by Fox, Logan
* * *
Indi
I’m supposed to be catching up on a week’s worth of school work, but instead I can’t stop thinking about Briar. What he did to me in the woods last night. How it felt when he had me on my knees in front of him in homeroom.
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as enigmatic as him. There’s danger in his eyes, but instead of running, I’m drawn closer.
My mother made a point of keeping me away from boys. She wasn’t expecting me to lose my virginity on my wedding night or anything, but she impressed upon me how important it was to wait for ‘Mr. Right’, like she’d done with Dad.
But I haven’t met my Mr. Right yet. Not even a Mr. Maybe. I’m starting to wonder why the hell I listened to her.
It’s disrespectful. Downright rude. But as much as I loved her, as big a role as she played in my life…She’s not here anymore.
I have to make my own decisions now. I have to decide who Mr. Right is, or if I even want to keep waiting around for him.
I slide that thin silver chain through my fingertips, a sad smile pasted on my mouth. I’m staring out my bedroom window while the smell of whatever Marigold’s cooking downstairs wafts up to me.
Mom had lots of jewelry, but Dad commissioned this necklace from someone right here in Lavish for their 45th wedding anniversary…which he knew they’d never get to celebrate when he was diagnosed with stage four terminal cancer. Blue was Mom’s favorite color, and he’d known the day he married her that he would get her a sapphire.
I would love to wear this necklace all the time, a way to carry her with me, but if all else fails…I might have to sell it to escape this place. It’s worth seven hundred thousand, this stone.
I’m a hundred percent sure this is what they were looking for that night.
I got home at two in the morning that night. My phone had been ringing, but I didn’t recognize the numbers. I’d had so much to drink, I didn’t even think anything of it at the time. Multiple calls from random numbers? A mere glitch in the Matrix. Nothing for me to concern myself over. Especially when a hot guy from my school brought me three drinks, and seemed fascinated by everything I said. I thought we’d be making out by the end of the night, perhaps even screwing.
We never did.
By two, I could barely stand unaided. I’m convinced there was a guardian angel with me that night. A really trendy angel — one that knew I’d be better off getting pissed than staying at home with Mom. Because that guy could have done anything to me that night, but instead he called me a cab.
I argued with the cab driver for a minute when he wanted to drop me off. I kept telling him he had the wrong house.
They’d extinguished the blaze about an hour before I got there. Smoke hung thick in the sky, and wreathed what was left of the upper levels of my home. My front lawn was littered with police, paramedics, and firefighters.
And then there was the crowd.
When I finally decided to get out the car and try to find a cab driver who actually knew Lakeview and could get me home, my next-door neighbor hurried over and threw her arms over me.
“My—God—Indi.”
Then, finally, reality consumed me like molten lava.
I remember trying to run into the house. Men grabbing at me, dragging me back. And then I don’t remember much at all, because they fucking sedated me. My friend at the time, Sara, arrived a few minutes later. Her parents ushered me into their station wagon and drove me away.
The shit they gave me was so strong, I fell asleep in the back seat and only woke up later the next day.
Mom had been dead for almost a day before I heard the news.
I lift the chain and run the delicate links over my lips.
According to the police, it was a botched robbery. The thief — they could only find evidence of a single person on the scene — must have burned down the house to hide his tracks. He tried to make it look like a gas leak, but despite how badly burned my mother’s corpse was when they recovered it, her autopsy revealed signs of a struggle and aggravated rape.
Mom was petite, like me. Father used to say she was his doll. He wasn’t a large man, but she only reached his collarbones. It wouldn’t have taken a strong man to subdue her, to force her—
A sob hitches in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and force away every last shred of emotion from my mind.
I’m just glad my father wasn’t alive when it happened. It would have broken his heart. Just like he broke my heart and Mom’s heart when he died from cancer. That was over five years ago. Sometimes I wonder which was better — Mom’s abrupt, brutal murder, or my father’s year-long struggle where we’d known weeks before that he would be leaving.
