Absinthe Of The Heart (Sins Of The Heart Book 1)

by Monica James

  “Mom! Gross!” I’m suddenly glad I’m wearing sunglasses. Both my parents burst into fits of laughter.

  “Where are you off to?” Dad asks, locking the car and rounding the hood.

  Settling my nerves, I reply nonchalantly, “Just going to a party a kid from school organized. No big deal. Belle is already there.”

  My father’s brows knit together. He doesn’t buy my indifferent act. “Will there be alcohol?”

  “I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that.” I don’t see the point in being coy.

  “Oh, leave her, Bobby. She can’t be any worse than we were at her age.” Mom swoops to the rescue when she sees my father’s reservations.

  He really can’t argue with her, considering I’m sixteen and still a virgin. “Okay, fine. But make sure you’re home by curfew.”

  “Yes, sir.” I mock salute, and he smirks.

  Just when I think I’m home free, my mom steps in front of me, blocking my road to freedom. “I know I may not be up with the lingo of today, but I certainly know your tastes in clothing and wearing sunglasses at nighttime is not one of them.”

  She folds her arms across her chest, cocking her head in interest. I suddenly wish she saw the world through these rose-tinted glasses because it would make my life so much easier.

  “They’re Belle’s. She left them in my car. I keep forgetting to give them to her, so I figure if I wear them, I won’t forget to give them back.” I take a deep breath, betraying my nerves.

  My mother looks at my father, silently asking if he believes my story. I gulp, running my sweaty palms down my thighs.

  He looks at me, as if weighing up my story. I can tell by his slightly cocked left eyebrow that he doesn’t believe a word. “Holland, don’t lie to us.”

  “I’m not!” I beseech. My shrill cements my guilt.

  Just as I’m about to plead my case, he walks over to my car and tugs at the handle. It’s locked. “I thought you said she left them inside your car.”

  Busted.

  Before I can backtrack, my father outstretches his palm and gestures with his fingers that I’m to give him the glasses. The makeup will conceal it, I reason. It gives me the confidence I need to slip off the glasses and place them into his palm with a huff.

  “See, my eyes aren’t bloodshot; I’m not on drugs, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I smartly state, but soon regret my smugness.

  “You may not be on drugs, but you’re…fighting now? Who gave you that black eye?” Dad says, shaking his head.

  “What?” Mom gasps, running over and pinching my chin between her fingers to look at my face.

  I pull out of her grasp, turning my cheek. “It’s fine. I’m not fighting. It was just a misunderstanding.” I need to put this fire out before it explodes into a shitstorm.

  “Misunderstanding with whom?”

  “Holland?” my mom implores. “Who did this to you?”

  Biting my lip, I avert my gaze. I may as well have skywritten who.

  “That son of a bitch,” my dad mumbles murderously. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who.

  “L-London did this to you?” My mom’s falter stabs at my heart. This is exactly the reason why I didn’t want to tell them. The physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional pain I’m putting them through right now.

  “Yes,” I finally reply in a whisper.

  The air is stagnant for a few seconds before it detonates into a fiery mess. “I’m going to kill that little bastard!”

  “Bobby, no! We can’t.”

  “No, Dee, this is it,” my father spits, not interested in playing nice. “We can’t allow this to continue. He’s now hitting our daughter. What’s next? I’m going to the police!”

  “Dad, no, stop!” I yell, latching onto his forearm to keep him from unlocking the car. His whole body is trembling with anger, and all I want to do is ease his pain. “He didn’t hit me. He threw a football at…me.” I close my eyes for the briefest of seconds, as that doesn’t exactly support my case either.

  “And that makes it any better?” he counters heatedly.

  “No, of course not, but you can’t involve the police. You know any more scandal linked to our name will ruin my chances at a scholarship. I’m almost home free. Please, just let me deal with this,” I beg, hoping he sees reason.

  “Holland…you’re my daughter. What do you expect me to do?” His eyes turn soft, the love for me reflected deeply within.

