Punk 57

by Penelope Douglas

  “Later,” he says. “Now hold up the light.”

  I purse my lips, growing impatient. But I hold up the light and shine it on the drawers he’s sifting through. I follow him when he moves to the dresser, dipping his hands in sweaters and shirts, feeling around.

  “So do you want to take a shower tonight?” He glances up at me.

  I frown. He’s flirting? Really?

  He chuckles. “I don’t really need one, but I’d love to wipe that little scowl off your face, and I’ll bet you’ll feel good wet.”

  I shake my head, trying to look unamused at his shitty choice of timing for dirty talk.

  Although a hot shower with him, kissing and touching him, sounds really good.

  “Just hurry up,” I whisper, wiggling my legs underneath me, getting anxious.

  He searches the rest of the room—some small boxes in the closet and the bedside drawers—while I hold the light, waiting for him to give up, so we can just get out of here. But he pauses briefly, standing at the foot of the bed, thinking.

  And then, before I have a chance to push him again to get us out of here, he whips around and heads out of the room and across the hall.

  Trey’s room. Finally. I expected him to search there first. I don’t know why Trey would have anything of his, but he’d be a hell of a lot more likely to steal something from Masen than the parents.

  Glancing around the principal’s bedroom, I make sure everything is put back in place—closets and drawers closed—and shut the bedroom door, hustling across the hall and following him into Trey’s room.

  I brave a glance around. I should feel guilty that I’m sneaking around the room of the guy I’m going to prom with, but I let my gaze fall on his queen-sized bed, a navy blue comforter with gray sheets, and I feel a shiver crawl up my arms instead.

  There’s no way I ever want to lie in there with him.

  I watch Masen open the bedside drawer and pick up a box of condoms, flashing it to me over his shoulder.

  “What do you think?” he teases. “Is he stocking up for prom?”

  Oh, whatever. “You know, you keep bringing up prom,” I point out, stepping up behind him and whispering in his ear. “If you’re that worried about what might happen with those condoms, maybe you should do something about it.”

  I feel his body shake with a quiet laugh as he tosses the box back into the drawer.

  “Ask me,” I whisper, running my lip over his lobe. “Ask me, and I’ll say yes.”

  He leans into my mouth, looking at me. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  I push away, displeased. “Douchebag.”

  He chuckles behind me. I flash the light around the room as Masen makes his way over to the dresser and opens the left drawer, mussing the socks as he digs.

  But I notice something in the dark and pinch my eyebrows together, coming over and reaching in, touching his hand.

  “This drawer should be deeper,” I tell him, my fingers hitting a plank of wood. I’d noticed his hand and wrist in the drawer when the depth should’ve eaten up half his forearm.

  We both feel around, and Masen narrows his eyes, finding something and pulling on it.

  He lifts up the piece of wood, the clothes fall back, and I see another compartment underneath.

  Masen reaches in and pulls out what looks like a stack of cards. He turns them over and looks at them, but then he drops his hand back into the drawer, stuffing the cards back into the compartment.

  “What?” I prod, reaching in and trying to grab the stack away from him.

  “It’s nothing.” He tries to replace the board. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”

  But I force my way in and rip the stack out of his hand.

  Shooting him a joking little scowl, I turn the cards over and look at them.

  My chest caves. Oh, my God.

  They’re not cards. They’re pictures. Four by sixes by the looks of it, and I stare at each image, shuffling the cards one after another, my stomach churning.

  Lindsey Beck, a senior who graduated last year.

  Fara Corelli, a senior in my class this year.

  Abigail Dunst, another senior.

  Sylvie Lanquist, a junior.

  Georgia York. J.D.’s older sister. He probably doesn’t have any idea about that.

  Girl after girl, naked and in a variety of different poses. Some of them are selfies, some of them taken by someone else, and in one of them, Trey has a girl straddling him. His face holds a sleazy smile.

  Disgusted, I curl my fingers around the pictures.

  Brandy Matthews is naked and on her hands and knees, the camera catching the side of her face as Trey, I would assume, kneels behind her and takes the picture.

  My heart races, and I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I shuffle the next card and see Sylvie, her mouth open and…

  I drop my hands, looking away. Gross.

  My God. What’s wrong with him? Who takes pictures of that many women—girls—committing sexual acts? Did they know he was doing it to all of them? And Sylvie’s the sweetest kid. How long did he sweet-talk her to get what he wanted?

  “I’m sorry, babe.”

  I scoff, tossing the pics on the dresser. “You think I don’t know what he’s about?”

  “Well, you are still going to prom with him.”

  I shoot a look over to him, aggravated he keeps bringing that up.

  No. I’m not going to prom with Trey. Not anymore. If he treats girls he’s able to get naked like that, how will he treat someone he can’t get into bed?

  But I won’t tell Masen that. He’ll just gloat.

  I look down and see another picture in his hand and inch forward. “What is that?”

