s the plan for today? Any ideas? I can show you around. I can show you all the best clubs and boutiques! Or if you want a more laid-back day, we can always do shopping later! How about you choose this time, and I’ll choose next time?

  Next time. My heart swells at those words. I didn’t realize how much I missed having a friend. Quickly, I type my response.

  Me: Okay! Want to come over? We can do our hair and makeup. That’ll give me time to figure something out.

  Brooke ♥: On my way!

  Throwing the blanket off of me, I step into my slippers and head downstairs, PJs and all. Right when I hit the bottom step, the doorbell rings through the house.

  “Honey, can you grab that?” my mom shouts from her office.

  “Got it! It’s just Brooke,” I reply as I open the door.

  On the other side, Brooke stands with her hair in wavy black curls and makeup done to perfection. Clearly, it will just be me getting ready. And with all the time in the world, my makeup will still never come out like that. I glance down, and my eyes widen at the gigantic tote in her manicured hands.

  Her bright red lips turn up into the biggest smile when she realizes I noticed the bag. She steps straight into the house—uninvited, I might add. At least she feels right at home.

  “Okay, so I know I’m already ready, but I figured I could do your hair and makeup and—oh my God, your house is amazing!” She is huffing and puffing from her quick rush over here.

  If by amazing, she means dishes in the sink and art supplies thrown everywhere, courtesy of my mom’s new hobby, then yes, our house is amazing.

  “It feels like a home, ya know? Not everything is in its proper place. It looks like people actually live here. My mom has our maids clean every single day at our house. It looks staged. It’s just kinda cold, I guess.” Her tone holds an almost-indiscernible sadness, but I catch it.

  I am always hyperaware of people around me. I have been since the incident. Maybe even before, but especially now. I pick up on the slightest fluctuations in tone, the smallest body language shift, and especially the vibes and emotions people put off. Ignoring these got me hurt once. It won’t happen again.

  She turns and smiles at me, genuineness gleaming in her eyes. With excitement blooming in my chest for my little makeover, I loop my arm in hers, and we head up the stairs.

  “My mom refuses to ever hire help for cleaning. She says the most valuable lessons are those learned at home. Those lessons include me cleaning every day.” Eye roll. “She helps a lot too though. I love our cozy house.”

  We step off the top step to my bedroom. “And this is my own personal haven.”

  I let her lead the way in, and she’s all smiles. She likes it. Point for me.

  My room is pretty simple. I have a fluffy white bed set with tan and white pillows. Fairy lights line the ceiling, creating a soft, yellowish glow over the room. Dark oak bookshelves line three out of four walls, floor to ceiling, each shelf filled to the max. Novels of all kinds but mainly YA fantasy—my favorite. My bed is centered on the only empty wall with my love seat at the end of the bed.

  “Your room is so cute, Stella!” she squeals as she makes her mark on my bed with a lifetime supply of makeup and hair tools. “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought everything that I thought you might want or need.” She turns to me, finally done unloading her luggage. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

  I grab the big white desk chair and roll it next to the bed, where Brooke is sitting. “I normally stick to just a basic brown smoky eye, mascara, and a little blush.”

  “Done. Done. And done!”

  Her excitement rolls off her. She grabs her beauty blender and begins applying a flawless foundation match. I have no idea where she got this from since my pale skin is, like, ten shades lighter than her own. But I don’t ask.

  “Straight, curled, or wavy?”

  I plan on staying in sweatpants all day, so I don’t want curled hair. That will seem too dressy, and straight hair gets greasy so fast.

  “Wavy, please.” I smile up at her.

  “Yes, ma’am!” she retorts.

  I can’t remember the last time I got pampered or pampered myself. After layers of makeup and her crimping every single strand of my hair, she stands off the bed and gestures for me to walk to my floor-length mirror hanging off of my bedroom door.

  “Ta-da! Go check it out. You look hot!”

  My heart is pounding. I’m nervous to see myself. I chuckle.

  “We’ll see about—” I get cut off by my reflection. My heart jumps into my throat.

  My porcelain skin looks airbrushed. My eyes are enhanced with a small dark brown cat eye, and the brown shadow makes my deep blue eyes pop. She somehow gave me beach waves without the beach. My chest swells, and I feel a burn start behind my eyes.

  I look …

  I look pretty.

  I feel pretty.

  It’s been so long since I felt this way, since I didn’t see him in my reflection, didn’t see the damage he’d caused.

  I just look like me.

  The sting behind my eyes intensifies, and a tear falls.