  Rubbing his forearm, I hope he sees reason. “I expect you to trust me, Dad. Trust that you raised me right and that I know what I’m doing. London Sinclair is just a speed bump, he’s not a roadblock. I’m almost out of there. I can deal with him, but what I can’t deal with is losing my dreams because of him.”

  My father’s chest deflates, but he’s still livid. He wants to protect his little girl from the big bad world, but he can’t shelter me forever.

  “Are you sure, Holland?” I’m surprised when my mother speaks.

  “Yes, Mom. I’m sure.”

  My parents have raised me to stand up for who I am, and what I believe in. And what I believe in is my future. It’s the only thing that matters to me, and I won’t allow a high school bully to get the better of me.

  After a tense few minutes, my father’s shoulders sag, and he nods. “Okay, fine. We trust you, but if he lays so much as a finger on you, I will break every bone in his body.”

  A shiver passes through me because I believe him. “Thank you.” I stand on tippy-toes to hug him, never feeling more loved and protected than I do right now. My mom sniffs, a sure sign she’s holding back her tears. I know what she’s thinking. She’s said it more times than I can count—her sins have cost me dearly.

  As usual, London Sinclair has caused my family pain. Leaving this town can’t come soon enough.

  I park my car half a mile down the road, needing the fresh air to clear my head.

  I left my parents clinging to one another as they bid farewell to their only child. Their worry was painted on their faces, but they did as I asked and trusted that I have this under control.

  I meant what I said. London and the masses of kids who look down their noses at me because I don’t fit into their social circle mean nothing to me. I stopped caring what other people thought about me long ago.

  I’m proud of my heritage. My ancestors worked hard to provide for their families, and being a blue-collar citizen is something I’ll never hide.

  The infamous Hollywood sign is my compass; it’s been all of ours. It’s what we’ve sought out when we’ve been lost. Visitors travel from places high and low to get a glimpse of something that should symbolize freedom. Its significance, however, gives us a false sense of hope that dreams can come true. When I look upon it, all I see is the desperate need to better oneself because people like me don’t belong here.

  There is always a buzz in the summertime air. Living in Los Angeles is a constant whirlwind of excitement, but something is truly magical about the hot summer nights, and tonight is no exception. Walking in the opposite direction of the tourist friendly trails, I slip under a linked fence, ignoring the no trespassing sign.

  We’ve been coming out here since we were kids. It’s been a popular hangout for decades, thanks to the breathtaking sights that Los Angeles has to offer. The City of Angels looks so small from up here, one can’t be blamed for forgetting the huge impact this city has on so many people. People’s dreams are made here, but for some, dreams come here to die.

  Hiking higher up the rocky terrain, I wonder where I’ll be in ten years. Will I still be here, climbing this mountain and feeling beyond insignificant when I look out into the sea of lights and broken dreams?

  I refuse to believe that.

  My dream is to graduate at the top of my class and move to New York City, where I will become a well-respected attorney, representing the blue collars of this world and fighting for what’s right. Los Angeles is where I was born, but I’ll be da
mned if it’s where I’ll die.

  “American Idiot” by Green Day catches on the warm breeze, alerting me to the fact that the party is in full swing. The riotous screams of girls can also be heard, mixed with the deep, raucous rumble of boys. No doubt everyone is intoxicated and out of control.

  I can only hope Belle isn’t too wasted because she has a tendency to go wandering when she is. I’ve found her in some strange places, and I’m hoping tonight isn’t one of those nights.

  Once I pass the trademark, hollowed-out sycamore tree—which looks eerie to the unsuspecting and is how this place got its name—I’m instantly hit with the waft of pot and beer. I’m not in the mood to socialize, but I amble the rest of the way, cringing when a classmate, Helen Tharp, rushes past me in nothing but a skimpy bikini.

  Last I checked, there was no need to wear a bikini, as there’s not a drop of water in sight, but hey, when in Rome…

  A blazing bonfire burns brightly, providing the light I need to witness a sight I’ve seen far too often. About a hundred kids are swaying to the music, red cups held high in the air as they drown a dozen or so brain cells.