Guess it doesn’t matter.
They’re both gone.
But their deaths taught me the most important lesson of all.
Love is for masochistic fucks who enjoy the feeling of having their heart ripped out.
Right now, I’m free. I love no one, and I never will again. All that shit about it’s better to have loved and lost?
I’ve done both. And in my mind, love’s just not worth the fucking pain.
* * *
Briar
“So when you gonna grow a pair of balls and tell your Dad to fuck off?” I say. Well, slur is probably a better word. We’ve almost finished the bottle of rum; the tequila suffered severe collateral damage.
We gave up playing pool and went to go watch a rerun of the weekend’s game. The plan was to figure out a strategy and suggest it to the coach for our game this weekend.
But as soon as our friendly debate began heading toward a screaming match, we decided to finally order a pizza and wait for it to be delivered on the front lawn.
That was ten minutes ago. Pizza takes a while to reach us out here in the rich part of town — sometimes up to thirty minutes. But we slump in a set of garden chairs and watch the moon rise while we wait, passing the last bit of rum from hand to hand.
Marcus snorts at my statement, and taps out a cigarette from a brushed steel case. We both stopped smoking a while ago, but on nights when liquor seemingly flows from the fountain of eternal fucking youth, nothing beats a cancer stick. He lights it, tugs at it, and passes it to me before replying.
“You make it sound so fucking easy.”
“It is. You say, Dad…fuck off.”
He laughs. “Yeah, and then he’ll tell me to fuck off.”
“And? Then you fuck off. Just make sure you got some money, and you’re good to go.”
“Yeah, money. You forget, my dad’s a stingy fucking bastard.”
I let out a massive sigh. “Jesus, then you save up. You get a fucking job. Or you could stay there and eat up his shit for the rest of your life.” I wave a hand. “Your fucking choice.”
“So I get enough money to make a move. Where would I go?” Marcus asks, but his voice softens as if he’s actually really considering this shit. I’m fucking glad — it’s only taken what, ten years to get my point across? I get that despite how flush his dad is, Marcus hardly has any walking around money on him. But if I were him, I’d have gotten a job a long time ago.
Where would he go?
“Here.” I sweep a hand out behind me and take a drag of the smoke. “I got a couch in the living room that’s got your name written all over it.”
Marcus laughs again, trading rum for the cigarette. “Sure your dad will just love that,” he mutters.
“He probably wouldn’t even notice. I bet you could stay here for months, and he’d just think it was pure fucking coincidence that you’re here every time he bothers to swing by and pick up fresh clothes.”
“He still working so much?”
I press my lips closed. I don’t whine about my personal life, because what kid my age wouldn’t kill to be where I am? I’m one weekday-visit away from being an orphan. “I get the whole house to myself.”
“He working on a new project or something?”
I shrug. “Probably. If I see him ag
ain this year, I’ll let you know.”
Marcus shakes his head as he laughs, and we trade again. “Might as well finish it, bro,” he says.
There’s about three fingers left, but I shrug and down it anyway. Not as if I’m driving home, and no girls around for me to assault.
My mood turns dark in an instant. I stand, aim, and throw the bottle as far as I can. Marcus lets out a cackle when it hits the side of a hedge. “So close.”
I slump back in my seat. “Give me a smoke,” I say.
Marcus must have heard the tone of my voice, because he doesn’t pass back the cigarette we’ve been sharing — he lights me a new one.
Kind of hate alcohol. The early stages are fine. But now, when I’ve just about reached my threshold, there are only two paths for me to follow.
Aggression or depression.
Guess Marcus and I have that in common. Except his highs and lows come regardless of how much rum he has pumping through his veins.
“Hey, so Zak’s throwing a party after the game this weekend.”
“Yeah?”
“Black-tie again.”
“Swishy fuck.”
Marcus laughs. “You gonna come?”
