“That is truly fucked up! Fucked up people in this house surround me.” We both laugh again.
“So, now its your turn,” I remind her. “What is with you?”
She looks away for a moment then back at me. “Well it takes a fuck up to know one. I used to be all of you for a moment.”
“I figured. Well, Hugo figured from your Facebook page.”
She laughs a little before continuing. “I was a true bitch when I was younger. I would trample over anyone in my way to get what I wanted. It wasn’t because my parents were horrible. My mom could be a bit much but not enough for me to be ‘woe is me.’ It was just because I had access to everything and all I did was take it for granted. I’d talk shit all the time about not being a virgin, but that was loads of bull. At fourteen, the guy I did want to lose my virginity to ended up sleeping with my best mate at the time.” She laid her palm on her chest, dramatically gasps, raising her nose and chin up. “I found it highly appalling that he would choose a girl whose parents made less than mine.” We both laugh before she continues. “So, at this party we all played a game of truth or dare and I used the game to completely annihilate her. When she picked truth, I made her confess to the rumors of her father’s addiction to prostitutes and underage interns, also her mother’s overindulgence on wine and Xanax. Then when she finally chose dare, I thought it would be funny to dare her to jump from the roof into the pool naked. It was four stories up from it and I never bloody thought she would do it.” Juliet’s eyes tear up as she pauses. I’m guessing this story doesn’t have a happy ending. “She landed in the pool… but not before her upper body hit the concrete.”
“Shit,” I say, wincing.
“Yeah,” she faintly smiles. “Got hurt really bad… she almost died from swelling of the brain and just...” She closes her eyes. “I just remember there was so much blood.”
“So, what happened after that?”
She opened her eyes. A tear falls and she quickly wipes it away. “Everyone told me to forget all about it. It’s what they did. She became a social pariah. The girl who stupidly jumped off the roof… and got brain damage because of it. She gets seizures. They’re very dangerous. So dangerous that one can kill her. I didn’t tell any of my so-called mates, but I brought her schoolwork for a whole year every day. She wouldn’t see me for that whole year, but I still did it because I just needed her to know that I was sorry. That I couldn’t ignore it like the rest of them. Finally, she talked to me.”
“Let me guess, she spat in your face.”
“No, I wanted her to. I wanted her to so badly and the funny thing is that I didn’t realize how badly I wanted her to until after…” She trails off and the suspense is killing me.
“After what?”
“After she forgave me.”
My eyes broaden in disbelief. Juliet painfully smiles, nodding her head.
“Yeah… she forgave me.”
“Why?”
“She said because… if the roles were reversed, she would’ve done the same exact thing.”
“That’s real,” I say, exhaling the smoke and dumping the cigarette in the tray. “I still don’t get why she jumped, though. If it was me, fuck that.”
“Yeah, I still didn’t either so I asked her.”
“What did she say?”
“She wanted to fly. She wanted to fly away from it all. She wanted to be free.”
“She wanted to die,” I translate.
“Yes, she did. I know that. She still does. I saw her before I left and she’s pretty sick. Her seizures have gotten worse. She told me, “When I die, you better be at my fucking funeral bitch.”
I laugh. I like this girl already.
“We text. Well, she texts me. I’m only allowed to text her back when she does. Her rules and I obey of course. I love it though. She has a personal assistant that writes her texts and tweets for her, but they are her words.”
“Because she can’t use her hands?”
“No, she can, her parents just got her a personal assistant out of guilt. She’s always wanted one.”
“She’s a great girl. After everything I said, fuck it. Fuck everyone that prides themselves on being zombies. Eating through everyone they can get their hands on. I guess that’s how I became who I am today. Jessie did that for me. My mormor too. I wanted to be free too. I didn’t want to get like Jessie. So deep where I thought death was the only way.”
I nod in agreement. Juliet is an unsung redeemer. I admire her. Here are the rest of us thinking that because we are known as the bad people that openly do their dirty work, not caring what people think of them that made us better and different. We thought we were different, but in the end we all still fit the description of the spoiled rotten, careless creatures we were rooted to be. At least we’re cooler, though.
