Absinthe Of The Heart

by Monica James

  “Please,” Dad scoffs. “I’m sure you’ll just bribe your way out of this! That’s why he’s in this situation to begin with. If you had taught him manners…”

  “How dare you!” She launches forward while I shrink back, afraid she’s about to rip out my spleen. “How dare you lecture me on manners and morals.”

  “Kay, that’s enough.” My mother’s gentle voice reveals her pain, but beneath that is the distinguishable heaviness of her guilt.

  She has never forgiven herself for betraying her once best friend, but no one can help who they fall in love with. It wasn’t like Ms. Sinclair and my dad were ever a couple, but the way her eyes fall into mere slits, and her lips twist in a disgusted scowl, she seems to think my mom stole something that was rightfully hers.

  “Miss High and Mighty, don’t you start with me. I have nothing I wish to say to you…ever. You gave up that right when you stabbed me in the back and twisted the knife.” Her blue eyes taper on me, hinting I was the final nail in the proverbial coffin. “But every dog has its day.”

  “It was a lifetime ago. I’ve said I’m sorry.”

  But my mother’s plea falls on deaf ears. Ms. Sinclair shakes her head violently, a wisp of her golden hair escaping from her low chignon. “It feels like just yesterday to me.”

  I should not be here, listening to this, because their past has nothing to do with London or me. This tit for tat also won’t help London’s current predicament. But they seemed to have forgotten this is about him.

  “Ralphie, please.” My mom implores him to talk some sense into his spouse, but he shakes his head, his jaw fixed.

  Looking back and forth between London’s parents, there is no denying they look like a power couple straight off the red carpet. Ms. Sinclair is slender, but her curves hint she keeps fit. Her long blonde hair is the color of sunshine, but her striking blue eyes, the same color she bestowed on her son, are the focal point of her genetic makeup. They can lure you in with false promises, but do her wrong, and they can punish and burn just as quickly.

  Mr. Arrington is tall, in shape, and radiates wealth. His dark brown hair and gray, penetrating eyes have also helped shape London’s refined yet, almost at times, feral look. Those eyes promise you the world, but once you’re ensnared, it’s nearly impossible to break free.

  Just how I feel right now.

  London still won’t look at me. His gaze is stuck to the floor. I will him to give me a sign he’s listening, that he’s just as sick and tired of our parents bickering as I am. But he only lowers his cleft chin farther, the peak of his hat shielding him from my probing, desperate stare.

  “Keep your daughter away from my son,” Ms. Sinclair spits, snaring London’s bicep. The touch is one of possession, the warning made only to piss my parents off. “If not, you won’t like the consequences.”

  I still can’t shake the feeling that this is all for show.

  “That won’t be a problem, seeing as your son will be where he belongs,” my father retorts. Even I flinch from his harsh words.

  He coaxes me to turn around and leave, but I can’t. Not until I look into London’s eyes and see what he’s thinking.

  Ms. Sinclair is the first to break apart, tugging on London’s forearm forcefully. He could easily push her away as he towers over her small frame, but he complies and follows without a fuss.

  My heart threatens to rip free from my chest and spill onto the polished floor. The thought of London turning his back on me without speaking a word twists my insides into a pretzel. Hell, I’d even be happy with a “fuck you.” I need to know he’s okay because his silence hurts more than his standard abuse.

  “Come on, Sweetie,” my mother says, guiding me to leave, but the farther away London retreats, the faster my heart begins to beat.

  “Holland?” My father’s warning is stern, but I’ll deal with the repercussions later.

  Before I can question my sanity, I take off in a sprint, almost crashing into a police officer as he exits the bathroom. I don’t bother apologizing or paying heed to my father’s threats of grounding me for life; all I focus on is London’s broad back and the way he appears to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “London!” my shrill voice alerts everyone to my unexpected madness, but I go with it. “Please, stop!”

  I choose to ignore that my pleas are similar to the ones he made this evening, because if I had listened, none of this would have happened. I pray to whatever god is looking down on me that he listens just this once, and I almost sag in relief when he does.

