Hateful Desire

by Marianne Willis

  “Like hell you didn’t. You saw me talking to Stacy. The look you gave me wasn’t hard to miss. It was a threat. Tell me, Amber? Do you remember talking to me, let alone threatening me? I mean, can you clearly remember?”

  “Chayton,” she pleaded.

  “Do you?” he insisted.

  “No. But,” she rushed out, “I’m telling you I wouldn’t have ordered for you to be beaten.”

  “And I’m telling you, I don’t believe you. All it took was a little begging from Brianna, and you decided to murder a guy. Luckily for Tristan, your spell failed, but do you really expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with what happened to me? Maybe you forget, just like you forgot my damn name.”

  He threw his keys and wallet on the kitchen table, stomped into the hall, and slammed his bedroom door. Throwing himself on the bed, he smothered into a pillow to block out the sound of her crying.

  Chapter 15

  Steam cascaded around her. Amber laid her forehead on the tiles and inhaled. If only a blissful coma had taken over, but this morning she awoke on the sofa. The throb behind her temples confirmed she had lost more sleep than gained.

  Chayton had left for the tournament. She’d lain with her face hidden beneath the sheet, listening while he’d prepared breakfast in the kitchen. All the while, she bit her lip and prayed he would approach to talk, but he’d done no such thing.

  The plaguing question from last night still troubled her; had she somehow been the cause of his beating? The concept alone churned her stomach like a bubbling volcano, ready to shoot up her throat.

  Yes, she teased in high school, but she never used physical violence, nor encouraged anyone to use violence against others. What the hell happened all those years ago?

  Her phone echoed in the kitchen. She dashed out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and rushed to answer it. “Hello. Chayton? Is that you?”

  “No. Actually, it’s Rosabel.”

  “Oh…hi. Is something wrong?” Had Rosabel spoken to Chayton? Did she know about their fight?

  “I just wanted to apologise for my little emotional outburst yesterday.”

  Amber swallowed hard. If what Chayton said was true, then she should be the one apologising. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Thank you.” Rosabel sighed with relief. “I assumed you left early because of me.”

  “No, of course not. Um, while I have you, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, what’s the matter?”

  Her fingertip circled the countertop, and she almost told her to forget it. “The Air Jordans,” she said with slight hesitation. “What kind were they?” Silence lingered, and after a moment, she stared at the phone, hoping the line hadn’t dropped.

  “Oh, well, let me think...if memory serves me right, I believe they were Retro something. I do recall them being white, black, and red.”

  “White, black, and red,” she repeated, hoping to save the detail in her memory. “Thank you.”

  “Why do you ask about the shoes?”

  “I’m just…curious. I better get going. And don’t worry about yesterday, everything is fine,” she lied. Things couldn’t be worse.

  “Okay,” Rosabel said. “Goodbye.”

  Amber opened her laptop at the kitchen table. In Google she searched Air Jordan Retro, white, red, and black. Thousands of images resulted, but she didn’t scroll far before the ones she recognised appeared. And yes, she identified them immediately. Dominic had worn the same pair to school several times. She remembered complimenting him, but had no idea they were stolen.

  She hit the backspace on her browser and typed For Sale beside the original search. Why did she bother? A new pair would not change what happened. But guilt refused to leave, and sat in the pit of her stomach. Should she feel remorseful? Perhaps she had told Dominic to go after him. She combed a hand through her hair, unsure what to believe anymore.

  By the time she dressed, her stomach grumbled. In the kitchen, she settled for a bowl of cereal. Someone knocked at the door, and she paused from scooping the first spoonful. With any luck, her eyes weren’t puffy. She rubbed at them, just in case, and then answered the door. “You.” She pursed her lips to hide the hitch in her breath.

  “I just came by to drop these off,” Stacy said, handing her two large jumpers. Were these Chayton’s? Why did she have them? “No need for that look,” Stacy reassured. “I borrowed those ages ago.” The brunette twisted to leave.