  Hyper color beer bongs are being passed between eager classmates, uncaring the liquid is soiling their designer clothes. There is far too much Abercrombie and Herve Leger for my taste.

  Swallowing down my revulsion, I peer around for Belle. No surprise, she’s nowhere to be seen. My classmates don’t hide their surprise, but mostly, they appear disgusted at seeing me here. I don’t fit in and being here is breaking some ridiculous rule. The preppy girls whisper behind their hands, laughing at my cheap clothes as they check me out from head to toe.

  As they see it, I’m the girl from the wrong side of the hills. I have no right to be here. I haven’t earned my stripes to be seen in public with their Chanel and Jimmy Choos.

  But not everyone is a complete asshole, and when I see Chloe Helm, a classmate, walking around alone, sipping from a plastic cup, I breathe a sigh of relief. “Hey, Chloe.”

  Her warm eyes light up the moment she sees me. She seems happy to see a friend because, just like me, Chloe isn’t one of the “beautiful people.” She’s “overweight” according to the wafer-thin girls, but when I look at her, all I see is someone who likes me for me. “Hey! Did you just get here?”

  I nod. “Yeah. What did I miss?”

  “Oh, you know just the usual. Catfights, testosterone-fueled arguments, and people making out in the bushes. Just a normal night here in the Valley of Crazy.” I laugh at the nickname us “normal” kids have dubbed the place we live.

  “Have you seen Belle?”

  She scrunches up her button nose. “I saw her like an hour ago with Lincoln and a bunch of boys from the football team. She was pretty wasted.”

  My stomach drops. “Was Sin with her?”

  She nods, her cheeks turning red at the mere mention of his name. I ignore the need to slap some sense into her.

  “Shit,” I curse under my breath. This is so typical of Belle. “Where did they go?”

  “To the abandoned zoo, I think.”

  I shake my head. She knows better, but I have no doubt her quest to check in her V-card is the reason she’s acted so recklessly. “Thanks, Chloe.” I take off in the direction of where she went.

  “Hey, wait up, I’ll come too.” I don’t have time to argue.

  Onlookers whisper among themselves, wondering what the commotion is about, but they can all go to hell. All that matters is finding my best friend and stopping her from making the biggest mistake of her life.

  I climb up the rocky terrain, a billion horrible thoughts weighing down each step I take. What if I’m too late? What if it’s dog pack mentality, and Belle is the bone? I push such thoughts out of my mind and focus on finding my friend.

  Chloe and I run track together, so we reach the abandoned zoo in less than twenty minutes. But now that we’re here, the problem is where is Belle? I don’t have a cell phone—it’s not a luxury I can afford—but it’s times such as these I wish I had more than two pennies to my name.

  “Chloe, can I use your phone?” Chloe nods and hunts in her back pocket.

  I dial Belle, but all I’m greeted with is her voicemail. Knowing her all too well, I bet she’s let the battery go dead.

  Peering around, the darkness seems bigger, vacant. The thick shrubbery and low-hanging branches make it almost impossible to see. I’ve been here a handful of times but never in the dark. I can’t maneuver my way through this rocky landscape from memory, so I’ll have to trust my gut.

  “Let’s split up,” I suggest while the whites of Chloe’s eyes are illuminated under the moonlight.

  “Are you crazy? This is how every horror movie starts. Two girls, alone in the woods…” She shivers, rubbing her arms, snapping her head from left to right.

  “Don’t worry.” She almost looks relieved until I conclude with, “You’re rich. They’ll hold you for ransom and just torture and kill me.” She pales, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “I’ll just stay here.”

  “Okay. Keep trying Belle,” I order, passing her back her cell. I wouldn’t blame Chloe if she took off the way we came. I leave her clutching her phone, using the light from the screen as her lightsaber.

  I don’t know where I’m going, so I decide to head straight, hoping the unsteady landscape below has deterred them from venturing too far off track. It’s pitch black out here, not even the hustle and bustle from Hollywood or its surrounding suburbs can be heard this far out. The thought is daunting, but I persevere.