  My sneakers come to a screeching halt when he stops abruptly, and I’m faced with a wall of muscle. Now that he’s stopped, and actually acknowledged me, I don’t know what to say. But sometimes actions, or a mere look, can amount to a thousand words.

  He turns slowly, ignoring his mother’s protests that he keep moving. “So help me god, you know what happens if you talk to her.”

  I ignore her ambiguous warning because with his chin still downturned, all I can focus on is the way his broad chest rises and falls with each steadying breath he takes. The sight shoots a zap of electricity straight through me, and a gasp slips past my parted lips.

  The sound to most would be hushed and unheard, but not to London. He finally lifts his chin, so painfully slow I wring my hands out behind me, awaiting the torturous climax with bated breath. I lick my suddenly dry lips, but when London’s stormy eyes meet mine, it’s like sensory overload, and my body is ready to rumba.

  I take a physical step backward because his presence is nearly suffocating me.

  That cocky, arrogant smirk tugs at the seam of his mouth. He’s holding me prisoner with a look alone. Has he always been that tall? And have his arms always been that big?

  Have I always been insane?

  That question rattles some sense into my hormone-fueled brain, and I clear my throat, my game face slipping into place.

  I want to thank him for what he did, but I know he’ll just turn his lip up and flip me off. I need to appeal to who London Sinclair really is.

  Looking over his shoulders, I know he’s nothing like the two phonies standing annoyed and bored behind him. He’s Sin. He’s never made excuses for his behavior, and this entire time I’ve known him, he’s been nothing but straight up and honest. And that honesty has me suddenly smirking.

  I may hate this boy with every morsel of my soul, but like an epiphany, I realize I respect him, and obviously, tonight’s proceedings reveal that that respect runs both ways. Who would have thought getting arrested and London going to juvie would have set off this light bulb?

  Pulling back my shoulders and tonguing my cheek smugly, I match his stare. I feel confident and brazen. London cocks his head to the side, folding his arms across his chest, indicating the floor is mine.

  “Have fun in juvie. Make sure you don’t drop the soap.”

  My words are appalling on all accounts, especially as he’s facing jail time because of me, but when a husky laugh spills from his lips and heats me from head to toe, I know he gets it. His mom, however, looks seconds away from murdering me.

  “Maybe I’ll come out a changed man,” he suggests, arching a perfect dark brow.

  “Maybe.” I shrug casually. “Or maybe you’ll be plotting ways to pay me back.” When his confusion is apparent, I step forward, basking in this heady air of confidence. “I won.”

  A horrified wheeze gets caught in Ms. Sinclair’s throat, but I’ve never seen such passion in London’s eyes before. This banter is…getting him off, and the thought has me yearning for more.

  “Oh, Princess,” he purrs, stepping forward, closing the already impossibly small space between us. Lowering his face inches from mine, his signature fragrance hits me in all the right places and I tingle all over. “This is only the beginning.”

  Touché.

  Unable to stop myself, I stand on tippy-toes and deadpan him. “Bring it.”

  Both our parents are ordering we leave, b
ut not before London reaches out and runs his fingertip under my left eye. His touch is so unexpected, a hum escapes past the floodgates and my body warms from head to toe.

  Licking his upper lip, he nods his approval. “I’d say I was sorry, but you fucking own this. Bye, Princess.”

  A million thoughts crash into me, and I can’t shake the feeling his words are a double-edged sword. I don’t have time to ask him, however, because he turns, and just like that, he leaves me wondering what the hell I’m going to do.

  “Bye, Sin,” I whisper to no one other than myself. I’ll never refer to him as anything other than Sin because at this moment…sinning has never felt this good.

  Six Months Later

  No one should be subjected to Christmas carols. They especially shouldn’t be subjected to Christmas carols that have been revamped by Mariah Carey.

  It’s a week before Christmas and I’m getting slammed at work. Kids are off for Christmas break, which means the bored residents of our valley like to hang out at the roller rink to waste time. It’s cheap, fun, and most days, we play good music, but today is not one of those days.