  Amber’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “Please wait.”

  Stacy stopped at the stairs and whirled. She was a beautiful woman, and one who had history with Chayton. The notion hit a jealous spot, but she couldn’t ignore the fact. “We need to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Please,” she said when Stacy walked off. “It’s about Chayton and…the beating.”

  The light breeze dancing through the trees drifted into their silence. Stacy did not turn, but stopped. “What about him?”

  “I want to know what happened. Had you seen or heard anything that day?” A slim chance, and she shouldn’t even trust Stacy, but Amber was desperate to learn whatever she could.

  Stacy spun around. “You don’t remember? Oh, wait.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s right, why would you care?”

  Amber stomped her foot. “I’m not playing games here. I want to know what happened.”

  “So you should.” Her hands fisted by her sides, and her obvious agitation grew. “You should know what you did, how you made him suffer…” The frown diminished, and Stacy almost smiled. “There is one way to see everything that happened.”

  Could she be serious? Amber dumped the jumpers in the outdoor seat. “How?”

  Stacy plodded forward, features bright with eagerness. “There’s a tea called Dream-Walking. But the herb won’t work unless you have something from the past, clothing, a journal—”

  She nodded. “I have my cheerleading uniform, which is at my old place.”

  “That’ll do, but you’ll also need something of Chayton’s.” Stacy observed the wooden steps for a moment, brows puckered. Her head snapped up. “I have just the thing. Give me half an hour, and I’ll return with the stuff.”

  “You’re not kidding with me? You’re really going to help?”

  Brown eyes zeroed in on her. “Let me make myself clear. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for Chayton.” She jogged downstairs, hopped into her car and sped out of the driveway.

  Amber seized the jumpers and raced into the house. She snatched her phone, scrolled her contacts, hit the name she needed, and waited. The web page on her laptop remained open, and she clicked the buy now button.

  “Hello?”

  “Lucas, I need a favour.”

  ****

  Two hours later, her brother arrived. She met him on the porch, and smiled at the pink box he carried. Stacy had dropped off the tea an hour ago and told her what needed to be done.

  Drink the tea while wearing your uniform…and holding this, she had said and handed a small velvet bag. Inside lay a broken shoelace.

  What is this?

  When Chayton had been admitted to the hospital, he’d refused to let go of the shoelace. I pried the damn string from his hand once he had settled to sleep.

  “Are you okay?” Her brother’s question broke her thoughts.

  She took the box, and kissed his cheek. “I’m fine. Thanks for dropping this off.”

  The unfamiliar furrow of his brow almost resembled concern. “You sounded urgent on the phone.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry to cut this short since you travelled all this way, but I must go.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  Amber smiled, and rotated to the opened door, but he called out her name, and she wheeled to face him.

  “I just want you to know I don’t agree with what Ma did. Taking your powers wasn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to settle for the werewolf just to obtain your witchcraft.”

&nb
sp; She blinked, shaking her head. “That’s not the reason I’m with him. I wanted to give Chayton a chance.”

  His eyes widened. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope this works out for you. I know we’ve never been close, but I respect the way you’re handling things.”

  If she weren’t in such a rush, she’d hug him. “Thanks, Lucas. Maybe we can catch up soon…meet for a drink or something?”

  “I’d like that.” He stopped at his car. “Amber, wait!” He dashed back, climbing the stairs, eyes shiny with tears. “I need to apologise.”

  “What for?”

  “For how I’ve treated you throughout the years. To be honest, I was afraid. I saw the way our parents regarded you, and it scared me to think they would do the same to me if I didn’t live up to their standards. That’s why I gave all my time to witchcraft, but that didn’t give me the right to scorn you for your failures. It was bad enough Ma hassled you. Can you forgive me?”

  She placed the box at her feet and hugged him. “Of course I forgive you.” A tear slid down her cheek, and her chin trembled. “I wish we hadn’t been raised to be terrible people,” she said, her voice croaky.

  He veered back and smiled. “You’re not terrible, Amber.”

