Wicked Boys

by Nora Cobb

  “I’ll take her out. Fuck them!” I shout. “Fuck their hypocrisy. The video was twisted so people would see what they needed them to see.”

  “Who?” asks Theo. “Talia?”

  I get up and grab the wine bottle and toss it under the sink. I feel the need to do something. Not to sit. To move around. “Talia did it,” I explain, “but I’m betting it was my mother’s plan. How they met up, I can’t figure out.” I shake my head. “Maya knew the day we spoke she was going to fuck up my life. I’d do anything to fuck up hers.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Vicki

  “Work those slut shorts, honey. Earn your daddy’s money.”

  Fuck them. It’s hot, and I’m not covering up, not that it matters. If I had worn jeans, they’d still heckle me as I mind my own business. I blame Talia, that bitch, but my mother had to get in on the act.

  Maya is filmed giving her response to the allegations. She sits in a kitchen I don’t recognize, dressed in modest clothing, looking like the mother I never had. Tearfully, she speaks earnestly to the reporter. She sought to give me a better life in California, divorcing her husband, whose greed had made their home unbearable. But instead of her sacrifices paying off, her innocent daughter ended up in the dirty clutches of a predatory industry, groomed within the walls of an industry school.

  Maya dabs her eyes and gives a sob. “I love my daughter, and it hurts me to see her being reckless and hurting herself.”

  I shake my head and stare in a daze at the screen. I don’t think Maya’s ever told me she loves me. And I doubt she’d ever say it to me unless a judge was watching us. My class is starting in fifteen minutes, and I don’t have the energy to go, but I do. If I don’t go, then I don’t graduate.

  “Those daddy rumors must’ve been true,” says a girl sitting behind me. “I guess she doesn’t have a type.”

  Ignoring it is becoming harder, but I have to ignore it. Her opinion doesn’t count—I don’t know the idiot, and I’m not going to. The teachers also ignore me, which is fine—not even eye contact as they purposely look over my head. Everyone believes it. Everyone thinks I’m a nympho that almost killed a popular teacher in a messy sex tryst.

  After class, I go to Jagan’s office and slump down on the couch. He shuts the door, and I tell him I can’t do it anymore.

  He nods. “I’m sorry, Vicki, but you have to go to class. Do you want a security guard?”

  I shake my head. “If I’m a piranha now, that will make me a fucking shark.”

  “I’m working on it,” he says, “Talia may not be as clean as she pretends. She has strict parents, and I’ve asked them to come in for a conference.”

  I bite my lip. I have a feeling her straitlaced parents will support her efforts to out the sinners. “I have other problems,” I tell Jagan, “My mother’s fighting for my trust fund. I’m going to end up in court soon.”

  “That’s crap,” says Jagan, “but we’ll fix it. We’ll both rise above it to greater heights. Stay tough. I know you can…”

  I nod, but I’m not paying attention as he drones on. I’m too tired for inspirational pep talks.

  ***

  I think I’m alone in the suite when I hear something fall in Luna’s room. I didn’t expect her to be back until graduation. She’s no longer the focus, but she definitely doesn’t need to be seen with me—at least not in public. I walk into her old room, and Dom is lying on the bed. He’s reaching for an ice pack that has fallen to the ground. I hiss when I see the bruises on his arms, and he looks up, catching my gaze.

  “My God, what happened to you?”

  He starts to pull the cotton sheet over his bruised torso but stops when I kneel beside the bed.

  “Who did this?” I demand. “Fucking kids,” I hiss, “Did they corner you?”

  His face shows pain that I have never seen in his eyes before. Dom looks at the wall for a minute, unwilling to answer my questions. I back off reluctantly. It had to be those fucking animals. Who else would do this to him?

  “Mel beat me up,” he whispers. “I went back to the house to get my stuff, and he went crazy mad. I thought I was going to die. Spear pulled him off me.”

  I reach for him, but he winces when I try to hold him, so I quickly let him go. He leans back onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling as I sit on the floor beside the bed. My gaze latches onto the ridiculous fuzzy pink carpet Luna bought for her room. My toes grip the high pile as I stare at a boy’s sneaker tossed in the middle of the room. I start when Dom places his hand in my hair. Turning, I look back at him again. He looks so sad I want to cry.

  “He jumped me from behind,” he explained. “I didn’t know Mel was home. His car wasn’t in the driveway when I pulled up. I was waiting for Spear, but I got impatient. I should’ve stayed outside.”

  My gaze traces the black and blues that are showing through his tan skin. “Did he break anything?” I ask, staring at his ribs. “I should take you to the hospital.”

  I move to get up, but Dom reaches out and catches my arm, pulling me back down. He winces, baring his teeth and revealing a cut inside his lip. I feel guilty for making him move even a little, and sit back down again. My limbs feel weighted as I will myself not to move again.

  “I don’t need this in the press too,” he says, “We’ve had enough to deal with over the last few days. Fucking reporters need to burn in hell. The papers get a whiff of this shit, and it will be even worse than the beating he gave me.” Dom looks at me. “Vicki, please don’t cry.”