  Brooke rushes to my side, pulling me into her embrace. “If you don’t like it, we can just straighten your hair, and I can redo your makeup. It’s really not a big deal.” Her words rush out of her so fast that I realize she thinks I dislike it when, in reality, it’s quite the opposite.

  “Brooke, it’s p-perfect. Thank you.” My voice is muffled from her hair, and her hug w
arms me.

  Seconds pass, maybe minutes. It’s been quite some time since I let someone touch me for this long, even my mom. The warmth spreads, knocking off some old spiderwebs, spreading further into my heart.

  She pulls away and studies my face. “But you’re crying. What’s wrong?” Her eyes examine my face, looking for the answers.

  I tear my eyes from her gaze and find a small blemish in the hardwood floor. “I haven’t felt this pretty in a while. I guess I just forgot what it was like.” I take a deep breath in, slowing the tears. “Thank you for doing this. It means a lot.” I dab the wetness away, careful not to ruin her hard work.

  I feel too vulnerable right now to meet her eyes. What if she sees inside them? What if she sees how dark it really is inside of me? What if she sees what he did, what he took?

  A knock at the door ends my vulnerability, shifting the mask back in place. Like nothing ever happened, like the facade never broke.

  My mom opens the door, not a second after the last knock. “Hey, ladies. What are you up to today?” Her face looks puzzled. “Honey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, Mom. Just girl talk,” I respond automatically.

  I force that smile once again, drop my head, and play with my hair. I’ve found this is the easiest way to fake a smile and make it believable. It’s true what they say—the eyes are the gateway to the soul. Everyone believes the smile if I look away fast enough, too quick for them to see the darkness residing inside.

  She holds her concerned gaze a second longer and then shakes it away. Her lips break into a full smile. “What are you guys doing today?”

  Brooke looks at me for an answer, and I completely forgot that I’m the one who is supposed to plan this.

  “Um, not quite sure yet. We were just about to figure it out.”

  My mom fully invites herself into the room and sits on my love seat. “We can go get your supplies if you want, Stels. I know you still have a couple of weeks, but I thought you’d have good choices if we went early.”

  “Mom.” I shoot her a glare at the use of that nickname.

  I stopped letting people call me that after … what happened.

  She throws her hands up, pretending to forget the thousand times I’ve told her before.

  Brooke cuts in, “What do you mean, supplies?”

  “Like for school—notebooks, pencils, et cetera,” I explain.

  “Oh, gotcha!” Her voice doesn’t show the confidence she hopes it does. “I’ve never done that before.” Her gaze falls to the ground.

  “What do you mean? How do you get your supplies?” I ask her, kind of in shock.

  “Oh, my mom usually just has them ready for us on the first day,” she says casually, like that’s completely normal.

  I guess for the daughter of Mrs. Uptight, there would be no other way.

  “Well, there’s a first for everything. Honestly, the shopping is the best part. I can’t believe you’ve never done your own school shopping. That’s insane.” I try to keep my utter disbelief from showing.

  For a super-nice and seemingly down-to-earth girl, she has obviously never faced any real problems. I mean, even her school supplies are fetched for her.

  She claps her hands together and jumps up off the bed. I don’t think this girl has any other mode except exuberantly happy.

  “Okay, so let’s go do that!” She starts throwing everything into her bag as fast as she can.

  I look over at my mom, and she looks genuinely excited with a hint of pity in her eyes. I wonder if the pity is for Brooke or for me.

  “Let me get changed quickly, and I’ll meet you guys downstairs. Give me five,” I say, standing and heading to my closet.

  I decide to stay in my gray joggers. I grab an off-the-shoulder black V-neck and a white lacy bralette to complete the look.

  After changing, I head down the stairs, but I’m stopped when I hear a male voice. I take a step forward, and the voice laughs. I immediately recognize the deep, husky tone.

  Cade.

  My heart rate picks up. But I can’t decipher if it’s anxiety because a guy is in my house or the butterflies shaking to life at the fact that it’s Cade.

  I have no time to figure it out as my mom calls to me, “Stella, hurry up!”

  “I’m right here. Ready,” I say as I turn the corner on the stairs, coming face-to-face with Cade.

  When his eyes lock with mine, his lips part, sending a shiver up my spine. His eyes drop lower, and they quickly take me in, kicking my heart rate into overdrive. The butterflies have officially come back from the dead.

  Bad, Stella! Bad! No boys.

  I tear my eyes away from his gaze. But not quick enough to see his disappointment. I look at my mom. There’s a twinkle in her eyes. I know I will hear from her later. She is a hopeless romantic and has been pestering me about boys since, like, the fifth grade. She wants me to fall in love and plan the perfect wedding, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after.

