Mr. Wicked

by Maya Hughes

  “You picked me up and you’re driving me back, the least you can do is let me pay for breakfast.”

  “You can get it next time,” I said, grabbing the bags and handing them over to her. She checked to make sure all the food was there, and we were back out on the road.

  She handed me my food while I drove, even popping a few of the bite-sized hash browns into my mouth. The entire time, I had no idea what the hell any of this meant. One minute she’s chatty and happy and the next, staring out the window and distracted. So many questions raced through my head, but I was afraid to know the answers.

  Did she regret last night? Was there some shit I was supposed to do as the devirginator? Does she want to talk about this? Have it all out? Should we have done it at all? And what now?

  It wasn’t until we crossed the bridge that I finally worked up the nerve. Not to talk about last night, but to try to figure out where things all started. Where everything changed between us and then imploded in our faces.

  “Frankie?”

  “Hmm,” she turned to me in the seat, sliding her phone back into her bag. She’d only powered it up a little while ago, which was progress, I guessed.

  My mouth was so dry. I tried to form the words, but they kept getting stuck.

  “Spit it out,” she said, laughing.

  “It’s not something we ever got to talk about, but right after the dance….” Her face immediately slackened, and she faced straight forward. There was a shift in the car, like all the air had been sucked out.

  She turned back to me, but the easygoing look was replaced by one similar to her usual face whenever she was around me.

  “It was a long time ago. Why don’t we just enjoy the rest of the weekend and leave that alone before we ruin the truce we’ve got going?”

  Was that all it was? A truce? Should I be ready to pick up arms against her come Monday? Because I really didn’t have the heart or desire to do any of that ever again.

  “You’re right. What else do you have planned for the rest of the weekend?” I asked, trying to get back to casual, safe territory.

  “I have to go into work tonight, so I’ll get some groceries, take a nap and then head in. What about you?”

  “I have some paperwork and stuff to finish up. With Kill gone on his honeymoon it will be hectic in the office, so I’ll have a lot to get done.”

  “I can’t believe he convinced you to come work for him. I’d probably strangle him within the first twenty minutes.”

  “He’s not that bad, especially since Rachel. She’s mellowed him out. There are only whispers of him being the Boardroom Bastard anymore.”

  “I still can’t believe he got married. Man, it’s insane how the world works sometimes.”

  “It really is.” I parked on the curb outside Frankie’s brownstone and took her luggage out. She opened the door and let me carry her bag inside. It was moments when I was alone with her that I completely forget that a huge part of her life was lived in places like these.

  “Amazing place,” I said, letting out a low whistle. The walls were a warm white accented by dark cherrywood baseboards, banisters and window frames. Her furniture was an eclectic mix of gaming chairs and pale blue couches and chairs. I wonder if her mom forced her to buy non-computer-based furniture.

  “Thanks. Did you want something to drink?” she asked, opening the massive Viking fridge.

  “Some water would be great.”

  “One water coming up.” She grabbed it out of the fridge and chucked it to me. Her audiovisual setup was second-to-none and rivaled most movie theaters.

  I chugged the water as Frankie gulped down her own bottle.

  “Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it, and you didn’t have to do it,” she said, picking at the wrapper on her bottle.

  “I know I didn’t. I wanted to.” Things were winding down, but I didn’t want this to be over. I didn’t want things to reset at midnight and have to go back to how things were.

  “Go on a date with me.” I blurted out, so abruptly, and right as she took a drink of her water, that she jumped, sloshing water all over herself, and started choking all at the same time.

  “What?” she wheezed, wiping her wet face with the back of her hand. I thumped her on the back as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Go out on a date with me. Five dates with me. I want to see if we can keep this armistice going after this weekend.” I rubbed my hand along her back.

  “Why five?”

  “Five seems like as good a number as any. It will give us a chance to really get to know each other again. Who we are now.”

  She eyed me warily.

  “We can catch up over one date, just as easily as five. How about one?”

  “Four.”

  “Two,” she said, smiling.

  “Three and that’s my final offer,” I said, like I had any leverage in this situation at all. She put her hard negotiator face back on.

  “Fine, three dates.” She said it like it was a major inconvenience, but I saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

  “Perfect. Three dates and then we can renegotiate. I should get going. Thanks for the water. I’ll text you, and we can decide on our first one,” I said, closing the door behind me, so she didn’t even have a chance to reply. Less of a chance for her to change her mind.

  I got in my car and stared up at her place. I made good money before I started working for Killian and even more in my new position. Most people would kill to have an apartment like mine, but sitting on the curb outside her brownstone, I couldn’t help but feel like that kid who drove up to the mansion in his beater wondering if he was out of his depth with a girl who might one day realize she deserved a hell of a lot more.

  14

  FRANKIE - THEN

  Me: Sorry, I’m back.

  Sasha: What happened to you? You almost missed the raid.

  Me: My mom came in. Wanted to talk to me about the dance.

  Sasha: What did you tell her?

  Me: Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.

  Sasha: You should talk to someone about it. I know you’re upset.