  A tear glides down my cheek, and swiftly, I wipe it away. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. I’m upset and pissed that he did that to you.”

  “I am too.” Slowly, he sighs as his eyes flutter. “It’s a reminder that I should never go near that asshole again. I only went because I wanted some stuff that belonged to my mother’s. I got most of it except a photo album. He’s probably burned it already. Christ, I’ll be glad when he disowns me.”

  I lean my forehead against the mattress, barely putting weight on it. Dom rests his hand on my head, and he leaves it there. His fingers move against my hair, softly playing against the strands, I close my eyes, and my gut rises up in a panic. A vision of Marcy lying in a hospital bed flashes into my mind, tubes attached to her slack mouth as a machine pumps her cold heart. My eyes fly open, and I’m worried that the worst will happen to him.

  “What if you’re bleeding inside?” I ask him.

  Dom tries to laugh, twisting up his face in pain. He moves his hand away from me and holds it against his stomach. “My uncle’s going to stop by later. He’ll check up on me.” Dom moves his legs gradually over to the side of the bed and sits up. He keeps his shoulders hunched over as he breathes in, using guided breaths. “Good thing I paid attention to Jagan’s breathing practice. He’s not the fluff I thought he was all these years.”

  I frown, not finding anything to joke about in the current situation. I may have gotten a verbal beating just walking across campus, but I can handle that any day those m-fuckers want to square off. But seeing Dom like this is racing me toward my breaking point. He doesn’t want to see me cry, but these tears aren’t about pain. They’re all about anger.

  “Mel can’t get away with this,” my voice is low but menacing. “None of the shit he’s pulled. He gets away with it, and people will forget what a piece of shit he is.”

  Dom’s gaze flashes with rage. Maybe the irony isn’t lost on him that we’re talking about his sick father in Luna’s old bedroom. I feel settled in my mind, knowing that he’s not beaten.

  “He won’t get away with this,” Dom glares as if he’s facing the enemy. “Mel thinks he can beat me to get what he wants.” Dom shakes his head. “But I know what I want, and I want it more.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “I’m going to see him rot away in jail.”

  The bell rings, ending our conversation abruptly. I leap up to get the door, expecting to see Dom’s uncle. I frown a little, remembering the la
st time I saw him, but I know now it would’ve been worse if he hadn’t been there. Finally, self-preservation is on autopilot, and I look at the screen before I open the door.

  “Hey, Silas,” I start to tell him what’s happened when I see he’s not alone. There’s a young woman standing beside him, staring down at her shoes. I sort of recognize her, but I can’t place it. I step aside and let them in. Silas’ hand brushes mine as he walks into the suite.

  “Is Dom here?” he asks.

  My body tenses as I nod. I can’t tell him anything in front of this girl. “He’s in Luna’s bedroom.”

  Silas hurries off and leaves me alone with this girl. I’m not quite sure what to say or do, so we stand there awkwardly between the kitchen and the living room. I glance at her, but she keeps her head down. Slowly, I start to recognize her—taller, thinner, and prettier than most of the acting students at Redwood. She has straight brown hair that’s the envy of most of the girls and a perfect oval face. If she doesn’t make it as an actress, she can definitely make it as a model with her narrow hips. She’s also one of the girls that hangs out with Rosemonde. She’s never really picked on me, but I’ve seen her laugh a few times. She looks anything but happy now.

  “You want something to drink?” I ask.

  She looks up, and the girl is in pain. Chills grab a tight hold of my body as my scalp crawls. She has the same haunted look Luna had after her assault.

  The girl nods. I gesture toward the living room, and she turns and sits in the armchair, pulling her body up tight, almost into a ball. I glance down the hallway, hoping that the boys will show up soon. I don’t want to talk to her. I can’t talk to her.

  Looking into her face, I hand her a bottled water. I would never give this chick a glass. Voices approach from the hallway, and my shoulders come back down from my ears. Dom has on one of Luna’s oversized sweatshirts, and it fits him like a regular shirt. Silas is frowning but careful to avoid eye contact. I drag a chair over from the kitchen to sit in, but Dom takes it from me and places it near the girl. Silas wraps his hand around my arm, and we sit together on the couch.

  “Vicki, this is Raquel,” says Silas, “Raquel, Vicki had an experience like yours. Is it okay if she stays in the room?”

  Raquel looks at me with doe eyes that tug at my lame heart. Fuck, I can’t hate her for being bitchy, not if she went through what I’ve been through. Raquel looks away and nods her head but doesn’t speak. She hasn’t spoken yet.

  We sit there in silence as she tugs at the wrists of her long-sleeved T-shirt. It’s baggier than anything a girl would wear to be hip, and she’s wearing it with a pair of baggy jeans. Raquel is covering up her body, and I get it. She’s using her clothes to hide from the world. It’s a mix of shame and shutting down when the world just won’t leave you alone. I take a risk and reach my hand out, placing it gently on her shoulder.