  My shoes aren’t equipped for trekking through such impenetrable undergrowth, so I take my time, not interested in plummeting to a painful death. The moon provides just enough light for me to see a small black shelter, most likely an old cage, a dozen or so feet away. I can’t hear anything but decide to take a look inside just in case.

  There is a rocky slope, overshadowed by tall weeping willows. To get to that shelter, I have to venture along this murky, potholed path. I’m going to kill Belle when I get my hands on her, but the most important thing right now is getting my hands on her.

  Blowing my bangs off my face, I psych myself up and take one, then two steps toward this dubious route, which looks like it just may lead to hell. The wind picks up speed; the gentle rustle of leaves has me wondering who else I’m sharing this path with.

  It’s only a few yards and then I won’t be eclipsed by this darkness. I keep telling myself this as my senses are on high alert, searching from left to right, straining my eyes to see in the dark. An unidentifiable sound has me screaming and running faster than a bat out of hell.

  I feel a fool when the moon peeks out from behind the cosmos, highlighting what an utter chicken shit I am. “Belle?” I call out, walking apprehensively toward the shelter, which is a run-down enclosure.

  All I’m greeted with is a fist full of nothing.

  “Belle?” My frightened voice echoes in the silence, alerting me to the fact that I’m out here all alone.

  Deciding to take a quick peek inside, I push open the rusted wire gate which hangs limply from one hinge. The weary whine is the soundtrack to the next Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

  The passageway opens to a concrete cage, which looks like it once was used to house bears. The thought is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies. I walk forward with my hands out in front of me, hoping I feel a head of long blonde hair. The deeper I venture inside, the darker it becomes. Pausing, I take a moment to adjust to the shadows, but nothing’s in here.

  I trip over a bottle, which rolls along the floor and bounces off the wall. It smells like stale beer and piss. Belle is definitely not in here.

  Sighing, I turn the way I came, using the wall as my guide so I don’t bump into the solid cement. The surface feels bumpy and aged beneath my fingers, and I wonder what stories it could tell. This place has been closed since the 60’s. I’m sure it’s seen decades of change.

  As I round the corner, my hand still following
along the wall, I don’t pay attention to my surroundings because if I did, I’d have noticed I’m no longer alone. Stopping dead in my tracks, the blood whooshes through my ears and my heart begins a deafening gallop.

  I can sense someone a few feet away, watching me. I don’t know how I know, but I can feel their gaze. Every hair on my body stands on end, and my fight or flight instinct takes over. “Who’s there?” I call out, faking bravado.

  Silence.

  I quickly run toward the gate but am jarred to a stop when I knock straight into a brick wall. I bounce backward onto my ass, shaking my head to clear the stupor. I don’t remember a wall being there, and I certainly don’t remember a wall smelling like sandalwood mixed with a hint of warm cinnamon and vanilla. What I do remember is that I basked in that perfume early today.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I curse, angrily standing and wiping the dirt from my hands.

  I can’t see him because it’s so damn dark, but I know my enemy is standing before me.

  I can hear his heavy breathing. I can smell his refined masculinity. There is no denying this is him. But as I’m greeted with nothing but silence, I begin to wonder what happens now that London and I are truly alone.

  I’ve had nightmares about this scenario. No one’s here to save me, but even in a room full of people, I’ve always been alone.

  “I knew you were a creep, but this is taking it to a whole new level.” I try to shove past him, but he steps in front of me, blocking my path. “You have three seconds to move, otherwise…”

  “Otherwise what?” When he finally speaks in that low, husky tenor, I wish he’d stayed mute, because that inexplicable pull tugs at me once again and I grow soft.

  Pulling it together, I step closer so we’re chest to chest. I hate this boy with my entire being, so why does his hammering heart excite and anger me all in the same breath? “Otherwise, I’ll make good on my promise.”

  “What promise, Princess?” I can sense the wheels turning in his head, which gives me the perfect opportunity to strike.

  Without a second thought, I draw up my knee and connect with his balls in a satisfying crunch. A strangled yelp followed by a string of expletives leave his lips in a garbled mess, which is my cue to push past him and break free.