Beautifully Ruined

by Nessa Morgan

  “It’s your eyes,” he answers automatically, as if he’s been holding it in all this time.

  I am going to have to sit up aren’t I?

  “What about them?”

  Why am I goading him on?

  “You two have the same eyes,” he answers. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that?”

  What is he talking about?

  Whatever it is about my eyes, I roll them and correct my seating on the couch, sitting upright so my head stops hurting, letting all the blood rush down my body.

  Without really thinking it through, I say, “You’re weird,” before snagging a chip from the bowl on the coffee table, eyeing him as I pop it into my mouth.

  “You’re one to talk,” he counters with a smug grin.

  “Then this friendship makes so much sense,” I reply.

  “Yes!” Milo yells excitedly, startling me. “You finally admit we’re friends!” he exclaims loudly, throwing his arms above his head in exuberance. I snatch the remote from his leg, changing the channel to something without goal posts.

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t get too happy there, Cowboy,” I mutter, deadpan.

  My phone chirps on my lap, vibrating as I pick it up. I check the screen, clicking the little button on top.

  Harley: Are you ever going to talk to me?

  Eventually, I think as I click the screen off and drop my phone back to its place, not bothering to reply. I’m not in a texting mood. My phone beeps again. Another text I don’t want to answer.

  Harley: Please don’t ignore me.

  Sweet baby Jesus, the girl is persistent.

  I release a grunt of annoyance as I type out a reply a bit too aggressively for my phone’s liking, punching at the screen with my thumbs so hard the pixels dilate.

  Me: I’m not. I’m just busy at the moment. Talk to you later.

  My phone beeps instantly with response but I don’t look at it. I don’t want to talk to her right now. Or Kennie. Even Ksenia has been leaving me messages on my Facebook wall. Alexia has somehow found my email and has continued apologizing to me through the internet. I’m just not the chattiest person with any of them. It has everything to do with Zephyr and Blondie—I’ll willingly admit that now.

  Sighing, I silence my phone—clicking ignore on Harley’s message—and launch my phone onto the coffee table, watching it bounce within its thick plastic pink case.

  “What?” Milo asks, quirking a brow at my expression. “Telemarketers?”

  I snort. “No.” I change the channel. “Harley.” Milo looks confused. I don’t think he’s had the pleasure of meeting her, the sweet bundle of joy she is. “You don’t know who she is, do you?”

  His blue eyes narrow. “I’m not sure…” he trails.

  “She’s taller than me, brown hair, dating the tall redhead moose.”

  Moose? Milo mouths before recognition covers his face. “Oh, her.” He reaches for the remote but I hold it out of reach, nearly throwing it across the room. “What did she want?” he asks curiously.

  “I don’t know,” I lie.

  I know she’ll want to talk about getting my files. We had it planned perfectly and it’s something I still want to do, still something I plan to do, I just need to tweak my plans, add new people to replace the old. Zephyr’s out—obviously. If Harley still wants to help, she can—and we’ll need others. I doubt we can pull it off with only two people, not successfully anyway, and jail time isn’t exactly in my plans.

  But I don’t tell him this, not Milo. He might thing it too weird, too random—and it is those things, more of those things—I just don’t want to get bitched at.

  Then again, I could be wrong. He could be down with misdemeanors. He could even have a record. I don’t think I can picture Milo Simms with a rap sheet, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never asked him—but I won’t find out any time soon.

  Pursing my lips, I ponder. And then the curiosity pops from my mouth. “Have you ever committed a crime,” I ask, curious and debating if I can use Milo for my own personal gain. If he can sneak through crowded rooms and not be noticed—that’s a useful skill.

  His eyes snap wide and his head slowly turns toward me—not unlike the character from The Exorcist. I half expect it to spin around all the way. “Uh, what kind of crime are you thinking, Joey?”

  I shrug, tugging on the end of my braid. “Just any crime…”

  “I’ve shoplifted a candy bar before,” he answers honestly. “Even a band tee, but I’m not a hardened criminal if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Oh, shucks!