  “He raped me,” she whispers. My hand stays on her shoulder as the whole horrible story comes out of how she went to an audition with Mel at his office. “It was the middle of the day,” she continues, “and there were people around. Well, not with us, but they were in the building. You don’t expect something like that to happen in the middle of the day, when someone could walk in. I don’t know if his receptionist heard me scream and ignored it. But she wasn’t there when I finally got away.”

  Raquel only looks at me and avoids making eye contact with the boys. Her eyes shine as she talks quickly in one breath, but her tears don’t fall. It’s like she has to get the whole story out before she breaks down.

  “He glanced at my CV and saw that I was from Redwood,” she continues, “He got this look on his face, this disgusting smirk as he fingered the pages of my book. He told me that he had a part, but I’d have to take off my top. I told him no, and he called me a baby. He told me that I wouldn’t get any jobs if I didn’t know how to handle an audition. I didn’t know what to do or what to think, so I took off only my top. He told me to take off my bra too. But I refused.

  “When I started to put back on my shirt, he came around the desk. He was half naked.”

  Raquel covers her face with her hands, and her shoulders shake as she sobs. I slip off the chair and sit on the arm of her chair. I wrap my arms around her and rock her gently. I do the things I wished for when I had really fucked up and needed someone to hold me.

  “It’s not your fault,” I whisper against her hair, “He took advantage, and he won’t get away with it.”

  She pulls away, her face wet with tears. “I feel so stupid. I took off my top. I didn’t know. I believed him. So many actors show skin. I thought…” Her voice trails off as she starts to cry again.

  Dom looks upset, but not as angry as Silas. Silas’ hand is gripping the edge of the couch, and it shakes under the pressure of his grip. His face is red with fury as he grits his teeth.

  “You have to tell,” says Dom, “You have to go to the police.”

  “Who’s going to believe me?”

  “I believe you,” says Silas, “They did it to me too.”

  Everyone is motionless as our world comes to an end. His confession stops our thoughts as we try to decide if what we heard was what he meant to say. I saw the pages in his binder, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it for the truth. I saw references to what they did to him, but I didn’t accept it for what it was. I didn’t have to face the truth until he made us.

  “I went to auditions, and I was tricked and used.” Silas’ voice is quiet but strong. “I didn’t know any better, and I trusted the people around me. I also trusted my family, but they convinced me that I was wrong. That I had done something. But slowly I realized they were wrong. They were all wrong.”

  Raquel wipes her eyes and stares at Silas as if she’s only just realized he is in the room. She jumps when he looks at her sharply.

  “I told you my darkest secret,” he says sternly, “And I trust you that it won’t leave this room.”

  She nods once. “You know my shame, and now I know yours.”

  “But you have to tell,” Dom faces Silas, “If you don’t, it will keep going on. Mel will get away with it.”

  “It wasn’t your father’s agency I went to,” replies Raquel, “I was at a subsidiary of an Evans agency. The officer manager left me in the room with…” She looks down at her hands. “Your father.”

  Grimacing, Dom pulls the sweatshirt over his head and drops it on the floor. The bruises are darkening over his body, and there’s hardly an inch of skin that isn’t changing color. Silas’ eyes widen as he and Raquel stare at Dom. She gasps and sits far back in her chair.

  “Just to be clear,” Dom says, “My father did this to me. Maybe I’m being selfish, wanting to get back at him. But I think I have a very good reason to want to see him fall.”

  Raquel looks at her feet, but when she speaks, her voice is stronger. “I’ll help you. I wanted to hide and forget it happened, but I’ll never forget it happened. I’ll feel a greater shame if I let him get away with it.” She meets Dom’s gaze. “Just tell me who to tell, and I will.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vicki

  Jagan walks the boundaries of Redwood to be certain that no reporters trespass. Or irate parents. A large guard, bigger than the boulder they maneuver around, walks alongside him every evening before Jagan leaves for home. But it’s too late to prevent a disaster that could wreck the school. Redwood’s pristine veneer has already been stained, and it’s too late for Jagan to scrub the tainted marks off it. I wish he could do it.

  “So, the plan is to escape Redwood for a day?” Dom stands beside me as we look out my window. Squinting his eyes, Jagan looks up, and giggling like madmen, we duck quickly to the floor and hide out of sight.

  Jagan further cuts us off from the outside world by limiting internet access. Oddly, very few students even care. Putting in grueling hours to finish a masterpiece for a senior portfolio is more critical than Insta. Ironically, we still have access to the school’s website, which
means Talia’s thread is still active. Our humanities classes are finished forever, leaving only final exams to study for over the next two weeks. Studio classes will continue to meet, and we can work on our final projects using the extra time.

  “We need to leave here to finish shooting,” I argue when I find out the curfew affects us.

  “Where are you going?” Jagan frowns as I stand in front of his desk, pleading like a cranky baby. Fuck him and his smugness. Jagan sits behind his desk with an impassive expression that won’t crack. He hardly sits on the couch anymore and connects with us. He’s not protecting us; he’s protecting an institution.

  “Fine,” I sigh, “You want a puppet show for your big film festival? I’ll cut up some old socks and use them to star in my segment.”