  He hoods his eyes, shaking his head like I need to leave it alone. I dart out and snatch the picture, holding it up in front of me.

  Lyla is naked and wet, her hair soaked and sticking to her cheeks and neck, and she’s posing against what looks like a shower wall, her arms over her head and her breasts on display. Her eyes taunt the camera—or whoever’s behind it.

  Trey. If he’s not the one with the camera, he still has the picture of her.

  But I’m not fooling myself. They fucked. And recently, too. Lyla’s wearing the bronze wrist cuff she bought when we shopped three Saturdays ago.

  I don’t care about him, and I don’t really like her, so why do I feel my eyes burning and my throat aching with a scream?

  I’m not jealous he got from her what he wasn’t getting from me, and I’m not jealous they got off on each other. But why did they feel they could do it behind my back?

  I feel a warm hand touch my face. “You know what she’s about just as much as him,” Masen says. “This doesn’t surprise you.”

  I shake my head, blinking through the thick tears I can’t stop from welling up. “No,” I barely whisper, staring at the photo.

  No, I’m not surprised. I just feel like shit for some reason. The whole time I thought I was winning. I thought I was on top. But behind my back, the people I thought I could handle were handling me. They think I’m stupid, after all. Someone they find easy to humiliate.

  Just like before.

  I knew Trey wasn’t holding out for me, so I didn’t care. But I did think I had Lyla figured out. I thought I had her respect.

  What fun she must have had, standing next me and knowing that she’s getting a piece of someone she thinks I might want.

  Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey. It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.

  “You know, I turned into this,” I tell him, my voice cracking and an ache settling behind my eyes, “because I was a kid and I thought there was something more. I traded friends I didn’t think were good enough for friends who really aren’t good enough.”

  I blink long and hard, my wet lashes falling against my cheek. “Even Misha gave up on me.”

  Masen cups my face gently. “I’m sure Misha has a re
ason,” he says sadly. “Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “There’s so much wrong with me.” A sob shakes my chest, and I cry harder. “I don’t have any friends, Masen.”

  I don’t. Not really. I can understand people at school. I got what I deserved. I chose shallow, I acted shallow, and I got nothing that would last.

  I don’t know if Ten will stick with me, and now Misha is gone, too. I don’t know what I did, but it had to be something, because when you find that everyone hates you, it’s not them. It’s you.

  “You have a friend,” Masen tells me, his tone hard and sure. “The rest of those fucking losers are deadweight. Do you hear me?” He runs his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you have this fire in you that I’m addicted to.”

  Warmth fills my chest, and I raise my eyes to his.

  He leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.

  “It,” he finishes. “I love it. I can’t get enough. I think about you all the time.”

  I sniffle, taking some deep breaths and wiping my tears. My heart skipped a beat there. It almost sounded like he was going to say something else.

  “Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I pull away, replacing the board in the drawer and closing it. I know he hasn’t found what he needs, but I have to get out of here. I need a shower after those pictures, or I want to do something with Masen and forget coming here.

  Gathering up the pictures, I head out of the room and take a left to head down the stairs. But Masen grabs my arm, stopping me.

  “What are you going to do with those pictures?”

  “Burn them,” I answer. “He probably printed them, because he didn’t want his parents finding them in his phone, so he won’t have copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to be showing these to his friends.”

  But Masen shakes his head. Taking them out of my hand, he makes a U-turn and opens the parents’ bedroom door.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.

  But then I see him throw out his hand, sending the pictures flying all over the room, falling to the floor and even the bed.

  “Oh, my God.” I choke out a laugh and cover my mouth.

  “Let the parents sort him out,” Masen says, taking my hand and closing the door behind us.

  I laugh quietly, but I still laugh. I can’t stop. The Burrowes will definitely know someone was in their house tonight, but judging from the photos, they’ll probably just assume it’s a disgruntled girl pissed at Trey.

  We leave the house, going out the same way we came in, and hurriedly hop into his truck, looking around to make sure there’s no one around.

  The street is dark and quiet, and Masen starts the engine, getting us out of there.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted.”

  He gives me a weak smile. “I got what I want.”

  Flutters hit my stomach, and I bring up my hand, running my fingertips over the top of his hand that’s resting on the console.

  After a couple minutes, he pulls up in front of my house and puts the truck in Park, leaving the engine running.

  I sit up and lean over to him, not wanting to say goodnight.

  Never wanting him to leave, actually.

  “There’s a tree house in the back yard,” I look up at him teasingly. “You game?”

  He smiles. “I would love to. But I have something to do right now,” he tells me, whispering in my ear.

  I feel disappointment, but I brave it and plaster on a flat expression like I always do.

  “Do me a favor, though?” he asks, kissing my cheek slow and soft. “Make sure the key’s under the pot. And don’t touch yourself tonight. Save it for the morning when I can watch.”

  My body warms with excitement, and I smile. If it weren’t so dark in the truck, I’m sure he’d be able to see me blush.

