Devilishly Damaged

by Abigail Cole

  Travelling into the National Forest, the smooth tarmac road winds through miles of woodlands with tree trunks lining either side. Overhanging branches create a picturesque arch as wild animals scatter away from the sound of the Nissan approaching. The leaves lining the branches are the freshest of greens, spears of sunlight penetrating the gaps to give the empty road ahead a heavenly glow. Smiling to the wooden box, I couldn’t think of a more fitting day for us to spend together alone.

  When she wasn’t filming, mom would bring me up here for some freedom. There’s a ridge on the other side of the mountain she would park in, spending the afternoon playing hide and seek with me amongst the tree trunks. We would snuggle under a blanket in the back seat of her convertible with the roof pulled back, star gazing with a flask of hot chocolate. Those were the days, when it was just us.

  Continuing past the ridge, my gut twisting at the memories I try to grasp onto, I take us further up the mountain. A wooden bridge up ahead catches my attention, so I pull up and carefully lift my mom out of the car. The area is peacefully quiet, only the sounds of birds in the sky and rushing water filling my ears. Stepping onto the surprisingly sturdy bridge, I stare at the powerful pounding of a waterfall, its cool spray gently caressing my skin. Turning my back on the avalanche of water, I place mom onto the bannister and watch the stream flowing below.

  “It’s pretty ironic, you know. I think I’d loved having a sibling, a real one. Someone other than the staff to keep me company when you and dad were away. Someone to play with me, or to have helped me to mourn you in a healthy way. The real shame is that Avery is probably the exact kind of sister I’d have wanted too, but it was your actions that turned me against her. You fell over yourself to aid her every whim, so desperate to fix a broken child when yours was right there. And because of that, I’m now broken too so you doubly failed.”

  The scent of sulphur fills my senses, clearing my mind of the anger I can’t hold onto any longer. I’ve spent years blaming everyone around me for what I’ve been lacking, but I know some of the responsibility lands on me too. I dodged her calls, I refused to visit or join holidays despite her begging. I couldn’t bring myself to witness their fondness of Avery more than I had to, knowing my jealously would have set me back to the fractured boy I left behind.

  Now it’s all too late. Pulling the box closer to my body, I hug it tightly and relieve myself of the guilt. Unsure if that’s what she’d have wanted but needing to do it anyway for my own sanity. This is our moment, alone in the woods like the old days. A bright ray of sunshine pierces a dense cloud, shining onto me with a warm glow. Surely that’s a sign this is what she wanted. I have to believe in this moment we forgive each other. But there’s still the blonde strutting around my house, masquerading as one of the ‘Hughes’, that remains a reminder of everything I’ve lost.

  Fuck Avery’s plans. Fuck allowing her to have the perfect send off for her perfect mom when that’s what I’ve craved all of these years. Tired of thinking through my issues, I lift the lid on the box and tip its entire contents into the flowing river below, whispering “Goodbye Mom.”

  Avery

  “You did what?!” I shriek, praying my ears misheard. Wyatt continues strolling past, throwing a wooden box into my stomach. Catching it, I open the lid to see the emptiness inside, other than a faint leftover residue of ash coating the sides. My mouth gapes open and tears prick my eyes. I haven’t said goodbye properly at the funeral since that was all for show, planning to grieve privately when Nixon returns. I was going to ask Wyatt to join, just the three of us honouring her memory.

  “Actually, good for you.” I say, changing tactic. Wyatt pauses a step away from venturing outside, his tribe of tossers readying to jump up from the living room sofa to run after him. Looking back to me with a suspicious look, I place the box onto the piano and smile at him sweetly. “It’s only fitting you gave her a send-off that matched your key attributes. Selfish, thoughtless and ungrateful.”

  Wyatt lunges for me, crashing into the muscled wall of torsos that leap into his way. Huxley signals for me leave, happy to come to my rescue when it suits him. Crossing my arms, I refuse to move. I’m a part of this family, I belong in this house. I won’t be intimidated by Wyatt anymore, his scar hunt last night stripping him of the only leverage he had on me.