  Me: I talked to you.

  Sasha: You said about five words to me about it.

  Me: That’s all I need right now.

  Sasha: If you say so, let’s play! Then, I need a break, I’m starving.

  I could always count on Sasha to set me straight and not let me wallow. And I wanted to wallow. Man, did I want to. I stayed up all night playing and trying to forget. Sleeping was hard, because every night since the dance, it was the same dream. We were standing at the top of the steps, and he went in for the kiss, but instead of being like it was, a crowd of people appeared.

  They jeered and laughed as he kissed me, but I couldn’t see them. I was out of body watching it. John kissed me with his eyes wide open, glancing at everyone else and laughing along with his lips on mine. I’m there, breathless and swooning with my eyes closed, completely unaware of everyone else’s taunts.

  John came up to me after school, and it took everything in me not to punch him. Not that it would have done much of anything. I’d have probably hurt my hand before I hurt his face.

  “Frankie, why aren’t you returning any of my calls?” He stood in my path blocking me. The hallway nearly empty, but he was the size of a barge, so it didn’t matter. I clutched my books to my chest and kept my head down. I didn’t want him to see my face, to see the hurt there. To know that he’d gotten to me. That they’d gotten to me.

  Monica was only too happy to gloat about my pity date every chance she got. Just like in middle school. She’d gotten another boy to ask me to the middle school dance. I’d been so happy, because the mean girl tactics had left me battered and bruised at the end of that year. But when I turned up, it was all a big joke. I’d been humiliated in front of the entire school. And it was happening all over again. I didn’t know what was worse, having it blow up in my face at the dance, or thinking my night with
John was all real and finding out about the trick later.

  “Get away from me.” The hood on my sweatshirt was up, shielding me from view, but people started to take notice. I did not need this right now. He had his hands out trying to keep me where he wanted me, not letting me pass.

  “What is going on with you? I thought we had a great time at the dance. I…I wanted to take you out again.” He dropped his hands, and I peeked up from under my hood and my hair. Over his shoulder, people stopped and stared. My eyes darted around, and we were nearly surrounded. No one was right before us, but they were hanging out by the lockers across the way or lingering just in earshot.

  “I don’t want to go out with you. I don’t want to go anywhere near you again. It was a nice kiss, but that’s as far as this is going, so you might as well move along. It’s not happening.” I gripped my books so tightly my fingers ached. My knuckles were white.

  “As far as this is going? We went to the dance. We had a great time, and now you won’t even give me the time of day.”

  “Maybe I just have better things to do, John. You ever think of that?” He flinched as I called him by his first name. He’d made it abundantly clear when he first arrived that he was Grim or nothing, but I didn’t care anymore.

  “Better things to do?” He rolled that around like he couldn’t think of anyone deciding that spending time with him wasn’t what they wanted to do.

  “Yes, better things to do.”

  “Better things like what, Frankie?”

  “Anything, John. I’m busy with school and stuff. Stay away from me,” I said, my teeth clenched.

  “Frankie—”

  “No, don’t come near me again. I don’t need this shit. I’m out of here in a few months, and you are too. What’s the point?” I asked. “I’m going to Harvard. You’re going to Duke. We had a great dance, but it’s over now. That’s it.” His face turned into a stone mask, and I stood toe-to-toe with him. “Have a nice life, John.”

  He stood there as I stormed past him, leaving him under the scrutiny of the rest of the student body, who all seemed to have appeared out of nowhere to watch our fight. Better him than me. The minute I got home I logged into my computer and told Sasha everything while we battled creatures side by side in the game. It relaxed me and helped me calm down some. I still didn’t understand why he’d come up to me like that, but I wasn’t going to be the stupid dork who hung around the jock, picking up his table scraps. I wasn’t going to let him see how long it took for him to get into my pants, or let him use me, or whatever else he had in mind.

  I had at least a little bit more self-respect than that. Killian tried to get us to talk, but then he was kicked out of school, and so was any reason for us to interact. His grades took a massive dive with all the stuff going down with his dad, especially right after his mom died. I tried to tell him to tell the school counselors about it. They’d give him more time or give him another chance, but he didn’t want their pity. I understood where he was coming from.

  Killian thought my hack into his grades to help him keep his scholarship was all about him. It was also about me. He was my only friend in school. Somehow the asshole outsider who hung with the in-crowd took me under his wing. I have no idea why, after we were partnered up for an English project, but it made sense in a weird way. He was like the older brother I’d never had, since all my younger ones were so annoying, and he was an only child.

  Once Killian was gone, the loneliness stormed in. Sash was my only friend. The only person I could count on, and she was thousands of miles away. Hard to bitch and complain, eat ice cream, and watch TV with someone when you only know them through a screen.

  The rest of that year was super lonely. One I’d never forget for so many reasons, thanks to John Grimsby.