“Well, Juliet… I’m starting to like you more and more.”
She shrugs. “I’m pretty likable.”
8
SCARLETT
I need a bath after that rude encounter with that little bitch, Juliet Spears. How dare she come at me like that? I need to refresh and maybe enjoy some alone time with Patrick who has been waiting for me at our condo.
“Patrick!” I call once I walk in.
“We’re in here, babe!”
We? Who the fuck is we?
I step into the living room and immediately forget all about the English twat. The woman in front of me outdoes any one of my enemies.
“Hey, babe.” Patrick walks over to me as I stare at his mother and sister who are too comfortable on our couch, glaring at me. “My mother and sister decided to surprise us.”
“How lovely,” I force my excitement.
His mother stands up in her all white jacket and skirt. Her dyed brunette hair falling over her shoulders is just as stiff as her personality. Jane Townsend is a woman of many accomplishments. By accomplishments, I mean being a trailer park townie in Ohio who scored a very wealthy man. She met Patrick’s now deceased father when he was attending college in her Godforsaken town and hit the jackpot once she became pregnant with Patrick’s older brother, Ian. Patrick’s father did the honorable idiotic thing and married the white trash.
“Hello, Jane.” We greet each other with air kisses on the cheek as usual. I think we both secretly wish those kisses could poison one another.
“Hello, Scarlett. Always a pleasure,” she says with a tight smile.
His brat of a little sister, Rebecca Townsend, never hides her dislike for me. I can respect that even though the only real reason she dislikes me is because her mother told her to.
“Hi, Rebecca,” I say. No response.
“Rebecca.” Patrick eyes his sister who is still texting on her phone. “Say hello.”
“Hey,” she says still looking at her phone.
“Patrick told us you were at Eleanor Ashworth’s home,” Jane says.
“Yes, I was.” I sit down on the other couch next to Patrick.
“I hear her home is still a shelter for vile, reckless youths.”
“Mother,” Patrick speaks in a sharp tone.
“It’s okay.” I place my hand on his chest and lean in closer to him. I always have to make it known to her that the ownership of Patrick has been transferred. “My past is my past, Jane. I regret it all. Now I am all about Patrick and our love makes me better. I just hope one day you can see that.”
I wait with the sweet smile on my face. The more of a bitch she is to me, the more upper hand I have with Patrick. So go ahead.
“Of course, dear.” But of course she doesn’t have the balls to fully challenge me.
JULIET
“Everything is going well, Mum,” I say through the computer screen.
“Good, are those other children being nice to you sweetheart?”
I laugh a little. “Yes, they’re not as bad as you think.” That’s an understatement.
I hear my dad’s laughter in the room. “Vivian, give it a rest.” My mother gives my father
a look and blows a kiss at me.
“Talk to you soon… Love you sweetheart.”
“Love you too.”
My father appears on screen once my mother leaves. The old man has a warm spot in my heart. Every time I hear his voice or see him, I just feel safe.
“How are you doing, rabbit?” Rabbit is a nickname he gave me when I was a child. He says I was hyper, always hopping around and had an unhealthy addiction to carrots. I’ve grown out of that now. I bloody hate carrots.
“I’m good, Dad. How are you?”
“The usual. Dealing with vultures and plotting ways to distract your mother from being paranoid.”
I laugh. “Only you can handle her”
“Of course because I love her no matter what just like I love you. We miss you around here.”
“I know, I miss you too. It does get lonely, but the people are entertaining enough here.”
“I bet.” He squints his eyes in the screen. “Who’s that behind you?”
I turned around. I’m pleased to see August peeking his head in.
“Hi, come in.” He hesitates, biting his lip. I wave my hand towards me, urging him to. He walks in and carefully sits on my bed, looking at my dad on the screen. “Dad, this August Mandrake. He is my favorite person in the house.” August begins smiling, his cheeks turning red.
“Hello, August,” my father smiles. “I’m glad to see you are meeting good people, rabbit.”
“Rabbit?” August asks, smiling.
“Yes, but only he can call me that—don’t you start.”
“Rabbit,” August repeats again. “I want to show you something,”
“Go ahead, rabbit. We’ll chat soon,” Dad tells me.
