by L.J. Shen
But now, when he knew I wasn’t going to tell on him, I soon realized he wondered if he could get away with it a second time.
“How’s life treating you, Tutankhamun?” His thumb rolled down my cheek.
Heartless prince, he implied. Empty-chested mummy.
I jerked my arm free, turning my face the other way. I no longer cared that he talked to me and treated me like a grownup. He was the same asshole who’d threatened to tell my parents I’d done something I didn’t. I advanced for the door, every fiber in my body shaking with rage.
“Oh, Vaughny-boy, I would not do that if I were you, my dear lad.”
I stopped, but didn’t turn around. I’d changed in the years since he’d demanded I do what I did to him. It was gradual, but persistent. I’d come to feel less everything—jealousy, love, compassion, happiness—and therefore needed to hurt more.
I’d started picking fights at school. Got suspended three times. Cut myself a little where no one could see—upper thighs, stomach, chest. It felt like feeling something, and feeling something was better than feeling nothing.
As it happened, I liked to bleed, and Len liked the taste of blood. We were, without even knowing it, very fucking suitable for each other, in the worst and best possible ways.
All this time Knight had bantered about putting hats on hamsters, but I knew no social circle or blow job could hide the very apparent fact that I. Couldn’t. Fucking. Feel.
“Take a hike,” I said without turning back to look at Fairhurst. I took another step toward the bathroom exit, but what he said made me pause.
“Your mother is going to be vastly disappointed when she discovers I’ve blacklisted her from all of my galleries and refuse to work with her—especially now, when she’s on the brink of a once-in-a-lifetime deal.”
I turned around and stared at him, dumbfounded. By this time, I knew my mother adored the ground he walked upon. He was the epitome of talent in her opinion—in many people’s. That gave him an untouchable shine I couldn’t pierce through.
“I’m going to tell them what you made me do,” I said, my voice low and steady. I only half meant it.
He smiled, rearranging the waistband of his swimming trunks suggestively. He’d done some growing up the past few years, himself. His eccentric style had been replaced with the generic look of a self-made millionaire.
“I’d like to see you try, two years after the fact. Especially when your mother is trying to enroll you at Carlisle Prep for summer session. Seems a lot like the boy who cried wolf because he didn’t get in,” he pouted theatrically.
“I don’t care about the prep school.”
“Do you care about your family, though? Their reputation?”
This time, the only thing he asked was for me to get naked in front of him in one of the stalls. He didn’t touch me, but seemed well-versed in the ritual when he bent me against the wall, jerking off behind me. I wondered how many boys he’d done that to at Carlisle.
The last time, at thirteen, it had happened in the darkroom.
That was the time Len caught us red-handed, and I’d wanted to die, because out of all the students, of all the schools I ever went to, she was the one person I didn’t want pity from.
She’d walked in when his lips were wrapped around my cock, no less. I was half-mast, desperately trying to get hard so we could get it over with. Harry and I were tucked in the shadows of the room, my arm braced against the wall.
I wasn’t hard when she walked in.
But I sure as fuck was when she ran out.
I imagined it was her, grabbed his hair, and fucked his mouth mercilessly, irrationally mad to a point that all I could see was red. He took it with little, helpless, joyful moans, and I slapped him, shutting him up so I could pretend he was Lenora. He came when I did.
That time, he promised me the internship at Carlisle Prep when I graduated high school. And by then, I knew what I wanted to do to him, what needed to be done. I was too young to do it then, but I swore I’d come back and avenge what he’d done to me.
What he’d done to all of them.
That darkroom had been occupied every single night, I noticed.
The boys of Carlisle Prep always looked red-eyed, tired, broken.
Haunted. Ghost-like. Not unlike me.
I was going to kill the fucker and make sure he couldn’t touch anyone ever again. But when his lips were around me, I’d thought about Lenora Astalis.
The girl who peeked at me every day during summer session, and hadn’t realized I’d glanced at her, too, because I was better at hiding it.
That’s what I never told Len. That she was the only reason I received blow jobs.
Because they reminded me of that day, and it was a screwed-up way to avenge what she saw.
What she must’ve thought of me.
The sweet, beautiful girl who’d occupied my mind since the South of France grew pointy devil horns, and I was fine with it. If I hated her, I didn’t care what she thought about me.
Simple.
I’d spent the rest of my adolescent years trying to prove to everyone and myself that I wasn’t appalled by human touch. That I was straight. That I was in charge of my sexuality. I received public blow jobs and talked about sex all the time.
No one could imagine the unimaginable.
That I was a virgin.
That I never wanted to have sex.
That every single time I became hard on demand, I’d had one thing and one thing only on my mind—ever since that night in the darkroom:
Killing Harry Fairhurst.
Vaughn left my side sometime after I fell asleep, exhausted by absorbing what had happened to him without falling apart. The place where he’d kissed my forehead was still warm, the only souvenir of the last time we’d spend together.
I didn’t bother leaving my bed the following morning. I felt like crying for eternity, curled inside myself, my body rocking back and forth as the sobs rattled through me. Turned out that Vaughn looming over me and threatening my life wasn’t half as devastating as hearing what had made him want to kill me—and the rest of the world—in the first place.