  She disagreed, but remained silent. With one last hug, she gathered the box, waved goodbye and marched inside. A silver tin sat on the counter beside the velvet bag which contained the broken shoelace. Stacy’s instructions were simple.

  Think about that day, whatever you can recollect. Hold onto that when you fall asleep. By wearing the uniform you will see your past. And by holding the shoelace, you will see Chayton’s. But I have to ask you one thing, are you ready for this?

  Yes. I need to know what happened. I can handle this.

  The kettle boiled, and she set an empty mug while she waited. Naked, she placed her garments across a dining chair, and withdrew the black and red A-line skirt from the pink box.

  Thank goodness for the tea. If her witchcraft were available, she’d rely on a spell for answers, but a bad dream was her only choice. The skirt fit a little snug, and the matching V-neck top with Cougars printed along the front felt tight around her bust. She ran a hand down the cotton material, reminiscing the days she wore this uniform like armour.

  The kettle switched off, and she emptied the contents into the mug. A pungent aroma drifted in the air once she poured the boiling water, and her nose scrunched in revulsion. The flavour might be worse, but she braced herself. With the broken shoe lace in one hand, she wended into the living room.

  All these years, shame consumed her like a poison, and she hated herself for the way she treated classmates in high school. But had she been so cold as to physically harm someone? Just who was Amber Johnson? Not an Elite, nor the favoured daughter. She just hoped she wasn’t a heartless monster, too.

  She sipped the hot liquid and almost gagged at the acridness. The disgusting tang reminded her of sour milk. Her eyes squeezed close. “Please don’t regurgitate the damn thing,” she uttered to herself, setting the tea on the table.

  Her leg shook as she sat, impatient, waiting for the steaming liquid to cool. After a few minutes, she held her breath, and drank the entire content. She would have brushed her teeth to be rid of the aftertaste, but didn’t want to waste another second.

  Visions of the school library formed in her mind, and she held onto the scene, reclined on the sofa and closed eyes. Her mother had humiliated her the night before at a gathering with the clans. Amber memorised the event like it happened yesterday.

  Taylor wanted her to perform a spell in front of the Elite, and of course she failed. The room had erupted with laughter and she wanted to run, but her mother warned if she did, she’d regret it. With all her might, she faked a brave face and held onto the ache until she had a moment alone.

  Tears dripped onto her knees. She opened her eyes, but no longer lay in the living room. Instead, she sat with her back to a wall, and legs drawn to her chest. Several rows of bookshelves aligned in front. New tears scorched her wet cheeks. A sharp pang jolted her at the remembered embarrassment of her mother’s rebukes.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her head snapped sideways.

  Chayton…so different. Thin, shorter, with long hair plaited down his shoulder. If not for his dark, glass-like eyes she wouldn’t have recognised him. His clothing style was also unfamiliar, baggy shirt, ripped jeans. His shoes were new…the Air Jordans.

  She wanted to smile, but her face formed into a scowl. Her hands curled by her sides, and a surge of annoyance volleyed through her. “Get out of my face, loser.” The words vented out.

  Oh, no, what did I just say? Desperate, she fought to renounce the cruel sentence. Then it registered. She encountered the past, but was unable to change what happened. What she said, and how she acted, was what she experienced at the time. Her present self could do nothing to alter the event.

  Chayton’s face coloured, and he swallowed. “I just want to help—”

  “Amber?” Dominic rushed toward her. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere.” His eyes found Chayton, and scowled. “What are you doing here, freak?”

  She stood from the carpet and snagged Dominic’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Not yet, babe.” He tucked a strand behind her ear, his sensual mouth softened. “You’re upset,” he stated. “Is he bothering you?”

  “Yeah,” she lied. “But I can handle him.”

  Chayton’s eyes slitted. He knew she fibbed, but didn’t defend himself. She squeezed Dominic’s hand when he stepped forward. “I said let’s go, Dominic.”

  He snickered at Chayton, then walked off. They sailed out of the library, hand in hand. Near the cafeteria, she stopped at the door to the bathroom. “Give me a sec.”

  He squeezed her wrist. “Sure you’re okay?”

  She hooked his neck with her arm, balanced on her tiptoes, and kissed him. “Yes.”

  Inside the bathroom, she observed herself in the mirror, rubbing the creases in her cheerleading skirt. “No more tears,” she chided to herself. “I’ll show them. Ma, Pa, the Elite. I’ll show them all.” Specks of pink splotched her cheeks, and she turned the taps, splashing water over her face. She snatched a handful of paper towel from the dispenser, and patted her eyes.

  In her schoolbag, she retrieved her compact powder and touched up her makeup. “Now you look normal,” she told her reflection and exited the bathroom.

  Dominic leaned beside the door, one leg bent with the flat side of his shoe on the wall. His brown hair sat in its usual spiked style. Denim jeans hung from his hips, and the open shirt revealed a tight, black singlet beneath. He texted into his Nokia.

  Satisfaction engulfed her while she assessed her boyfriend, the hottest bad-boy in school. But that was all she sensed, nothing deeper than the physical attraction. He was just an accessory to her popularity, someone to support her reputation.

  Wake up to yourself, you bitch. The inner reprimand was pointless. Her old self couldn’t hear.

  “Who are you texting?”

  He slipped the phone into his pocket and threw an arm over her shoulder. “Just my brother, Charlie.”

  They set foot into the hallway, and like sauntering down the red carpet, students stared, some with admiration and some with obvious intimidation. She remembered this place as if it were a personal tattoo. The grey terrazzo floor dotted with tiny black and white spots, bordered in dark green. Different coloured flyers posted across the cream lockers aligning the hall and the notice board.

  “Hey, Amber.” Kathleen, a girl she hung out with waved, but Amber didn’t acknowledge her.

  I was even rude to my own friends? No wonder Kathleen and the others ignored me at the reunion. They all hated me.

  With her head held high, she strode down the hall as if she was a queen and this place her castle. She punched in her combination at her locker, taking what she needed for the last class.

  “Yo, Dom!” Nathan cal
led from the end of the hall, tossing a football in the air and catching it.

  Dominic waved. A loud beep-beep echoed the space between them, and he withdrew the phone in his pocket. He grinned when he read the text, and then kissed her cheek. “I’m gonna go.”

  “Are you skipping last period?”

  He nodded. “You know it.”

  She grabbed his arm. “We’re still meeting at Tupelo’s after school?” The question sounded more like a whining demand.

  He tilted his head and bit his bottom lip, apologetic. “Something came up, and I have to meet with my brothers.”

  “But all of our friends are going. I refuse to show up alone.”

  “Go with the girls, and I’ll be there after I help my brothers out.”

  “Promise?” She clutched the collar of his shirt and tugged him closer.

  “Promise.” He gave a quick peck.

  “Cool.” She grinned. “See you there.”

  Mr. Sutherland rushed into the hall, a stack of folders in his hands. If she didn’t speak with him now, she’d have to wait until after school. Amber slammed her locker door and chased after him. “Sir, I need to talk to you.”

  “Make this quick, Miss Johnson, I must get these papers to the office.” He puffed, and his bad comb-over fluttered up, then down.

  “About the lab partner you assigned me with.”

  “Abigail Green, what about her?”

  “I can’t work with her. I want a different partner.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “Out of the question. Miss Green is a student of this school and more than capable to be your lab partner.”

  “Sir, seriously. Have you seen her hair? I’m sure she hasn’t washed the ugly mop in years. I can’t be seen working with a person who doesn’t wash their hair.”

  He tsked. “You’re a fantastic student, Miss Johnson, but your social skills need improvement.”

  She laughed, the sound husky and forced. “You’re kidding, right? I’m fine in that department. Will you at least consider my request?”

  “No.” The bell sounded in the hallway. “Good day, Miss Johnson,” he said, scooting away.