“Okay,” I say to August then look at my dad. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.”
His face disappears and August wastes no time, grabbing my hand and dragging me upstairs to his room. I am stunned by what I see.
“I want to show you m-my new maze.” He points to his wall that’s painted in black chalkboard. A maze indeed, he has. It’s just like the one I saw in his sketchbook. It has to be thousands of paths intertwined together. Passageways overlap each other. It is so complex. It’s genius. It’s giving me a bloody headache just staring at it.
“How long do these take you, August?”
“Twenty-three hours and fifteen minutes. Sometimes eighteen hours and two minutes,” he answers like it’s no big deal. “The ones in my sketchbook take lesser because chalk is messy. It’s really messy and I like it to be clean on the wall. It has to be clean. It has to.”
I raise my hand to it.
“Don’t touch it!” He looks horrified. “Only I can kill it. Only I.”
“Okay.” I place my hand back to my side and stare back up at it. “This is amazing, August.”
“Thank you. I- I- I like to draw mazes and then when Hugo comes back, he’s going to try to figure out how to get through it. He won’t be able to though. He never can. He usually gives up after thirty minutes to an hour.” He laughs to himself.
“How long have you drawn these?”
“According to Hugo, since before I could talk. I couldn’t talk until I was eight.” He holds up eight fingers still looking down.
“That’s okay. You were just a late bloomer. So was I.”
“Hugo always knew what I was saying though,” he adds. “He knew when I was happy, sad, hungry, when I- I thought something was funny. He always knew.”
I smile at the thought and imagine a young Hugo and August.
“I can do a lot of things. I can play chess, Chinese checkers. It took me three weeks to learn both. I beat the best kid at our school when I was twelve. It also takes me under a minute to solve a Rubik’s cube. When people ask me how, they think it’s through algorithms or some number method, but it was just by the colors and the paths of those colors. I suck at math. People are stupid. They think all people like me are great in math. That’s so stupid. Some of us suck at math.”
“Which is you, apparently” I say amused.
“Exactly. Hugo tells me that people are stupid so never mind them.”
“He might be right about that one.”
“I’m good at a lot of things, but I only like drawing mazes. I visualize everything I see through the maze. The more intricate it is, the more intense I am. The more I’m feeling. The more I’m thinking.”
“Let me guess. You think a lot.”
“Yeah,” he snickers. “I can’t help it. I just…” He raises his hands over his head, clawing at it. “Everything I see or hear goes inside and stays inside… forever.”
“It must get tiresome.”
“That’s why I like it when Hugo rubs my head or- or when I watch Lost on my Netflix.” He laughs a little. I go back to studying the maze on the board, smiling at how amazing August is.
“Juliet, can you be my friend?” he asks me out of nowhere.
I laugh a little before answering. “We’re already friends, August.”
His smile grows wide. If people like Hugo wonder why I show kindness, this moment is the answer to their wonder.
HUGO
I enjoy pleasuring women. I enjoy the screams and gasps that escape from their throats and then the tears that fall from their eyes. Yes, I’m not overstretching it; I have made women come with tears. I don’t think it’s because I’m the best fuck in the universe. I just think it’s because the women I usually fuck have been sexually oppressed for so long that they are actually suffering from hysteria. Studies should be conducted on the housewives in the suburbs and the socialites of the Upper East Side. Brooke always screams. She always cries. She screams my name every time she comes and she cries every time after. It’s her guilt that consumes her and I sort of enjoy it.
It’s always a pattern with Brooke. She thinks it’s bold and fun to have sex in her marital bed while her husband is at work and the kids are out with the two nannies. We fuck like two jackrabbits for an hour and a half. I make her come three times and when the last one arrives, I pull out and watch as the tears flow down her cheeks. She turns over to her side, staring off. She’ll stay like this for at least twenty minutes.
“I need a glass of water.” I get out of bed and go to her bathroom to clean up. I throw away the condom and throw on my pants.
“After the water, you should leave. Kids will be back from their play date soon,” she tells me.