  “That’s not what I’m asking, Milo,” I say with a shrug. “It was just a question, Cowboy, sheesh. Calm your tits, would you?” What is with the defensive?

  Milo still stares at me with curious eyes before he turns back to the television and the endless stream of commercials playing. I have it on MTV. A rerun of The Real World would be playing, if these commercials about random movies and products I’m too terrified to even think about ever stop, as I contemplate things.

  But I can’ shut my mouth. “I was thinking something along the lines of”—I shrug indifferently, feigning innocence—“breaking and entering,” I say, quickly. But I have to play it cool; don’t want him to think I’m on my way to a crime spree.

  “Oh, well, yeah, breaking and entering.” He snaps his fingers. “I do one of those about three times a month. Are you planning a robbery or something?”

  I could slap him for his sarcasm. As I turn to look at him, I nearly do smack my palm right across that pale cheek of his only to add a little color—and oooh, it’s so very tempting.

  But I don’t want to hit my only normal friend. That won’t be good for business.

  Wait—did I say normal…?

  “For one thing, the correct term is burglary,” I begin. “And it’s not like I love the idea of committing crimes.”

  “Oh, well, that makes the question okay.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know,” I begin. “Just because you can speak doesn’t mean you should.”

  Milo sighs. “There’s nothing more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm.”

  “I can think of a few things,” I mumble, annoyed. I shake my head. “Never mind.” I’m done with this conversation. I grab the remote to move on to a new channel. Maybe there’s a decent movie on somewhere I haven’t found yet, I want something long enough to distract me.

  “No, Joey,” he says, reaching for my arm before he stops himself. “Now I’m curious. What’s with the crime question?”

  “Nothing,” I reply defensively. “Just forget it.”

  “You’re a strange one,” he mumbles, stealing glances at me.

  He’s right. I’m strange, I’m weird, and I’m tired. I’m tired of living my life the boring way. I want my files. I deserve to know what’s in them. This is something I need help with and I’ve always been told I should ask for what I want.

  I want this.

  So I tell him. I wanted to tell him because he’s my friend and I know he cares about me, and I him. So I tell him how I want—no, need—my files. I tell him about the plan I created with Harley and how we need to get in there soon.

  Surprisingly, he says, “Well, when should we do this?”

    

  All I had to do was tell Harley that everything we’d planned to get my files was still on—breaking into my therapist’s office. Before any agreement, I had to apologize for being so distant. She did the same, saying that she’d been too distracted with Avery and a few of his body parts to pay much attention to any of her actions. I didn’t need to hear that part about limbs, but she was awesome for being honest with me. And I did understand. I mean, I had briefly been there—distracted with a boy and his… parts.

  We brought in Kennie. She was too excited and eager to be included. Even said she had the perfect outfit for the occasion. Just to be safe, we asked Ksenia. She was happy to agree.

  I should be alarmed with their willingness to hel
p but I have one thing on my mind—the eye on the prize—and it’s my main goal.

  We plan for the upcoming Friday. Hilary has plans to go away with Patrick for the weekend. A lovely, long weekend away from home at a lovely bed and breakfast far away in the middle of nowhere. She can’t see me do anything illegal, what more can a niece ask?

  “So, we’re all set, right?” I ask the group sitting in my room, looking to Harley and Kennie on my bed, Ksenia sitting in recliner, and Milo chilling on my rug. It’s an odd bunch to pair together but I doubt I’ll regret it.

  They all nod.

    

  “You’ll be fine, right?” Hilary asks nervously as Patrick takes her suitcase, wheeling it down the rickety-rocky walkway that leads from the front door to the driveway where his SUV sits. “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” she surmises, turning back to look at her boyfriend. “Do you think he’d be upset? If I completely ditched him to hang around at home with my niece? My cute, adorable, loves-me-no-matter-what, niece?”