“What, alone?” I glance across at him. “Or are you offering to be my plus one? Forget it.”
“You’d be lucky to have me, you fucking prick.”
I wave away the comment. As if I could go to a fucking party like some normal kid. All those girls around, all that booze around. Even if I swore not to touch a fucking drop of liquor, not get close to a line of coke…I was perfectly fucking sober when I found Indi in the woods.
I can’t risk that shit.
“You ever wish you could just go back to the way things used to be?” I ask quietly, sitting forward and resting my elbow on my knee as I drag at my cigarette.
Marcus is quiet for the longest time. “Man, you gotta get Jessica out of your fucking head.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“It is easy for me to say.” Marcus sits forward in a rush, leaning forward until I look at him. “Get over her. Shit happened, we dealt with it, it’s done.”
I let out a soft huff. “So why the fuck does it keep coming up to bite me in the ass?”
Marcus laughs. “You honestly think it will just go away? It’ll always be there, man, but you just gotta ignore it. If anyone had shit on you, it would have surfaced by now. It’s been months, bro. Christ, almost a year, actually.” He sits back in his seat, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and stares at me as if daring me to argue with his impeccable logic.
“When the fuck is the pizza getting here?” I mutter.
“I dunno. How long since you ordered?”
I twist to face him. “Me? You said you’d call.”
We stare at each other for a second before bursting out laughing.
“Ah, fuck this shit,” Marcus says. “Don’t know about you, but I’m done.”
“Yeah, fuck,” I murmur, still smiling as I get to my feet. I wobble a bit, and Marcus slings his arm around my shoulder. We hold onto each other as we make our unsteady way back to the mansion, dodging rose bushes and concrete statues in the likeness of cherubs and shit.
“You ever think what it would be like to have a brother or a sister?” I ask idly.
Fuck, what was in that rum? I’m as full of feels as a chick on her period.
“Nope.”
“Never? I’d have liked a brother.”
“Younger or older?”
“Younger. Don’t need anyone lording shit over me, you know?”
Marcus lets out a huff of a laugh.
“We’d have been good brothers,” I say, flicking his ear.
“Doubt it. We’d probably have hated each other’s guts.” Marcus clears his throat. Maybe he’s feeling all emotional and shit too. I’ll have to make a note never to touch that brand of rum of again. “Plus, you can’t choose your family. It’s what makes life so much fun.” With his flat tone, I know exactly where his mind has detoured.
By the time we make it upstairs, that last inch of rum I downed is blurring the world around me. I’m distantly aware of Marcus helping me stumble to my bed, murmuring something about no fucking way he was tucking me in, bros or no, and then he’s gone.
Before sleep takes me, I swear I hear the sound of low, electronic beeps.
Beep, beep, beep, beep.
Did I lock the front door? Maybe Marcus is pinning in the key — I’m sure he knows it by now.
Fuck it — if someone breaks in, they’ll have to deal with me and Marcus. Even drunk, we’d beat them to a fucking pulp.
Chapter Ten
Indi
Marigold looks up when I come thundering down the stairs and into the dining room the next morning. She called me down for breakfast fifteen minutes ago, but I lost my appetite when I remembered the hellhole I had to attend today.
“I need clothes,” I say, shifting my hips to the side and crossing my arms over my chest. “And a longer skirt.”
“I’m afraid my budget is already allocated for this week. You’ll have to wait until the weekend.”
“But I literally have like two pairs of underwear, and one’s dirty.”
“So best you wash them,” Gran says, setting a delicate china cup down on its saucer. I scan the teak dining table and then shrug at her when I see there’s no food on it. “I thought you said there was breakfast.”
Marigold takes another tiny sip from her cup. “That was fifteen minutes ago.”
“Isn’t your job as my guardian to feed and clothe me?” I yell.
Marigold’s shoulders melt at this. In response, my chest grows tight and I take a step back before I can stop myself.
“My job as your guardian is to make sure you don’t fail school.”