  I got Belle a job here—not that she needs the money because her family is loaded, but it’s been fun working together. She’s in charge of wiping down the tables and working behind the snack bar. It’s weird being her “boss,” seeing as my boss is never here and passes off the responsibilities to me, but it’s been a nice distraction, and for the past six months, I’ve welcomed anything that can take my mind off him.

  “Sizes three and eleven please. Miss?”

  As usual, my mind has wandered to a place I forbid it to go, but it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, he always seems to creep back into my head, controlling every waking thought.

  “Sorry, Mr. Harrison.” I shake the fog from my brain and focus on giving Mr. Harrison and his son, Tom, their skates.

  I’m suddenly irritable. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him because I know he hasn’t spared one single thought about me. As I’m hunting through the skate rack, I scold myself for even thinking about this—again.

  “Happy skating.” I slam the skates onto the counter, contradicting my words. Mr. Harrison quickly retrieves them, unable to escape fast enough.

  Sighing, I blow my bangs off my face. Once again, Sin has permeated through my safety barrier, and although I hate him for it, I hate myself more.

  Reaching for Mr. Harrison and Tom’s shoes, I hurl them into the rack. I can’t even remember if I charged him for the skates. Today can blow me.

  “Whoa, what did those shoes ever do to you?” says a playful voice behind me. Turning over my shoulder, I can’t help but smile when I see Lincoln O’Toole leaning against the counter confidently.

  I have no idea why, but Lincoln has been hanging around me in public on most days. Since Sin left, he’s filled the shoes of high school heartthrob quite easily. I thought that would mean the end of our covert kisses, but it’s been quite the opposite.

  Rumors we’re together run rampant through the school, but I don’t even know what we are. We’ve shared some kisses and some light heavy petting, but that’s all, thanks to my parents grounding me until further notice.

  “I’m a Chucks girl,” I tease, casually running a hand through my hair to make sure I don’t look as shitty as I feel.

  A smirk tugs at Lincoln’s full lips. I’m certain I’ve heard the swoons of all the girls in a ten-mile radius, but me, I’m still wondering what he wants. He reveals what a second later.

  “What time you get off?”

  Looking down at my watch, I exhale lightly. “About an hour. Why?”

  “Always so suspicious,” he muses, leaning forward with both elbows on the counter, oozing confidence and sex appeal.

  I purse my lips. “When it comes to you, always.”

  A husky laugh erupts from his sizable chest. “Well, I’m having a small get-together tonight, and I want you to come.”

  “Why?” I question, not masking my curiosity.

  His lopsided smirk reveals he sees my defiance as a challenge, but I’m genuinely curious to why he wants me there. “Just come,” he replies, his hooded eyes showcasing the true nature of why he wants me to attend.

  My parents are out for the night. I suppose I could swing by. “Fine,” I agree with an exaggerated sigh. Folding my arms across my chest, I arch a brow. “But don’t think I’m putting out.”

  His mouth falls open, and he chuckles deeply. “I wouldn’t think of breaking your over the clothes rule.” My cheeks heat, and my confidence nosedives. I feel like prey beneath that heated stare.

  Thankfully, Belle comes bouncing over, interrupting this suddenly awkward conversation. “What are you two talking about?”

  I straighten my shoulders while Lincoln winks, sensing my sudden embarrassment. “Lincoln was just inviting us to a party tonight.”

  He grins, while Belle squeals in excitement. The mere suggestion of a party always seems to elicit this response from my best friend. “We’ll be there,” she replies for us. After the zoo incident, we’ve made a pact never to leave the other’s side whenever a gathering is involved, not that I’ve been to many since then.

  Turning around to tidy the massacre of shoes I’ve managed to create, I tune out, not really listening to what Belle and Lincoln are talking about. He’s become the big man on campus, and I’ve become accustomed to every single girl wanting a piece of him.

  I’m hunting for a left Air Jordan sneaker, oblivious to my surroundings, when Belle latches onto my forearm, leaving finger indents in her wake. “What the hell, Belle?” I ask with a chuckle as I peer up and see her face.