  15

  JOHN - THEN

  Frankie telling me to leave her alone in the hallway confirmed everything I’d tried to forget since coming to Havert. I was the scholarship kid only allowed in the front door because I had more interceptions than any other high school student in the state. It had been weeks, but I still replayed that conversation in my head almost every day. I couldn’t escape it. There was nowhere to run, not even to my own family

  I pulled up outside my house, my hands wrapped around my steering wheel. I shook my head at the overgrown lawn and peeling paint on the house. My dad sat passed out in a lawn chair in the open garage. I could hear his snoring from the street. The empty bottle of whiskey rested against the leg of the chair. At least it was nearly spring. No chance of him getting frostbite like there would have been a couple months ago.

  No wonder my mom split. I was surprised she’d stuck around for as long as she had. But she’d left, had another family now. A better family. I drove the five hours to her new house to see her with her new family.

  The two-story, white colonial was lit up like a Christmas tree when I pulled up outside her house. From the street, I could see they sat at the kitchen table, framed by the massive picture window. Like a fucking painting. Eating together, laughing, smiling. My half-brother and -sister were five. The perfect twins. After two hours, I finally got the nerve to get out of the car.

  I trudged up the pristine walkway to the front door, shoving my hands in my pockets. The cold air whipped around me as I walked past the little green lanterns along the path. The grass was even and edged, not a patch of crabgrass to be seen. My hands shook as I pressed against the bright glowing doorbell, leaving a dark greasy fingerprint smudge behind. I’d had to change the oil in my car earlier. I wiped my hands on my jeans and shoved them into my pockets.

  The bright red door swung open, and my mom was laughing, looking over her shoulder. It was a sound I’d almost forgotten. There hadn’t been much laughter in the house when she left. The corners of my mouth tugged up. When she turned to me the laugh died in her throat. She glanced behind her again and closed the door some, stepping out onto the front step, forcing me to take a couple steps back.

  “John, what are you doing here?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I wanted to see you, Mom. It’s been a while.”

  “Yes, I know. What are you doing here?” She glanced back at the cracked door like she was nervous. Nervous to be standing outside with her own son.

  “I can’t come and see my mom?” The veins in my neck throbbed. It has been over five years since I’d seen her.

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Thanks for the birthday card,” I said, tugging it out of my back pocket and waving it at her. “And the cash.” Like the five twenties were enough to make up for her running out on us. On me. The shiny gold return-address label caught the lights of the front porch. She squeezed the bridge of her nose like my presence was a nuisance.

  “Eighteen is a big birthday.” She managed to crack a slight smile. “John—” The front door swung open behind her and my half-brother poked his head out. I didn’t even know his name.

  “Honey, go back in,” she said, turning around, trying to shoo him back inside, but he poked around her.

  “Hi, who are you? Who is he, Mom?” he asked, staring up at her and holding onto her leg.

  “I’m your—”

  “He’s no one, sweetheart,” she said, smoothing his hair and pushing him back in the house.

  I’d been hit a lot over the years. Not by my dad anymore since I could bench press over 350 pounds, and I’d sure as hell been hit on the football field. Tackled and had ribs bruised, probably a few concussions, but I’d never felt something crack inside of me before. Something that should never be broken. Something that I hadn’t known was broken until that exact moment. Part of me always knew, but to have it blasted in my face…

  I knew she didn’t really care. If she did, she wouldn’t have left me behind. She would have come back for me. She wouldn’t have started over with her new, perfect, rich family, but fuck, did it hurt that she didn’t even claim me as her son. Her flesh and blood.

  “Yeah, kid
. I’m no one. Goodbye, Teresa,” I said, backing down the front steps and jogging to my car.

  I hopped inside, gunned my engine, determined not to look back. My car roared out of her beautiful tree-lined development. This place had nothing on Frankie’s. My car drew stares from the women out in their workout gear, walking and jogging the streets. Fuck her!

  I rolled into Killian’s neighborhood, banging on his front door. He ripped the front door open, a beer in his hand.

  “What the hell, man? What are you doing here?” He must have seen the look in my eyes, because he just held the beer out to me and pushed the door open.

  “Thanks,” I took it and took a gulp. He opened another bottle on the counter and sat next to me on the couch. We sat in silence for a while. Some replay of a random game on TV that interested neither of us.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, finishing the last of his beer and stood up to get another.

  “No, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Jail. He got sentenced last week.”

  “Where’s your mom?” He paused before opening the fridge, the beer bottles clanked as he took two more out.

  “Dead.” I whipped around, standing from the couch.

  “What? What do you mean she’s dead?”

  “She killed herself when my dad got sentenced.” He flinched, then opened the bottle and handed it to me before taking a swig of his. Tears glittered in his eyes. I didn’t even know what to say. I thought my night had been shitty. He hadn’t said a word. I went over and pulled him into a tight hug. His cold beer bottle dug into my chest as I held onto him. He fisted his hand in my shirt and a tremor shot through him. After a couple seconds, he pushed me away with the arm trapped between us.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call me or something?”

  He shrugged and went back to the couch, picking at the label on his bottle.

  “I…I’m sorry, man,” I said, running my hands through my hair.