  “Be early,” I beg. “I might not be able to wait.”

  He kisses me, and I linger for a moment before pulling away. Climbing out of the truck, I look back at him once and then unlock my door, entering the house.

  As soon as the door’s closed, I hear him pull away.

  How easy it is to get lost with him. A few minutes ago I was crying, and now none of that seems to matter. I want friends, of course. I want to know Ten will stay by my side, and I want Misha back, but…

  Masen just makes everything seem smaller. Like I have a new perspective. He’s becoming a part of my heart, and I feel good when he’s around.

  Almost like none of my fears matter as long he’s there.

  Tomorrow he said he would tell me everything, but honestly, part of me isn’t sure I want to know anymore. Of course the more I know about him the more I’ll feel like he’s real and the more I’ll be a part of his life instead of him just being a part of mine, but I like him. A lot.

  I walk up the steps and down the hall, entering my room. Switching on the lamp, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the bed, hanging my head off the end and staring upside down at all my chalk wall scribbles.

  My eyes feel heavy with exhaustion, but I’m not tired.

  Misha’s words and my words mix together, running into each other along the wall, and I can’t even remember whose are whose anymore. His thoughts and lyrics, my dreams and musings, his anger, and my confusion about everything in my life… Misha is everywhere, and I miss him. For a long time, he was my savior.

  But Masen makes me feel courage, too.

  I don’t need him to fill the void Misha left, but I like how he pushes me and expects more. He’s a reminder of what I want to feel every day, whether it’s with him or on my own. He’s taught me that who I am when I’m with him feels too good to sacrifice for the approval of everyone else. The way I dress, the guys I talk to, the games I play…it’s all plastic, and when I’m with him, I’m gold.

  My eyes fall on the list of words I drew over the past couple of weeks.

  Alone

  Empty

  Fraud

  Shame

  Fear

  And below it, I’d added the line he spoke to me in the back of the truck at the drive-in.

  Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.

  I’d loved that line. As if everything we needed to know, we couldn’t see. It was all inside of us.

  I blink at the list, reading them over and over in my head.

  Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,

  Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.

  Hmm. I read them again in my head and once more out loud.

  It rhymes. Like a song.

  Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,

  Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.

  I flip over and study the words again. It’s kind of weird how they fit together like that.

  Of course he’d given the words separately, and he never indicated a connection between them, but I knew there was some kind of meaning other than what he was telling me. The first word was at the Cove, not meant for me, after all. I’d had a feeling the words were coming from somewhere specific.

  Hopping off my bed, I pull out my desk chair and have a seat, waking up my laptop. Typing the words into the search engine, I hit Enter and wait.

  Pictures and YouTube videos immediately load onto the screen, and I sit back, scanning the hits to see if it’s from a song, and if so, which one. One of the YouTube videos is titled Pearls, and I click on it.

  The video is grainy and dark, but I can see the stage and lights of the small venue, and I hear a crowd shouting and calling out.

  And then I peer closer at the guys on stage, not blinking and my heart picking up pace. A band with their drums and guitars, and…

  Masen?

  I breathe harder and faster. What?

  Everyone is positioned, one guy sitting behind his drums, two others flanking Masen with guitars, and Masen looking casual with
a hand in his pocket and no instrument. My blood runs hot, and my chest aches. What the fuck is this?

  The song starts, hard and loud, the drummer pounding in steady beats and the crowd jumping up and down as Masen bobs his head. I dart my eyes down, underneath the video, and see the band name.

  Cipher Core. He has a band?

  The scavenger hunt. Oh, my God. I’d thought he was just a guest that night. Some random guy hanging around, but he wasn’t. That was his band’s event.

  My hand shakes as I move the cursor and click on the Show More section. The lyrics are written there, and I see Masen close his eyes and hold the microphone on its stand as his smooth, deep voice starts singing the words I’m reading.

  A picture is worth a thousand words,

  But my thousand words slice deeper.

  What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,

  Fuck that. I’ve become a hide and seeker.

  Treat others how you want to be treated,

  But what if tonight I want to be burned?

  You told us it’s better to be safe than sorry,

  And little sister listened, but I was the one who learned.

  Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know,

  All you did suffer is what you did sow!

  Necessitate, medicate, eradicate, resuscitate.

  Swallow your Pearls, but for me it was too late.

  Do better, be more, too many, too much,

  I’m about to fucking choke, I can’t force it down.

  So string up the little Wisdoms and wrap them ‘round my neck,

  I’ll strangle myself with your Pearls of Wisdom and die a wreck.

  The lyrics ring a bell. I repeat them in my head. Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know…

  Misha and I put those lyrics together. The entire fucking song is Misha’s. I remember it, and something terrible and hard curls through me as I stop breathing and read the short bio at the bottom.

  Cipher Core is an American rock band based out of Thunder Bay.

  A band in Thunder Bay. No… I swallow, acid bile rising in my throat.

  Members: