project

by Torrance, Asa

  The stack falls into my hands, and despite my objections, the allure of not trailing around like a drowned ghost for one more second becomes too much. I turn the corner, hiding myself behind a row of lockers as I begin to strip off my wet clothes.

  “I bet you thought that was really funny,” I murmur, my uniform blazer and shirt hitting the concrete with a wet slap. I want him to say something, if only so I can gauge where he is in the room. But a part of me still wants answers.

  I know of all people, Damien knows what it’s like to lose someone. The pain of it is like a raw wound that won’t heal.

  “You must really hate me,” I note with a shake of my head. “But you know what, I don’t care. You can hate me all you want—”

  “Just—shut the fuck up, Wind,” I hear him murmur, miraculously still on the other side of the row of lockers. “I’m not in the mood for your shit right now.”

  I pull on the uniform top and shorts, bending over to pull my socks off and slide my bare feet back into shoes that will have to do for now. “Whatever,” I chuff. “I was the one minding my own business before you had me pulled out of class to entertain your cackling band of whores.”

  A surge of jealousy cuts through me like scissors, splitting me into two sides, one who hates Damien so much he makes my skin crawl, and the other that craves his touch like sunlight on my skin on a cloudy day.

  He appears at the end of the row I’m standing in, and begins a slow approach towards me. I hold my ground, willing myself not be intimidated this time. It’s harder than I think, especially when his eyes stare into mine in a way that feels like they can see into my soul.

  “Take my jacket,” he tells me, thrusting it toward me.

  “Great,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to wear something that could be considered evidence in a crime—”

  He leans in and kisses me, stilling my lips with his own as he presses me into the lockers behind me. My body instinctively freezes, but eases into a mode of compliance the longer he stays.

  I reach up, burying my hands into the jacket pressed between us to keep myself from touching him. I don’t want to send any signals that I want this, even as my lips part wider to accept one tantalizing delve inside from his tongue. He tastes like mint, and the familiar scent of him envelopes my senses, sandalwood and seawater and the inexplicable essence that makes him who he is.

  My tormentor, I try reminding myself. But I still gasp when he pulls away, my lips parting to ask for more as he gazes back at me with a curious satisfaction.

  “What?” I ask, my exasperation coming through in my voice. I’m still mad at what he’s done, that I’m standing here in clothes I’ve had to steal, that I’m going to have to wear his jacket home to keep anyone from seeing me, that he still thinks after everything he has the right to play me like a fucking fiddle.

  “You’ve never been kissed before,” he says as a smirks curls his lips. “Have you?”

  Heat rushes into my cheeks. “Why does it matter?” I counter. “I know you’ll be shocked to hear this, but what I have and haven’t done is actually none of your business.”

  “Okay,” he replies sarcastically, even as his eyes narrow towards mine. “I think it’s cute. I always wanted to be your first anyway.”

  “Fuck you,” I respond, my face flushing again as anger surges through me.

  He pulls away from me, raising his hands in innocence. “Why are you so mad?” he asks in a taunting voice. “Are you still not over what happened in the quad? You didn’t actually think it was your dad calling you, did you?”

  “I’m not delusional,” I reply, glaring at him. “For some reason, I knew it would be you. You’re the only one fucked up enough to think something like that would ever be remotely funny.”

  “Just so you know, that wasn’t even supposed to be a part of it. I’m not that big of an asshole.”

  “Yes, you are,” I say. “You’ve made it your job to make me miserable since you got back. Like I’m really supposed to accept that explanation after everything you’ve done?”

  “Like you have a choice,” he counters, his face hardening again. “And don’t forget why I’m making you miserable, because I sure as shit haven’t.”

  His words turn my stomach as lightning bolts of guilt surge through my every nerve. We may have both lost people important to us, but the culpability I have is different. Illness took my dad, a somewhat natural process of excruciating slowness, a train we saw coming as my family struggled from the tracks until he took his very last breath. It had nothing to do with Damien at all.

  What happened with Jessa is different. I was her best friend, her biggest confidant. I should have known what she was going to do.

  It’s a bad dream I’ve been trying to shake for the past two years, the same way I know he’s been trying to shake it, only mine rests on my shoulders with a sticky burden I’ll never be able to shake.

  I stay quiet, avoiding his eyes as I pull on his jacket obediently. Despite the warmth and the delicious scent, it feels like a prison, a physical reminder of the weight on my shoulders and the fact that he’ll never leave me alone.

  “Do you really think this is what Jessa would have wanted?” I ask suddenly.

  “What did I tell you about saying her name?” he mutters, leaning in to loom over me with a presence that tenses every muscle in my body. “And I don’t give a shit about what Jessa would have wanted. This is between you and me now.”

  This is the first time I’ve heard him express anything else but a strict sort of reverence towards Jessa. He sounds angry, and it leaves me speechless at the same time tears threaten to flood into the corners of my eyes once more.

  I wish both of us could stop being angry, and hurt, but I know the thought of that is just a pipe dream. The day she died, Jessa took a part of me, and she took a piece of Damien, and it ensured we’d never be the same again.

  He reaches out and grabs my arm suddenly, twisting my forearm until it hurts as his other hand shifts up my sleeve. His thumb rubs over the blank canvas of my arm, touch soft once again in a way that makes me shiver.

  I pull my arm from his grasp and push away from the lockers, darting past him and out the door, running for my life.

  10

  I know the rest of my day is fucked as soon as Windy goes sprinting from the locker room, leaving me alone with my own thoughts, and a bitterness coursing through my veins that nearly hurts.

  It was enough that she made me think about Jessa, but for one moment in time, Windy had been mine. Lately, I’ve been helping myself to whatever I want when it comes to her more often than not, staking claim to her home, making her compliant with threats, feasting off tears she’s not broken enough to let fall in front of me.

  It’s fine. I don’t let myself cry either. I can still see the pain scrawled across her face like a scarlet letter, and it’s been enough to fuel me. If we’re both in pain, nothing else can hurt us.

  My mind strays back to the way her timid lips met mine, parting to let me taste her. She may not be experienced, but that’s not what matters. She felt willing to learn.

  I exit the locker room, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. This may be Diablo Beach, but it’s still winter, and lately the weather has been changing with the tides. What started out as a sunny morning has now turned dreary, bits of drizzle stinging my skin with cold, and it perfectly encapsulates my mood.

  May as well sink further into the misery, I think as I exit campus and head towards my car. To my surprise, I spot Sylas Andreas’s Cadillac parked a few spots from mine, and my eyes shift around the empty parking lot, looking for witnesses.

  While Sloan and her cute little band of Black Roses may be a proper threat in their own right, I know Sylas and the Daggers are still at the top of the Snake Eyes’ shit list. Rey may have lawyers working on the case they pinned on him, but it’s going to take a while, and the gang wants Sylas dealt with. That means more than a stolen
Cadillac.

  It means blood on my hands, and if I don’t deliver, I’ll be next on the chopping block.

  Suddenly, Sylas comes into view, shock of pink hair circling his head like a crown. He thinks he rules this city.

  Little does he know that I’m Diablo Beach’s fallen son.

  “Andreas!” The name barks from my mouth, not unlike the drill sergeants that used to bark mine. It’s enough to get his attention, and he turns towards me, eyes narrowed, already on the defense.

  He should be.

  “Well, well, well,” Sylas says, watching as I head towards him. “If it isn’t the fruit of the Sheriff’s loins.”

  I grit my teeth. He knows his enemies well, which means he knows the relationship I have with my father is more than complicated.

  “Better than the son of a witch,” I counter. “Tell me, has your mom been able to cast her way out of jail yet? I’m guessing by your courtroom attire they’ll be ready to burn her at the stake by summer.”

  His dark stare slides down into a glare.

  “Mayor Redwood’s kid, huh?” I say, further stoking the flames.

  Conventional wisdom would dictate that equals privilege, and maybe it does. After all, he still lives in the former mayor of Diablo Beach’s giant gated mansion, the one people leave signs outside of calling for his mother’s blood. She’s on trial for the supposed murder of Redwood, but blaming Benita Andreas for her husband’s murder has never sat right with me.

  “Step-kid,” Sylas corrects me.

  “Yet you still live in his fancy house,” I counter. “And you don’t even have the decency to call him dad.”

  My family had been in attendance at the mayor’s funeral. He had actually been a longtime friend of the family, supposedly, before Jessa and I were even born. After he died, my father had used his status in Diablo Beach to call for justice, and had been instrumental in getting Redwood’s body exhumed for further examination.

  A 21-gun salute had been organized in Redwood’s honor that day, and I felt relieved the Sheriff was nowhere near us. After all, my mother was being oddly emotional for a change. In our house, we locked our feelings away, denying them until they either disappeared or compounded into something worse.

  Occasionally, she would look down at me with tears in her eyes and pinch my cheek, like some sort of nervous tick.

  “I heard Redwood used to beat you black and blue,” I continue. Nothing like throwing someone else’s trauma in their face. “Is that why you looked so happy at his funeral?”

  The jab is the final straw. I’m now standing squarely in Sylas’s path and he steps forward and swings, hitting me square in the jaw with a punch that makes my ears ring.

  I cock my head, letting my bones shift back into place as my eyes clear away the visual fog. “First one’s free.”

  I reach out, grabbing him by the collar and returning the favor with a punch of my own. Sylas’s back smacks against the side of the Cadillac before he comes lunging back, swinging at my face. It doesn’t take long before we’ve dragged each other down to the asphalt, throwing punches, butting into the tires around us as car alarms begin to blare overhead.

  The noise alerts people to our presence, the fact that something is happening outside, something big, and I can see a crowd begin to gather in the peripherals of my vision. They’re here to see two behemoths of Diablo Beach fight, and I’ll give them the show they’re after.

  My fist rockets against the side of Sylas’s face, sending blood spraying from his lips. He raises his head, sneering at me before raising a hand. “Wait, time out, time out.”

  “Fuck you,” I say.

  A siren blares behind me, one single bleep meant to get my attention.

  It does, but I don’t turn around, and I know Sylas can read it on my face. “Told you,” he says.

  It’s the Sheriff.

  I turn around, my eyes focusing quick, landing on the black and white patrol vehicle parked on the street just beyond the grounds of Diablo Beach Prep. My father is standing just outside of the car, arms crossed as red and blue colors flash ambiently behind him. When he looks at me, it’s with a dead set glare like he’s ready to drag me down to hell.

  At least if I’m going down, it’ll be with the taste of Windy’s kiss still on my lips. Soldiers have been sent off to battle with less.

  “I surrender,” I mutter.

  Behind me, I hear Sylas take off, crossing the parking lot to escape into the crowd. He’s not the one the Sheriff is here for anyway. At least, not today.

  I take a step towards him. He wants everyone to see me being dragged away, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. Once I’m close enough, he opens the door to the backseat, where the perps ride, and motions for me to get inside.

  The door slams shut behind me, and we take off without so much as a word exchanged between us.

  The streets of Diablo Beach flash by, and the longer we drive, the more quiet anxieties claw their way into each and every one of my nerves with sharpened nails. It becomes harder to sit still, and I realize I haven’t taken a trip to the Sheriff’s station in years.

  But that’s inevitably where we end up.

  My father pulls the cruiser up around the back, cutting the engine and getting out of the car. I catch sight of him pulling his handcuffs from his belt as he comes around the front, and I let out a silent curse.