  It takes the weight of all four of them to finally shove a raging Wyatt through the open doors into the garden. Moving behind the piano, ignoring the shouts and grunts outside, I lift the lid and skim my fingers over the keys. Using one hand to begin with, I start to play the hauntingly beautiful tune to Burn from ‘Hamilton’. It had been the last musical we went to together and this song was her favourite.

  A few beats in, I accompany with the music with singing the way that mum would have. Imagining her on the stool beside me, her slender arm around my waist in a way that I’d only allow her to touch me, I lose myself in the lyrics. My lip quivers and tears build behind my closed lids. Tricking myself into smelling her honey and vanilla scent, I lean into her imaginary shoulder. My fingers dance over the keys without a need for sheet music, having memorized this piece to play for her birthday next month. Fluttering my eyelids open as the song comes to an end, I jolt to find Meg beside me, her own tears falling which turn her eyes to a pale grey colour.

  With a small smile, I push my face into her hair and tell her I love her in a muffled voice. Pulling me out of the seat, Meg locks her fingers around mine and leads me back upstairs to the movie I paused upon hearing Wyatt beckoning me. We are having our usual Saturday movie night early since Meg isn’t able to stay over tonight. Elena has a new boyfriend, a pilot who is only in town on occasion which would suit Elena’s schedule perfectly. They’ve planned a meal to introduce Meg to him and unfortunately, it falls on one of our nights together.

  Slipping back under the covers, I grab the bowl of sweet popcorn and shove a handful into my mouth. She resumes Chicago right at the Cell Block Tango, giving me more than a few ideas of what to do with Wyatt. Pushing my tormentors out of my mind while I still have Meg here to distract me, we sing along together at the top of our lungs around mouthfuls of sugar-packed snacks. As usual when ‘I Can’t Do It Alone’ comes on, Meg drags me from the bed to re-enact the choreography perfectly – something we learned when we were 14. As the song reaches the end, I collapse onto the bed heaving, either needing to give up the junk food or have a lung transplant. I vote for the latter.

  “Oh hey, I forgot to tell you something. Do you remember that guy Mike?” I lift my head to nod at her. “He goes to my school. I saw him the other day in the hallway.” I sit upright and she drops down beside me, tucking her legs beneath her.

  “No way, I’ve been wondering what he’s been up to. Can you do me a favour and give him this for his face,” I say, walking over to a drawer in my vanity. Pulling a tub of expensive scar cream from the drawer, I throw it across the room for Meg to catch as easily as if it were a lacrosse ball. “Since I don’t need it anymore.” I beam, unable to believe I’m finally scar-free. On the outside anyway.

  Meg grabs her backpack to put the cream into the front pocket and starts to collect up clothes strewn across my floor. Last night’s spontaneous club visit was preceded by Meg’s personal fashion show of my entire wardrobe. Helping her to rehang each item of discarded clothing, I pout at losing my weekend companion. Before long, she’s pulling the bag onto her back and hugging me goodbye, placing a kiss on my cheek.

  Accompanying her to the elevator for the underground garage, we promise to have an extra evening together within the week. Waving as the doors close, I head into the kitchen in search for some more substantial food than the candy littering my bed sheets. Pulling eggs, ham, cheese and butter from the fridge, I yelp to find Garrett on a stool behind me. I scowl at his wide smile, not having anything to say after last night.

  Grabbing a large frying pan, I turn on the heat and yank a white loaf from the breadbox. Garrett asks me what I’m making, licking his lips
but I refrain from answering, deciding to start a vow silence in his presence. This quirky take on a grilled cheese sandwich was one of the first proper meals I learnt to cook for myself as a child, despite being a little heavy on the calorie side. It was learn to cook, get food poisoning or don’t eat at all so I came up with some inventive ways to make quick meals.

  Spooning some butter into the pan to melt, I whisk up two eggs and empty the mixture into the pan before dropping two slices of bread in. Garrett watches me curiously, his eyes tracking my every moment. Once the eggs are ready, I flip the breaded omelette over to add ham and cheese. With a last flick of the spatula, one of the bread slices flips on top forming my sandwich. Seeming impressed, Garrett reaches out to snatch the snack straight from the hot pan until I smack his hand roughly with the spatula.