  I’m certain Brad Pitt has just walked into Paradisco because she looks seconds away from fainting. Her cheeks are rosy and her lips are parted before she snags her bottom one between her teeth. “What is the matter with you? Are you having a seizure?” I tease.

  She doesn’t reply. She simply places her hands on my shoulders and turns me around. I have no idea what I’m looking for until a mass of people to the far left catches my eye. The excitement is palpable. There are fist bumps, girls fanning away their exhilaration, and people running to join in the commotion.

  I can’t see who has caused this mayhem because the horde of people surrounding him/her are behaving like this is the second coming of Christ. I stand on tippy-toes, but when Lincoln shakes his head in awe and gasps, “I’ll be damned,” I get kicked in the guts and stagger backward, gasping for air.

  I know without looking who it is.

  A million thoughts crash into me, but at the forefront is that he’s back—Sin is back.

  Belle hunts through her bag under the counter, producing a lip gloss wand. She applies a glossy layer and primps her long blonde hair, while I’m barely able to stand upright without the support of the wall.

  I watch with bated breath, anxious for the sea of people to part because my entire body is desperate, yearning to see him again.

  It should disgust me that my peers and mere strangers are hailing him like some hometown hero, but it doesn’t. I’m excited he’s back, and that fact confirms I need my head read.

  “I thought he wasn’t out for another three months,” Lincoln says, the disbelief and annoyance clear in his tone.

  He knows now that Sin’s back, his five minutes of fame is over. Judging by the clenching of his strong jaw and flaring nostrils, I think it’s safe to presume he’s not too happy about that fact. He’s furious, in fact.

  There is no denying the underlining competitiveness between them that’s been present since the first grade. Lincoln has always been Robin to Sin’s Batman, but I never thought he cared because anyone standing beside Sin will always be invisible in his shadow. I always felt they were more frenemies than friends.

  However, nothing else matters, no one else exists when the crowd finally disperses and I…see…him. Time stops and all I can do is marvel at the man who has invaded my dreams and muscled his way into every single th
ought.

  He looks taller, bigger in fact. His shoulders have always been broad, but everything looks more…defined. The Santa Cruz muscle tank clings to his upper body like it was crafted especially for him. The white emphasizes the golden color of his skin. He’s always been tanned, thanks to the Californian sun, but now, everything is rippling and bursting with masculinity. The boy I once knew has been replaced with this rugged, ripped man.

  He slaps one of his teammates on the back, drawing attention to his tattooed forearm. He sports intricate, colorful artwork, totally owning the bad boy look. They lead from his left wrist upward and stop at his elbow.

  His hair is still that dirty blond color, but it’s longer, flicked forward, erasing that quarterback look I remember.

  I swallow twice as my cotton mouth threatens to prohibit my breathing.

  “Oh…my…god,” Belle gushes, appearing just as transfixed as I am. “He looks…wow,” she opts for instead, as she’s obviously at a loss for words.

  In black skater shorts, that tight fitting tank, and scuffed Chucks, he looks like he belongs on a wanted poster, warning all parents to lock up their daughters and secure the locks on their chastity belts.

  I place both hands on the wall behind me, bracing myself for what’s to come. Helen Tharp, just one of the many Sin Skanks, elbows her way through the crowd and plants a sloppy, indecent kiss straight on his lips.

  Sin appears taken aback, but after a few seconds, he returns the kiss half-heartedly. The mob erupts into riotous cheers, with Sin’s fellow bros slapping him on the back with pride. I suddenly see red and leave indentions in my palms from my nails. “Good to see some things never change,” I spit with a little more heat than I intended.

  My words appear to eject a magnetic force field because the moment they leave my lips, Sin frantically scans the crowd until his gaze lands on me. I expect it to flick to Belle, but it doesn’t. When it swings my way, it remains fixed and heated while I squirm under that animated blue stare that holds me prisoner. I suddenly can’t breathe.