I walk out of the bedroom and head down the long white hallway of her family’s condo. It’s an open space once you arrive in the foyer—the kitchen, dining room, living room—it’s all connected in one large space. I go to the refrigerator, opening it up. I grab a bottle of water and close the fridge door back. I sense someone here. I turn my head to the right. The little blonde boy can be no more than nine or ten. He stares up at me with sad brown doe eyes. They look like glass.
“Let me guess,” I say in monotone. “The nanny brought you home early.”
The boy says nothing, only sniffs and here comes the tears streaming down his face. I sigh, rolling my eyes. I then squat down to meet his height.
“I was like this the first time I caught another woman coming out of my father’s office. I cried and for the first time, my little heart was broken. You’ll get through this. It’s part of the price of luxury, kid. There will be plenty of random strangers coming out of your parents’ bedroom when the other isn’t home. Soon, after a couple… it will start to become the norm, like the norm is that a favorite food for a seven-year-old kid like you is lobster or crème brulee. Luxury has its own normality, my mother always told me that.”
I rise back up, standing straight. The kid’s eyes grow darker, just like mine did when I confronted the woman my father had been sleeping around with while my mother was at the gym. It’s like looking in the fucking mirror. You know that unsettling feeling I get when I’m with Juliet? Well now I’m getting an unsettling feeling again. Only this time it’s different.
“I’m go
ing to give you the power that I never had. If you want me to leave your mom alone, then say it. I’ll stand by my word and my word is that if you tell me to leave right now, I will never see your mom again.”
The boy’s jaw twitches and more tears fall. His small chest rises up along with his nose and chin.
“Leave,” he grits out.
I nod. “Good for you, kid. You’re gonna make it.”
I’m back in Brooke’s room.
“Your kids are back.” I inform her, throwing my clothes on.
She rises up from the bed, her face upset. She pulls her hair, starting to panic.
“You might want to have a chat with your son.”
“Oh my God…” She gasps between words, “Oh my God...” Her eyes begin to tear up.
“Stop it,” I say, sharply. “You don’t get to cry. He does, but you don’t. I suggest you get your strength in order and talk to your son and if you’re feeling very brave, divorce your husband and focus on just being a mother and your own person instead of a woman who chose to waste her prelaw degree to become a trophy wife to make an asshole feel more like a man.”
She gapes at me and her mouth trembles.
“This will be the last time you and I come in contact on a personal level. It was fun while it lasted.”
I leave out and get into my town car. I’ve never been aware of how easy it is for our driver, Tony, to ignore us. Now I am very aware. He just keeps driving, his eyes focused on the street as I slam my fists repeatedly into the back of the passenger seat.
9
CODY
“So how is your summer so far, sweetie?” my mom asks me while texting on her iPhone. My dad is doing the same. Work is twenty-four seven for the Nichol’s family. Always trying to save the world through surgery, research, and medication.
“It’s good so far,” I tell them fixing my tie.
“You seem nervous,” My dad says, which confuses me because he’s been doing nothing but looking at his phone.
“I’m fine.” I’m not, though.
Two months ago I picked this restaurant for when my parents stop by in New York. They live in Washington now. Our family’s company is collaborating with the government on a research study. It’s classified. I didn’t want to live in DC, so that’s how I ended up at Ms. Eleanor’s two years ago. My parents don’t trust Ms. Eleanor or the people staying there, of course, but they do trust me. They have faith that I will stick to the plan. Get no less than a 4.0. Don’t drink. Don’t do drugs. Always wear a condom—Mom’s advice. Be charming. Be good. Be gracious. Be thankful. Become a fine man who can look himself in the mirror and not be offended or disgusted with what he sees. That’s what my dad told me when I was a kid. Those words of impeccable wisdom are what keep me going down the path that I’m on. I do get a 4.0. I’m kind. I’m thankful. I drink, but I don’t overindulge. Only drugs I ever do is smoke weed. I think I’m gracious. I hope I’m charming. Okay, no I’m not. If I were, I would be in the predicament of having the choice to wear a condom or not. I wouldn’t be a damn virgin at eighteen. I wouldn’t be acting like a bitch when it came to talking to a certain waitress.
Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1) Page 11