  Sliding it onto a plate, I leave all of the hob on and ingredients out as I move around to a stool on his side of the bench. Gesturing with my hand that it is now his turn, I take a bite too soon. Melted cheese burns my tongue but I play it cool, puffing my cheeks in and out in an attempt to cool down the mouthful.

  Garrett takes up his position in front of the hob with a smirk and begins to copy everything I did. His brown hair flops over to the side, a playful hint to his hazel eyes. The slim fit vest he’s wearing reveals the scabbing imprint of my teeth above his right pec, which makes me feel marginally better. Doing me one better, he seasons his eggs with salt and pepper, before pinching some diced onion from the fridge to top it. Damn it, why didn’t I do that?

  “Ta da!” Leaning across the marble surface, Garrett takes my now empty plate and deposits his golden sandwich onto it. He starts to strut back and forth behind the kitchen island, using his plated sandwich as a modelling accessory. Repeating over and over inside my mind that I hate the bastard, I manage to suppress the grin that tries to come to the surface. Resuming his seat next to me, Garrett nudges his shoulder with mine. “Come on, let’s see that beautiful smile of yours.”

  “Why would you care about my smile, you seemed pretty intent on making sure I cried my eyes out last night.” I slap myself internally for conversing with him. Looking down at my grey yoga pants, I try to hide his invasive stare with the golden curtain of my hair.

  “I hadn’t thought your reaction would be so….excessive.” Turning my face to throw daggers, he casually takes a bite of his food and moans in delight. My eyes are drawn to him licking his lips, wondering if he would be so vocally enthusiastic if I was his afternoon snack. Wait, what the f-.

  “But Wyatt needed to get that out of his system. We can all be friends now, or more.” He finishes with a wink, causing me to scoff. I might not have many friends, but I certainly would never be desperate enough to add Captain Douche to the list. Ignoring the betraying ache between my legs, I slide off the stool.

  “You’re deluded,” I say, leaving the room as fast as I can without looking flustered. His voice carries to me as I pass through the living room, “But still panty-melting hot, right?” Rolling my eyes and refusing to answer, I head for my number one spot to hide away and relax. Stepping into the study, I practically run up the winding staircase to the glorious wall of bookshelves. Books are more than a hobby to me; they are a way to lose myself into a different universe each time and allow me to live thousands of lives that are better than this one. Tracing my fingers along the spines, I wonder which fictional world to dive into when the door below opens.

  “Yes, of course she’s safe father.” Wyatt growls as I drop to the wooden floor and hide behind my bean bed. Straining my ears, I can hear a gruff muffle emanating through the phone, unable to pick up on Nixon’s tone from this distance. “When will you be returning?” Wyatt demands in a clipped voice I know will only agitate his father.

  An incredibly thick-legged spider scurries past my cheek on the floor, distracting me as I lurch back and cover my mouth to hold a scream at bay. The minibeast stops still, turning in my direction as if it senses my apprehension to its presence. I know how ridiculous it is I could be scared of a seemingly harmless spider, considering the size of the monsters that I’ve survived. But its beady little eyes assessing me and eight furry legs make my skin crawl as if I can feel hundreds of them running all over me. Spinning, the spider runs off in the opposite direction, leaving me to relax on an exhale. Not too much though, what if that was the baby and momma is close by?

  “I don’t understand why you need to travel the world for work now. The last time you disappeared for this long, you brought a runt back.” Grinding my teeth, I force myself to stay hidden but I’m getting sick of people making me feel unworthy of a decent life. As if abuse was all I was meant for.

  “Or what? You’ll hire more guards to peer into my windows at night-time. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that little trick?” My brow creases, unaware of any extra guards but I suppose Nixon wanted to ensure Wyatt behaved. “I don’t believe you; you’ll stop at nothing to cage me into a miserable existence.” The voice on the other end of the call starts shouting through the handset, although I’m only able to catch the words ‘insolent’ and ‘spoilt’.