I allowed myself the better half of the day to fall apart privately, letting out all the emotions I couldn’t show him. Then I stood, picked myself up, and finished my statue.
What I did next would shock everyone.
Including myself.
Instead of going back to my room the following morning, I headed straight to Edgar. I was running out of time to do everything I wanted to do to take care of Lenora before shit hit the fan. Confiding in her had felt eerily similar to handing her my balls in a nice, cellophane-wrapped package, but strangely necessary.
All that we were would die right along with Harry Fairhurst tomorrow, and Hunter and Knight were due to land at Heathrow later tonight.
I barged into Edgar’s office without knocking, ignoring the fact that Arabella was sitting in front of his desk. They were engrossed in deep conversation, hunched forward and exchanging hushed words over raised tones. Planting my hands on my hips, I jerked my head to the door.
“Outta here,” I barked. Didn’t take a nuclear scientist to know who I was talking to.
Arabella twisted her head to look at me, wiping her cheek—from tears or cum, anyone’s guess would be as good as mine.
“You’re not the boss of m—”
“Ass. Outta. That. Chair.” Each word was pronounced with dripping mockery. “Before I drag you by the hair, and believe me, Arabella, I won’t even think twice before tearing those expensive extensions—and your real hair—from that empty skull of yours.”
That was a lie, but a believable one nonetheless. She turned her face to Edgar, expecting him to fight her war, but he was too stunned to react, his eyes on me. Reluctantly, she stood, her chair scraping back, and walked slowly out the door. She stopped when her shoulder brushed my arm.
“I know something fucked you up, Vaughn. Everyone knows that. And you’re not the
only person who’s bad for a reason. I’m not the devil,” she whispered.
“No, you’re not,” I rasped under my breath. “The devil’s smart and calculating. You’re neither.” I slammed the door in her face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I scowled at Edgar the minute we were alone, leaning forward and bracing my hands on either side of his desk.
It was covered with bullshit—sketches, documents, coins, a picture of Lenora, Poppy, and their mother smiling back at him. Fake fucker hadn’t checked on his daughter in weeks.
“I beg your pardon?” He sat back, blinking. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Mr. Spencer? I strongly advise you check yourself before you’re checked out of this institute. I am not impressed with either your manners or your profess—”
I cut him off. “Fuck my professionalism. You’re fucking your daughter’s enemy.” I wiped his desk clean of everything there in one, harsh movement, just barely holding back from smashing the entire thing in his face.
He pulled back and coughed, seeming surprised by my outburst.
“Your teenage daughter’s enemy,” I added. “So don’t lecture me about manners. Len is not even talking to you, and instead of making things right with her, you go around spending time with that bitch? What is wrong with you?” I straightened up, pulling at my hair with both hands as I paced across the room.
He stood, his voice booming so loud it rattled the glass windows. “What are you on about, you silly boy?”
I whirled to face him. “Don’t play dumb. Arabella told both me and your daughter that you guys are having an affair. How long has this been going on? Since you were in Todos Santos? Was she even legal when you first had a taste?”
“I…I…wait.” He frowned. “Lenny thinks that’s what I’m doing when I’m meeting with Arabella?” It was his turn to run a hand through his mass of gray curls. “She thinks I’m having sex with her?”
By the way he said the word sex, I gathered that he viewed the concept as about as appealing as I did. In other words, he’d rather be chopped up and thrown into the ocean than tap Arabella’s ass.
Then what was he doing with her alone all the time? She wasn’t my first choice for intellectual conversation.
“Are you saying you’re not?”
“No!” He slapped the desk, roaring.
“Enlighten me, then. What possesses you to spend more time with Arabella than you do with both your daughters combined?”
“I cocked up!” Edgar pushed his desk away completely, causing it to skid over the floor until it almost hit me. He shook with what looked like years of built-up rage. “I cocked everything up in Todos Santos, but not the way you think. I didn’t have an affair with Arabella. I had an affair with her mother, Georgia—the first woman I’ve been with since Lenny’s mother died. I got carried away, not thinking. Not thinking she was married, that she had kids, that I was destroying another family while trying to keep mine together. Arabella caught us in the act one day and told her father. This spun the next year in my life out of control. Apparently, Georgia had been battling an addiction to painkillers and alcohol, and I was one of her continuous bad decisions. She cried rape to save her relationship. And I got thrown into a behind-the-scenes legal battle with Arabella and her father, who wanted to avenge Georgia’s indiscretions. He whisked Georgia off on a so-called vacation, but really, it was a lengthy trip to rehab, while Arabella stayed in California with her sister. That’s when her mother admitted she had an affair with me and wanted a divorce. When her husband threatened to drag her through a nasty process and waved the pre-nup in her face, she tried to cut her wrists, unsuccessfully. Arabella and her sister were crushed, and guilt consumed me, so I found myself helping the family through this period. When I learned Arabella had found a way to get here, I knew she was after revenge. That’s why I’ve been distant with Lenny. The less I drag her into this, the less chance Arabella has to get to her. She’s been making every day a living hell. I think she has this idea that if she ruins my life, she’ll feel better about the fact that I ruined hers.”
