by Doyle, Dawn
That got a smile from me. “You say the nicest things.”
“Get fucked,” Josh said, laughing. “And I mean that literally. You’re a crabby bastard.”
I snorted and shook my head before starting my engine. “Who says I haven’t?”
Before Josh could say anything else, I flipped down the visor and took off, just in time for a group of students to swarm him, no doubt about the next event.
I laughed to myself, knowing that no matter how many times I was a jerk to everyone around me—most of them deserved it—they came back for more. I didn’t understand it. People were as fucked up in the head as much as I was—maybe more. And as I followed the white car out of the parking lot, I trailed the only other person I didn’t want to get the hell away from.
For now.
***
I pulled up at the red light next to the passenger window like I had the last time. That was a surprise, though, I had no idea who was in the car, but now I was certain. The window was down again, the calm day allowing me to hear the voices traveling from inside.
“Not really,” Kinsley said, resting her head on her hand, her elbow propped up against the door. “Miley’s nice, I guess, and we met for lunch with some other girls, but it wasn’t anything special to report about.”
Miley Dupree. A ball of energy around campus, a do-gooder, but also an avid fan of the circle. She was a walking contradiction. Happy, smiling, always chatting to somebody, and dressed like a sorority chick, but bloodthirsty as hell. Every fight she’d been to, I’d heard her yelling obscenities from the side, but never anywhere else. A total Jekyll and Hyde personality.
“Nobody else?” her mom, I assumed, asked. “Honey, it’s okay to make friends here. We’re not leaving any time soon.”
Kinsley snorted. “I don’t want to make friends, Mom. Yeah, it might sound childish, but I don’t need to have a group around me. I’m done with that. I’ve rinsed, and I don’t need to repeat.”
“You’re in senior year. It won’t hurt to have people your age to talk to, especially as you’ll be sticking around for at least a year after graduation.”
The lights turned green, and I kept a close distance, stopping at the next traffic light. My piqued interest kept me listening.
“It’s infuriating,” Kinsley said.
I’d obviously missed something of the conversation, and while the lights were only going to stay on red for the next few seconds, I listened as closely as I could.
Her mom laughed, a gentle sound that reminded me of my mom, the way she would crack up at my jokes that weren’t funny, and the way she’d light up when I’d drawn another crappy picture for her.
I still missed her, and the fucker whose fault it was that she was dead was still breathing, taking in precious oxygen he didn’t deserve.
My knuckles stung as I gripped the handlebars, ripples of pain flowing up into my wrists from the pressure.
“I think it might be that this is just a small town, and new people don’t go unnoticed,” her mom said, breaking my thoughts. “And, Kinsley, you’re the only person I’ve ever known that’s not taking advantage of a new start.” I couldn’t see her face, but I watched her hand move over and stroke Kinsley’s head, smoothing down the ponytail. “Give it time, I’m sure you’ll come around.”
“I doubt it.” Kinsley turned her head and looked up, right at me, her lower lids red-rimmed.
My gut clenched at seeing her like that. Why was she so upset about moving to Broken Hollow? Why was she so hell-bent on being alone?
As I stared down at her, right into her green eyes, I saw something I recognized every fucking day I looked in the goddamn mirror. The thing that got me through most days, got me to the place I was right then, and the fuel for my entire fucking existence.
Rage. Pure, blind rage.
And I wanted to see it fucking shine.
By the time I got home after taking a detour through a tiny estate on back roads, I walked into the house I shared with Josh and Layton, right into the sound of screams coming from upstairs.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mumbled, dropping my backpack next to the door. It was the fourth time in a week I’d been greeted with the vocal performance of a banshee, backed up with the percussion banging in time with the second and third verse.
I walked down the dimly lit hallway, my boots thudding on the wooden floor, careful not to leave muddy prints on the gray-tinted surface. I pushed the white door, entering the kitchen. Dishes were in the sink, and empty mugs sat next to the coffee maker.
“Fucking Layton,” I grumbled. “He needs to clean this shit up.”
I dragged a stool out from under the black breakfast bar, and sat on the matching seat, propping my feet on the chrome bars between the legs.
“Yes, yes, yes!” was hollered from upstairs, a familiar voice, while a definite male voice groaned.
I leaned back against the rest, then slung my legs over the edge of the breakfast bar. The torture of hearing two people fucking each other’s brains out was nothing new to me, not in this house, anyway.
It wasn’t long before one of my housemates entered the kitchen, looking fucking pleased with himself.
He stopped dead when he saw me lounging with my hands behind my head. “Fuck, Quinn, you scared the shit out of me.” Layton scratched the back of his head. “How long have you been back?”
I lazily checked my watch. “Oh, about five minutes.” I smirked at the discomfort on his face, his eyes wide and a guilty as fuck smile.
“I didn’t hear you,” he replied, opening the fridge and pulling out two beers. He handed one out to me, but I shook my head.
“I guess you wouldn’t have heard my bike with all the noise coming from your room,” I replied, pumping my brows.
Layton’s expression shifted, relaxing into a careful grin. “Yeah, she’s a bit vocal.”
“Really?” I asked, then laughed. “I never would’ve guessed.”
Layton walked over, then sat on the stool next to me, reeking of sex and strong perfume. I was nauseated by the potent stench and needed a shower to get rid of it. I knew where he’d been, and I should’ve warned him, but he’d known from what had happened that he’d made a massive mistake.
“So, where did Josh get off to?” he asked, tugging at the heavily creased T-shirt he was wearing. “He came back but left a few minutes later. He said you were probably going to be gone until dinner.”
I noticed the slight shimmer of glitter ground into the pale-blue fabric, a reminder of a mistake I’d made and lived to fucking regret. I was wasted at the time and didn’t remember it; Layton was stone-cold fucking sober. I shrugged. “Don’t know—he never said. I don’t keep tabs on him, ya know?”
Layton placed his bottle on the surface, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “I just thought you’d know. God, what the fuck’s up with you?” he asked, holding out a hand.
I dropped my legs from the counter and leaned toward Layton. His face paled, and I moved closer—so close that I could hear the gulp when he swallowed hard. “Nothing the fuck’s up with me,” I said, keeping my tone low. I kept eye contact with him when the sound of footsteps crept down the stairs. “Why does there have to be? I guess there should be after the shit you said after the fight.” The door opened, and without breaking away my stare, I called out, “Bye, Phoebe!”
Layton was the first to drop his eyes, his head dropping down and shaking a little. “It’s nothing,” he began to explain. “We’re just having fun.”
I stood, then headed out of the kitchen toward the stairs. “Why do you think I give a shit?” I asked, stopping in the doorway. “Fuck her, fuck anyone, I don’t care.” It’d made perfect sense why she was hanging around Layton’s RV, right where I’d seen her.
“Even Kinsley?”
I stopped and spun around. “What the fuck?”
“Oh, yeah,” he sneered. “I saw you eye-fucking her today. If you don’t give a shit, then I’m sure you won’t mind me partin
g her sweet thighs.”
I rushed him, grabbing his T-shirt and dragging him off the stool, right to my face. He stared into my eyes, his dark irises small against the large whites in his widened lids. “I don’t know why, but if you’re trying to piss me off again, then keep going. I don’t care who you try to fuck, actually fuck, or otherwise. So sure, go ahead, take your chances with Kinsley. Just know that I warned you, okay?”
I shoved him back, his T-shirt ruffled and more creased than before.
“Warned me?” He huffed. “She yours?”
I let my head fall back, then laughed loudly. “Fuck, Layton.” I shook my head and wagged my finger at him. “You’re a stupid son-of-a-bitch sometimes.” I walked out of there, still laughing, knowing he’d be standing there wondering what the hell I’d meant. He’d see, though.