  The sound of a chair scraping across the floor has me peering out from the side of the bean bed, to see Wyatt slumped in it with his back to me. Shoving his hand through his brown quiff, his head drops forward on a sigh. Apparently, Nixon has been able to calm the situation, since the next time Wyatt speaks, his voice is much softer. “I went to collect them, but Avery had beaten me to it. She seems to have deposited of the ashes on her own without telling me.”

  Red curtains my vision on a gasp. Jumping to my feet, I run down the stairs at a dangerous speed before I can stop myself. Wyatt can do whatever he likes to me, but he will not tarnish the love I had for mum. “He’s lying!” I scream, whipping the phone from his grip and dashing for the door. Managing to twist the rounded handle with a shaking hand, I run through the corridor, through the living room and out into the garden.

  “He tipped her ashes into a stream!” I shout into the phone, even though I can’t hear the response through my laboured breathing and the blood rushing through my ears. Passing the guys lounging on the lawn, their gazes full of confusion and curiosity, I round the pool to see Wyatt storm out of the house.

  “Give me the fucking phone,” he demands, his naturally handsome face contorted with anger. A vein is pulsing in his temple, his skin turning a nasty shade of beetroot. He walks towards one side of the pool, which I mirror by moving to keep the distance between us. Nixon is shouting my name down the phone, but my heart is pounding too loudly for me to form an answer.

  “Catch her,” he twists his face towards his gang while keeping his emerald eyes pinned on me. They exchange concerned glances but none of them move.

  “Sorry dude, you used your one bully-aid card yesterday,” Garrett says, stretching down on the grass like a cat. Wyatt’s jaw ticking is the only sign that he is furious as he suddenly runs around the pool’s edge. On a scream, I run in the opposite direction until he stops where I was, my back now by the open mansion doors.

  “Avery,” he growls between clenched teeth, “give me the phone.” Catching Garrett’s smirk in the corner of my vision, I shrug. Lifting my arm, I chuck the phone directly into the blue depths separating us which leaves him briefly stunned.

  “Sorry, I’ve always thrown like a girl,” I say innocently before running back into the house. Yells and shouts fill the air behind me as I shoot up the staircase and slam my bedroom door shut, locking it through my tremors. After a few moments of silence in the hallway beyond my door, I creep over to my balcony. Peering between the bars, I see all four men have a struggling Wyatt pinned to the ground in a rugby-style scrum. Their actions confuse the hell out of me, but for now I will take this small victory because I’m sure they will be firmly back on Wyatt’s side again tomorrow.

  Garrett

  The doorbell chiming is music to my ears, diving off the sofa and running to open the front door. I knew who would be on the other
side of the glass panels but fuck, I didn’t expect my dick to shoot up so fast. Readjusting myself in my jeans, I step out onto the marbled porch and run my hand through my hair. Unusual grey eyes follow the movement of my bicep clenching, a curious look flicking in their depths as he holds his bulging package in his hands. Gesturing for me to take it, I groan and bite my lip as I accept his generous offering. Gripping the bundle tightly in my firm hands, I whisper to it “I can’t wait to have you in my mouth.”

  “Stop eye-fucking the takeaway bag and shut the damn door!” Wyatt yells from inside the house. Winking at the worried looking delivery driver, I shut the door with my foot and carry our dinner to the glass coffee table in the living room. My mouth is salivating at the delicious aromas rising from the plastic bag from the containers within.

  “I hope you tipped him for the messed-up display he just had to witness,” Huxley comments.

  “I’d have offered him my tip, but I don’t think it would have been the kind he was expecting,” I smirk at Axel, causing the palest of blushes to line his cheeks. It’s no secret we’ve been regularly sharing women for around a year now, but these past few occasions have been less about the female and more about us. I can’t explain it, neither do I care to. Axel and I understand how it feels to be mistreated which gives us a connection that no longer seems to be sated with random women. To me, it doesn’t need a label and it’s no one else’s business.