Shock slams into me like a wall of ice. I try to speak, but words utterly fail me.
Marigold gives me a cold little smile. “Aren’t you running late for school? They take tardiness into account. I’m sure they won’t hesitate to adjust your grades accordingly.”
“I don’t know how Mom could stand being around you,” I say. My voice is so thick, I can barely understand myself, but Marigold doesn’t seem to have the same problem.
“Leave,” she says. “Before you say something you’ll regret.”
I laugh. “You know what I regret, Granny?”
My gran’s already pale face goes translucent. She stands, her body quivering with righteous indignation, but I carry on before she can open her raspberry red lips.
“I regret not being in that house with Mom.”
I’m surprised Marigold doesn’t have something to say about this. In fact, to my utter astonishment, a tear flashes down her cheek.
“Get out,” she whispers. “Get out of my house!” The last is a shrill yell. She charges for me, and I turn tail and run like the fucking coward that I am.
I slam the junker’s door so hard, I’m shocked it doesn’t fall off. I get to school in record time, everything en route just a blur of speed and tears.
I’m still sniffing back snot and blinking away my last tears when someone raps on my window.
Jerking, I spin to face the window. For a horrific moment, I’d thought it was Briar. The thought that he’d see me in hysterics makes me want to throw up.
But it’s Addy out there, face wrinkled with concern. She whirls her finger in the air, demanding that I roll down the window. I comply, but with bad grace.
“What?”
“Have you—?” She ducks her head to get a better look at me, and even when I tip my head down she just follows. “Why are you crying?”
“None of your business,” I snap.
“Yeah?” Her voice is as edgy as mine. “That’s what you think.” She shoves her hand through the window.
Pure instinct has me grabbing her wrist. She squeals, and tugs back at her hand, but I’m holding her tight.
Then I see the joint between her fingers.
I
t glitters.
It’s gold.
I’m so very, very confused.
“Now you gonna let me in, or what?” Addy asks. When I look at her, she rolls her eyes. “It’s edible gold,” she mutters, before stalking around the front of the car.
I lean across and open the other door. Addy gets in with a sigh, smelling of weed and perfume, and immediately lights up the joint.
“Edible gold?” I ask, when she hands the joint over to me.
“Looks gorgeous. Tastes like shit.” She glances across at me, and smiles as she blows out a plume of smoke.
Yeah, the paper tastes like shit, but the weed inside? Oh my fucking god.
“What is this?” I ask in a tight voice, keeping as much of that dank deliciousness inside my lungs as possible.
“Happiness,” she says flippantly.
“I mean, what strain?”
She shrugs. “The guy I get this from don’t grow strains. They just give you weed that will make you feel a certain way.” She smiles around the gold joint, and then points to it with a long nail. “Happiness.”
For a second — a brief, intangible moment — I wonder what it would be like to be her. I mean, I wasn’t always a slob — I used to wear makeup and brush my hair and wear pretty underwear and get dressed up to go out. But that all seems so fucking pointless these days.
“Jesus, smoke more,” Addy says, widening her eyes at me. “I swear you’re oozing sad emojis from every pore.”
I laugh, and then I cough. My dark thoughts disappear in a haze of artificial happiness.
* * *
Briar
“Dude, we’re gonna be late. Briar. Briar!”
I groan, shoving the hand off my shoulder. When I open my eyes, it’s no more than a slit. “Fuck,” I groan up at Marcus.
“Yeah, today’s gonna be fun,” he says, squinting at me. “Want some coffee?”
“Please.”
He’s already dressed, but judging from how I feel, he’s probably as hungover as I am. He leaves my room and I drag myself out of bed, scratching an itch on my side as I gaze around at the evidence of last night’s rum intoxication. Sometime during the night, I stripped to my boxers. My clothes are scattered all over the floor, and the vase our maid normally keeps filled with fresh flowers on my nightstand is laying on the carpet, blooms already wilting.