“Is that what’s happening right now?”
“Yes. She barges into my office and room unannounced, throwing accusations in my face. She’s walked in on two dates I’ve had since coming here. Shattered two of my sculptures. Then there’s what she did to Lenny and Poppy, of course. I knew that. I knew. That’s why I kept my distance from them. I told myself it would all be over in a few short months, and things would go back to normal.”
“Bullshit. Lenny and I both heard you in your room,” I challenged. “You told her to get off of you. You had sex.”
“She was trying to seduce me!” he shouted. “She gets into fits where she tries to have sex with me, but I always push her off. I’ve called her father a few times. Her sister, too. They said I deserve it for what I did to their family. She’s a martyr, dragging me through every single sin I supposedly committed.”
“Why are you allowing her to spend so much time with you, then?” He didn’t seem the type to bone a teenager, but I was still skeptical.
He swallowed hard. “More time with her means less time for her to target Lenny. Children shouldn’t suffer for their parents’ misdeeds. I’m humoring Arabella’s destructive side until her time here is up. But I am not touching her, and I am horrified that my daughter would think that. Does she not know me at all?”
“Have you taken the time to get to know her recently?” I retorted.
His head hung low, like a half-mast flag.
“Has she shared this with Poppy?” He sighed.
I shook my head. Len hadn’t gathered the strength to upset her older sister. When you care about someone—and at this point there was no point denying I cared for Lenora—you really don’t want to be the bearer of shitty news to them.
“Thank God.”
“Don’t thank God, thank your daughter. You have to make amends with her.” I pointed a warning finger at him from across the room.
“I don’t know, Vaughn. Parenting is bloody hard, okay?”
He wiped sweat from his brow, dragging his massive back against the wall and squatting down. I did the same, crouching across from him, on the other side of the room.
“The truth is, kids don’t come with a manual. I’m not always sure when she’s acting up because she needs to, because it’s normal, and when it’s serious. Lenora has always been so inherently good. Both my daughters are, really. But Lenny has loads of common sense and a spine for miles. I’d never been particularly worried about her. I thought I was merely allowing her a rebellious period, thinking she was mad about the internship again.”
The internship. I almost winced. That one was all on me.
“You need to talk to her today. Set the record straight. Tell her exactly what’s up.”
He nodded.
“As for the internship…” I continued, the words leaving my mouth of their own accord. “The plan has changed. I need your help with something.”
Edgar frowned. “You’re still going to show the sculpture, right?”
Of course. Edgar loved Len so much. That’s what she didn’t know. She thought him giving me the internship was him disregarding her. She didn’t know he’d made the greatest sacrifice for her. It was me who’d deceived them. At first, anyway.
I’d told Edgar I would make his daughter fall in love with me and get her out of her emotional funk. That I would court her, love her, cherish her, and be a friend to her. He, in return, sold her dreams to buy her happiness. With me.
We’d both lied to get what we wanted, and it had blown up in our faces in a spectacular fashion.
“I’m not showing the statue.” I flicked my Zippo, letting the flame lick up and pressing it to the tip of my tongue, fully aware he was going to put me on fucking blast. The secret to extinguishing fire with your tongue is a lot of saliva. And very little fucking common sense. “But we are going to show them something, all right.”
My meeting with Edgar s
omehow bled into late afternoon. I gave him careful instructions on how to handle everything with Len. It felt like placing your toddler in the irresponsible hands of an untrained monkey, but I knew I had to get the hell out of there, and fast, after I executed my plan.
When I finally returned to my room, all I wanted was to kick my boots off, close my eyes, and pretend tonight was going to be just another night of me sneaking into Good Girl’s room.
But of course it wasn’t.
As it also happened, I had a surprise waiting for me in my bedroom, which had nothing to do with my two asshole friends.
“Evening, son.” My father turned around in the recliner by the window, his movements smooth and nonchalant. There was an unlit cigar tucked between his teeth, and a glass of something strong in his hand.
“What are you doing here?” I felt my jaw ticking with irritation.
Talk about shitty timing. The last thing I needed was another distraction. With my luck, my mother was here, too, along with the entire goddamn family.
“Sit your ass down.” He jerked his chin toward my unmade bed.
“Or?” I draped a muscular arm against the wall, challenging.
“That’s an easy one,” he sneered. “Or I will stand up and make you very goddamn uncomfortable by hugging your ass. Because that’s what you need right now, isn’t it, Vaughn?” He slanted his head sideways. “A hug?”
I sat down, resting one boot over his recliner in my small room. I’d been hugged by my dad more than a fucking tree in Woodstock, but there was something about his expression that threw me off. He knew something.
“Here. Sitting down. I’ll ask again—what are you doing here?”
“You’ve been ignoring my calls.”
“I spoke to Mom every day. You never took the phone. Gotta hand it to you. You know how to master the hard-to-get act.”
That was the strangest thing about the entire Dad ordeal, but also precisely what made me not answer his calls. He was on to something, and whatever it was, he didn’t want Mom to hear it.