As I took the stairs to my room, his words ran through my head. ‘She yours?’
I had to speed up my timeline because if he made a move after what I’d set out to do, he’d be a dead man.
Chapter 4
Kinsley
“It’s called The merging of The Horde,” I said to my art professor. He studied my screen, scrutinizing every damn detail, or lack of. “See here?” I pointed to the mass of people I’d edited, making their faces blur to nothing, and their bodies to blend together to make it look like one giant, multi-colored gummy worm about to take over the college. “One person is blended to the next, then to the next and so on, making them one huge mass.”
Except for one.
“Is that what you see?” he asked, looking from my screen to me and back. His face was a mask of worry like I was a crazy person for even suggesting this was art.
“It is,” I replied. “Everybody’s going through the motions, the mundane, the grind of getting through college and hoping to break free from the insanity once it’s over.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin with his fingertips while crossing his other arm over his body. “Although I don’t share your opinions on college life, Kinsley, I do understand why you would come to such a conclusion.” His fingers moved to the multi-colored tie hanging from his neck, decorated with paintbrushes. “They appear to be joined together, a collective body, a group that can’t be distinguished from one person to the next.” He straightened, a smile forming on his thin mouth, making his neat mustache curl up at the ends. “Needing to be part of the crowd, while also needing to break free from the crowd…” When I nodded, he added, “Excellent work, Miss. Jensen.”
I saved my work, happy that my vision was seen just as I’d intended. I opened my next project and studied the image in front of me.
“Hey, Kinsley?” Colby said from his desk a few feet away, gladly further than my regular classes.
“Yeah?” I turned to him and saw he was completely facing me, his arm slung over the back of his chair.
“So, I think we got off to a bad start. I apologize if I weirded you out on your first art class here. I meant no harm.”
I shrugged. “No worries. I apologize if I was a little too harsh.” And I was. God, I was awful, but the gnawing inside me wouldn’t go away, and the more people prodded it, the more hostile I became. I had to at least attempt to rein it in, or risk getting a stomach ulcer.
“Nah,” he said with a snorted laugh and a huge grin. “I was the one gawking. You don’t know me, and it was rude of me to stare.”
Where’s this coming from?
“Apology accepted,” I said, offering a tight smile, then turned back to my screen. I could still feel his eyes on me, though, and I twisted to the side to glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, he hadn’t moved.
He held his hands up. “Sorry, just thinking about something.” When my eyes narrowed, he continued. “I was just wondering where you’re from and why you transferred this late.”
“Crosshall,” I replied. My insides dropped with regret, and I mentally kicked myself for telling him. I was certain the other students would find out about what happened, just from that name alone. It wouldn’t be recorded, I was almost sure of that, but a lot of people knew about what happened and would have, no doubt, spread their version of events. I just hoped they didn’t make their way across two cities.
“Crosshall Brow?” he asked, his surprise evident in his higher pitch. I nodded. “Jeez, why the hell did you leave there? This is a shit hole compared to that place.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “A change was necessary,” I lied—kinda—desperate to end the topic of my train wreck. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really don’t want to discuss this, and I should get back to my project. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
He held up a hand again and dipped his chin. “Sure, of course. This is me pulling my nose back out of your business.”
I waited for him to focus on his own work before I settled on mine again.
I shouldn’t have told him.
My class went by uneventful after that, which I was grateful for. But, there was still English class to go, and after the incident a few days ago, I wasn’t looking forward to what could possibly await me. So, when I turned into the room, slowing down so much that students almost walked into my back, grumbling as they walked by, I scanned the area by my desk for anything out of the ordinary.
Quinn wasn’t there, and neither was his friend. I blew out a slow breath and walked to my space, sitting down and relaxing as I took out my notebook and pens, ready for the lesson.
I took in the plain yellow walls, the color faded and marked, and the off-white border around the top, meeting the ceiling of the same shade. Strip lights hung in uniformed lines, the fluorescent bulbs gently humming as they added the needed light to the dusky room.
It was a stark contrast to the enormous and modern lecture hall I’d studied in at Crosshall. That bright theater sat over two hundred students. This room had seven rows of five seats, all in desperate need of an update. I ran my hand over the rough wooden surface, barely decipherable names and doodles scratched into the old varnished desk. The indents were much darker than the oak-colored wood, time adding layers of ink and dust.
Don’t complain, Kinsley, you’re still studying at least.
Yeah, I could’ve easily have had to re-do an entire year someplace else, but that wasn’t an option for me. I had plans, and they didn’t include an extra year in college. Besides, the practice my mom worked for had an office in this area, and a place had opened up. Things were working well for her. Well, I was glad at least something good came out of a shitty situation.
I shook off the thoughts that threatened to drag me down into a bad mood, but they were beaten by the figure that walked through the door, not a moment later.
Wearing dark-blue denim jeans, a worn look making areas lighter, and the usual leather jacket, was Quinn. I rolled my eyes when he saw me staring, a smirk tilting up his now bruise-free mouth, reaching his healed eyes.
“Good afternoon, Kinsley,” he drew out, the rumble in his voice vibrating between us when he leaned toward me as he sat.
“It was,” I snipped, my long-forgotten teenage brat coming to the surface, ready to throw insults at a moment’s notice. A barked laugh sounded beside me, but I was determined not to turn to him.
“Yeah, and now it’s the best. Afternoon. Ever,” Quinn mocked, his impression of a peppy school girl grating on my nerves more than it should’ve. “My day is officially made.” Josh guffawed behind his hand next to him, and I held my tongue instead of lashing out. The resentment I had inside of me was making me ill, and taking it out on other people had to stop. However, for Quinn, I found myself making allowances. “Ya know,” he said, leaning his elbow on his desk, the movement causing the flaky metal legs to creak. “If you need to speak up about something, then you should.” My nostrils flared. Something about Quinn riled me up so bad. “I can see that you want to.” He took a deep breath and slowly released it in my direction, like during poorly performed yoga techniques. A minty breeze with a hint of sweetness hit
the side of my face, swirled around me, and my tongue darted out to lick my lower lip.
Take your own deep breaths, Kinsley. In. Out. Calm down.
“I don’t want, or have, anything to say.”
Quinn seemed to move closer to me, and it was then I realized that my desk was still in its original position, less than two feet away from him. He was uncomfortably close, but I didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just let him have his moment.
“Hm, I’d disagree.”
I could hear the humor in his rough tone, but I was adamant not to rise to the bait he was so obviously fishing with. It was no use, though. I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut for long.
“Look, Quasi,” I snapped, facing him. I turned so fast, my ponytail swung over my shoulder. His eyes landing on it, then whipped back up to my face. “I’m here to study, and I think you should too. Can you just not speak to me? That would be so great.” I smiled tightly, then faced front.
“But I want to talk to you,” he whined, followed by a snorted laugh.
With an unhurried movement, I turned to him. “No, you don’t. You want to be an asshole? Fine. Find some other person that’ll cower to your behavior, because I won’t. I don’t give a crap about you, your friend, or the fact that when you enter the room, people stop talking.” Yeah, I’d noticed that, especially when he talked to me. Like they were waiting for something to happen. “It doesn’t faze me that you come in here covered in bruises like you’ve been spending your days getting the shit kicked out of you.” I let my lips spread into a wide smile with a touch of menace for effect. “I bet you probably deserved it.” Quinn’s amused expression fell, the laughter in eyes replaced by stone-cold death, and his jaw hard and tight. I leaned toward him this time. “Sorry. Did I hit a nerve?” I sat straight in my chair and waited for a reply that never came. All I heard was one voice whispered from somewhere else in the room, and it wasn’t from either of us.