  “Uh, yes,” I bark, literally pushing her through the front door with my hands placed flat against her back, I’m surprised she hasn’t asked anything. “Aunt Hil, You live with me. So you’re going to absolutely keep this date.” My aunt cannot break her plans. Her breaking plans would disrupt my plans. Okay, not really, I don’t really have a curfew if I say I’m studying with Harley and Kennie. She’s even met Milo, so I could mention his name, maybe even Ksenia. But my appointment with Dr. Jett is in a few weeks, I need time to study whatever I find.

  “You ready?” Patrick asks after he slams the back door, locking his and my aunt’s things away. He leans against the car, smiling sweetly at Hilary as she takes a tentative step toward him. But she falters and turns back to me, worry covering her face. I look over her shoulder at Patrick, watching his hair blow in the wind. He’s prepared for her to change her mind—poor thing.

  “I’m not sure, Patrick,” Hilary starts, shoving her hands into the pockets of her peacoat. “Maybe it’s too soon for us to, you know, go away together.”

  It is not too soon!

  Definitely not!

  Do it!

  Patrick chuckles from where he stands. A chuckle that irks me because he could potentially tell her it’s okay to stay. He’s that great of a guy.

  I drop my head back in exasperation. My aunt and this man need to leave. They need to leave, like, now! I have things to do tonight. I have a crime I need to commit in a few hours.

  As predicted, Patrick opens his mouth. “If you think it’s too soon—”

  I cut Patrick off before he can fill her mind with more nonsense about staying home. “Don’t be ridiculous, you two.” I give my aunt a good, playful shove in the shoulders, sending her careening into Patrick’s waiting arms. Yeah, maybe that was a bit too hard of a push but it is effective. Assuming she doesn’t think anything’s going on.

  And if she doesn’t think anything is going on, the woman doesn’t know me at all.

  “Are you planning a party or something?” my aunt asks suspiciously—straightening her jacket and smoothing down her hair. She looks to me, green eyes curious and cautious.

  “Absolutely not,” I blurt with a laugh, avoiding my aunt’s eyes. They’re like little pools of green truth serum. I even snort which doesn’t help my case of being completely innocent. “I just want you two to have the bestest time there is.” Bestest time? What the hell is wrong with me? I might as well write Future Criminal across my forehead in neon pink block letters. “You’ve been through a lot lately and Patrick really wants to treat you to something fun. Just have a good time. Live it up, Auntie.”

  Hilary examines me before she makes her decision—her final decision if she should escape for a weekend of bliss and whatever the hell else is awaiting them (well, that’s something I don’t want to think about, thank you very much) at their destination or if she’s babysitting a sixteen year old, like normal. Really, what trouble could I get into?

  Yeah, no one answer that, please.

  “Okay,” she finally concedes, looking to me sadly. I’m cheering in my head, mentally dancing in happiness. Patrick leads her around the car like a lovely gentleman—the largest grin covering his face—opening the passenger door for her. I’m giddy with excitement. “I’m leaving the car in your hands, Joey, please don’t crash it. Call me for anything. And I mean anything.”

  “I promise to call if the house is on fire, if I’m dying, if a meteor strikes directly in our front yard.” I’m embellishing now. She looks like she’s ready to hit me upside the head. “I also know the number for the police, the hospital, poison control, animal control, and whatever I don’t know or have immediate access to, well, that’s why the internet was created.” Waving away her sarcastic look, I plaster the biggest smile on my face. “If anything happens, I promise to head straight next door.” No matter what, anyone next door would help me in my time of need.

  The promise to call in case of emergency slightly worries her. Mostly, Hilary’s nervous to be alone with her boyfriend for three days. It’s so adorable. After they both hop in the car I watch Patrick back out of the driveway and drive down the street.

  Alone.

  I am finally alone.

  Normally, that little thought would freak me out but not today. I’m on a mission.

  I tug my phone from my pocket and search my contacts for her name. Stopping on Harley, I hit the call button.

  “Hey, I’m alone.”

  I call Kennie, Ksenia, and Milo and say the same thing.

  After, I change into black jeans, black t-shirt, and black jacket. I even add a black hat to complete the ensemble. A knock sounds through the house and I bolt down the stairs, opening the door and letting Harley and Ksenia in—both wearing dark clothing. They smile at me and lounge around until Milo walks through the door, his unusually bright hair concealed beneath a hat that matches mine. The next knock alerts us to Kennie’s arrival. She steps through the door, sparkling and festive. She’s in black, all right, but a black sequined tunic top and yoga pants that stop beneath her knees.

  “Kennie,” Harley says when she finally gets a good peek at our friend. “You do realize that we’re trying to go unseen here, right?”

  Kennie looks down, her blonde hair tied high in a ponytail on the back of her head. “What?” she asks. “I’m wearing black.”

  “You look like you’re about to hit the town or something,” Ksenia replies.

  “You look like a disco ball,” Harley counters.

  Kennie blushes. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

  We wave her off and head out to the cars, deciding to take my aunt’s SUV because it is big enough to fit all five of us, and head into town toward my therapist’s office. It closed three hours ago—as is typical on a Friday night—so we should be good to get in and get out without being interrupted. Or caught. That’s key.

  It’d be better to do this around midnight but Kennie has a game to cheer for in two hours. After that, uh, I don’t think her sobriety is strong enough to win out and the girl loves to party. It doesn’t help that she’s this week’s host—as selected by the cheerleaders.

  “Remember the plan?” I ask, parking in the lot of the high school across the street.

  “I keep lookout from the sign,” Ksenia pipes up as she ties her hair away from her face and tucks it beneath the hood of her sweatshirt.

  “I’m heading in with you,” Harley tells me. Milo had issues with that part of the plan, thinking that he should go in with me. I nixed that.

  “I stay with the car,” Kennie mutters with annoyance. Because she’s shiny, we decided to make her the getaway driver. I toss her the keys.

  “I’ll keep a look for any lights in the building,” Milo chimes.

  “Sounds about right,” I say before we part and take our places. It’s funny to think that we’re about to break laws. So funny, I could possibly cry. “Oh, and remember to keep your phones on vibrate. The last thing we need is Sexy and I Know It being
the reason we’re all arrested.” I turn to Milo.

  “I changed my ringtone,” he defends. “What Does the Fox Say?”

  “If I’m arrested because of a damn fox, I promise to trade you for cigarettes,” I threaten.

  “Noted.” His thumb swipes along his screen. “Phone is on vibrate.”

  Now, was that so hard?

  I walk up to the door, Harley trailing behind me, and try the handle. As I thought, but couldn’t make my mind believe, the door is locked. “Did you honestly believe the door—during after ours—would be unlocked?”

  “I’m human, I make mistakes,” I respond, blushing from embarrassment.

  “Yeah, I’m questioning that GPA of yours.” Harley pulls something from her hair—a bobby pin.

  “It shouldn’t take me too long to get this open,” she murmurs as she twists and pokes the pin in the lock. “And you’re positive this place doesn’t have an alarm system?”

  “Almost,” I answer, watching her struggle with the lock. She stops, turning to me, her mouth agape.

  “I thought you said this place didn’t have an alarm?” she asks loudly. I shush her before someone can hear her.

  “No,” I begin to correct her. “I said I know this place doesn’t have any surveillance cameras.” I hear a click from the lock and Harley removes the bobby pin, pushing the door open. “If it has an alarm system, well, that I’m not too certain about.”

  “It’s unlocked, Joey,” Harley mutters angrily, looking up to me. “But if the cops come, I’m using you as a human shield until I can get away, then I’m stealing your car.” I laugh, noticing her narrowed-eyed glare in my direction. “I’m not kidding.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “Noted.” I pass her and slink through the empty lobby. It has the familiar scent of crazy and new toys—ah, home, sweet home.

  We aim for the filing room in the back of the building, passing several closed doors, one with a light seeping through the bottom. I exchange a nervous glance with Harley, but she only pushes me forward toward the door at the end of the hall with FILES plastered on the front with a plaque.

  Obviously, I suck at breaking and entering—and crime in general—if I ignore the obvious.