  Whatever. If he wants theatrics when he books me, so be it. He’s probably been daydreaming about putting me away ever since I signed myself out of military school. No one is supposed to go against him, especially not his own son.

  I get out of the car, narrowing my eyes at him as the thought of making an escape flickers through my mind. I’m not too proud to run, but considering the circumstances, I know my father would never let me have another peaceful day as long as I lived in this city. It’s best to just get whatever is going to happen out of the way as soon as possible.

  I offer my hands to let him cuff me.

  He grabs my shirt roughly, turning me around to face the car before shoving me against it and twisting my arm behind me. I grit my teeth, letting him wrench my other arm back to cuff my hands behind my back.

  Whatever. What’s he gonna do, kill me?

  But it’s that exact thought that makes my heart pound harder as he walks me towards the station. This place is a graveyard this time of day, everyone out on patrol, and that feeling of aloneness is only exacerbated by the fact that we’re heading in through the back.

  Fluorescent lights flicker overhead in greeting as he pushes me inside, leading me down a short hallway before opening another door and jerking me inside. The room is mostly empty save for a table and two chairs, but he doesn’t let me sit, and I stare straight ahead solemnly as the door clicks shut behind me.

  “Turn around,” he instructs.

  I do as he says, shifting around to face him just as the back of his hand connects with my face. It’s a hard slap that jerks my head to the side and leaves me seeing stars. I teeter backwards, landing on the tabletop behind me as he takes another step forward.

  I can taste blood on my lips, and flecks of red spray onto the front of his shirt when he rockets his fist into my stomach. The impact makes me double over, and it feels like my lungs may never recover again, but I somehow suck in another breath as he hits me again, this time in the ribs.

  A laugh sputters from my lips. “Handcuffing me just so you can beat my ass?” I croak out a taunt I know only digs my grave a little deeper. “Scared of a fair fight, is that it?”

  He grimaces, grabbing me by the front of my shirt again to wrench me towards the floor. I land on my side with a hard thud that makes my chest burn, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity to catch my breath before raining down a second hailstorm of punches against my body.

  “You’ll never learn,” I hear him say.

  “Not with teachers like you,” I spit.

  He knees me in the gut and I
curl in on myself, shielding myself as best as possible from the assault. “You signed yourself out of military school just to drag this family’s name through the mud.”

  “What are you talking about?” I say, lifting my face from the floor to laugh in his face. He smacks me again, another backhanded slap that won’t leave a bruise the way a punch does. Those he saves for the parts of my body I can keep covered from anyone who didn’t see me taken away in his patrol car.

  “When are you going to learn,” he continues. “I’m the hand of justice in this town. Not you.”

  “Okay, Batman,” I taunt sarcastically. A punch lands squarely against my ribs as punishment. I curl in on myself instinctively, but he grabs me by the collar again, wrenching me back to standing.

  I’ve been on the receiving end of one of his tirades before. Save for the handcuffs, this is no different than all those other times. I can make it through this if I just remember eventually it’ll end. He may be tough when things are weighted in his favor, but he doesn’t have the guts to kill me.

  At least, not yet.

  But I’d much rather die at the hands of one of my rivals in Diablo Beach. The Daggers, the Roses, at least it would mean something to them. To my father, it would be the elimination of just another good-for-nothing in a city he’s constantly in a warring battle to keep clean.

  Little does he know he’ll never win, because I won’t let him. I just need to stay alive long enough to ensure his defeat.

  “Wipe that stupid smile off your face,” he admonishes me, sending another balled fist directly into my stomach. “What’s the matter with you?”

  I double over, watching as drops of blood drip from my lips onto the floor. “What’s the matter with me?” I say, raising my head to look at him. “I’ve got nothing to lose, that’s what.”

  A laugh echoes from his throat. For a moment in time, he looks genuinely amused, and the kick he’s getting out of all this stokes an anger inside me I’ve been trying to keep at bay.