  Except when I gave it a chance, Prince Charming grabbed ahold of my happily ever after and tore it to shreds.

  “Sweetie, are you really wearing sweats out? Look how nice Brooke looks in her jeans. You sure you don’t want to change?” she asks me, clearly disapproving of my sweats.

  And it begins—the constant attempts to get me to like him. Well, honey, Cade is here. If you want to make a good impression on him, you need to try harder, is what she wanted to say, what she really meant.

  But I don’t care if Cade likes my sweats or not. Because I don’t care about Cade’s opinion of my outfit.

  Ha! Keep telling yourself that.

  I’m comfy, and I like it, and that’s that.

  “Yes, I’m sure, Mom. This is what I’m wearing,” I bite out the words and turn to the garage, ending the conversation.

  I don’t stop until I hear the click of my seat belt in my mom’s Audi. I hear the garage door open and look up to see my mom, Brooke, and Cade heading this way.

  What the hell? Why is he still here? Why was he even here in the first place? I got too distracted with my mom’s antics to find out why he was in my damn house.

  My mom opens her door and slides in. I hear the back two doors open, and now, I’m mad.

  How could she do this? How could she just let him in the car like it doesn’t matter? Like he won’t hurt me?

  Because you’ve never told her what happened.

  Yeah, shut up, brain.

  They both pull their seat belts on, and I finally get the courage to ask why the hell he’s here. Maybe if I pretend he’s not, he’ll just disappear.

  “Brooke, why is your brother here?”

  My mom slaps my shoulder, and I shoot her a glare.

  “Stella, that is rude. You know his name, and it’s not like he can’t hear you right now.”

  Brooke speaks up, her voice hesitant, “Well, you know, he sort of—”

  Cade interrupts, clearing his throat, “It’s okay, Mrs. Sullivan. Stella and I kind of got off on the wrong foot. But I can assure you that I plan on making that up to her.”

  My mom, satisfied with his answer, turns the radio up.

  I feel hands go on both sides of my seat. His fingers curl around and graze the exposed skin on my right arm, igniting my body. My breath catches on the small contact, and the resurrected butterflies try to test their wings out.

  Stop.

  I yank my arm away.

  He doesn’t take the hint. I feel him pull on the seat, bringing himself closer to me. His breath warms my right ear.

  He whispers, his voice low and smooth, “By the way, sweats or a dress, you’re still the most stunning girl I’ve ever seen. I was serious; I plan on making it up to you. I won’t give up so easily.”

  He scoots closer, and his lips brush my ear, sending shivers down my spine. The first butterfly lifts off the ground.

  “One way or another, I’m gonna win you over. Although part of me thinks I already have and you’re just denying it. Want to know wh
y I think that?”

  I can practically feel his smirk. I stay quiet.

  “I can see the goose bumps trailing down your neck from my lips right now, and your chest is rising a hell of a lot faster than it was five seconds ago.”

  My face flushes immediately. I hate him. I keep my gaze locked ahead, not wanting to show him or anyone else how much he affects me. His lips twitch against my ear. The goose bumps spread down my body, betraying me.

  The butterfly soars through its first flight.

  “You can’t fool me, Stels.” He pulls away.

  And just like that, the butterfly plummets, shattering into a million pieces.

  Austin’s voice fills my mind, repeating three words over and over. “Stop fighting, Stels.”

  No one uses that nickname. Not after him.

  Just another thing he took from me.

  Once again, I’m reminded of why this would never, ever work.

  FIVE

  Then

  Austin, Jess, Brad, and I spent the next few hours dancing the night away. When our feet got sore, we decided to call it a night and head back to Jess’s. Then, we all got settled in her basement to watch a movie. Jess’s mom just checked on us and told us to be safe tonight.

  Speaking of mothers …

  I hadn’t heard from mine all night. I needed to just send her a quick good night text to let her know I was okay and that I would be home in the morning.

  I grabbed the side of my blanket and playfully tossed it over Austin. He grabbed my wrist as I stood up. It was harder and tighter than I’d expected.

  “Ow, what the hell?” I yanked my arm from his grip. “I gotta text my mom and let her know I’m staying here tonight.”

  His eyes flashed up to me. “Sorry, Stella, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I guess I don’t know my own strength.” He offered me a polite smile, but his words were sharp.

  I looked over to Jess, my best friend, to see if she had seen what just happened, but she and Brad were already tongue deep in each other’s throats.

  Ugh. I rolled my eyes and crossed the freezing hardwood floor to Jess’s bedroom. I grabbed my clutch, opening the twist-top lock, but no luck, no phone. What the hell? I couldn’t even remember taking my phone out.