Thorn in the Dark (Grove High School Book Two)

by A. R. Breck

  Whatever.

  A stack of plastic cups sit off to the side, and I grab one, fill it to the brim, and drink it in one go.

  Why are they using dixi cups at a funeral party?

  I toss the cup into the garbage and opt to taking the bottle with me. I don’t see Rich anywhere, hopefully he and the rest of the guys left for the night.

  I see Jackson sitting on one of the couches, and he looks just as miserable as I feel. I plop down next to him and tip the bottle his way. He moves his eyes in my direction and when he sees what I’m offering, he snatches it out of my hand and starts guzzling it down.

  “Shit, Jackson.” I shake my head, disappointed that half of my drink tonight is now depleted.

  He burps and hands it back to me, not saying a word.

  “How you doing?” I ask, taking my own swallow.

  He tilts his head in my direction, his eyes showing the turmoil he’s going through. I give him a nod, feeling the same type of way.

  “You seen the girls tonight?” I don’t know why I’m still trying to talk, it’s not like he’s going to respond to anything I’m saying.

  We sit there, for I don’t know how long, passing the bottle back and forth. When it’s empty, I place it between our legs and we watch as the party starts to get really heavy. It’s dark out now, and most of the people here are from school or a little older, drinking and smoking like it’s just another Friday.

  Not sure where Ms. Wollner went, but I know she’s not here.

  In between the mass of people appears Rose. Both her and Cara look drunk, swaying to the music with their hands above their heads. I feel the gravitational pull between us, and all I want to do is fall to the ground and start crawling towards her.

  Except, my heart no longer beats, and my soul left my body the moment Logan died. If I let Rose near me, her thorns are going to cut me open and I’ll bleed out.

  Then there will really be nothing left of me.

  I clench the old couch cushion beneath my palm to keep me from going after her. When some random walks past me with a bottle and some cups, I snatch it out of his hand. He looks over at me and opens his mouth to yell at me, but when he notices it’s me, his eyes go wide and he turns back to the kitchen. Probably to get himself a new bottle.

  I crack open the fresh bottle of rum and cringe my way through the first couple swallows. This isn’t the good stuff. But it’ll do.

  I should really just get off my ass and walk home, but my body is so molded into this couch by now, I feel like I’ll never be able to move.

  That, and I’m afraid if I get up, I’ll walk right into Rose’s arms.

  I drink, and I drink, and I continue to drink until the world goes blurry and my lights go out.

  ~

  A cough bursts out of me, snapping me out of my drunken slumber. I cough the junk out of my throat and spit into the empty bottle in my hands. I look around, confused for a second where I am.

  Ah, yeah.

  Logan’s funeral.

  Ms. Wollner is going to be pissed when she comes home. It looks completely trashed in here, and people are scattered all throughout this tiny home passed out. Good luck to Ben, because they’re going to be a bitch and a half to get out of here.

  I look next to me, fully expecting to see Jackson passed out next to me. It’s empty, though.

  I look for Rose or Cara, but don’t see them anywhere, awake or passed out.

  I pull out my phone. No notifications. Okay, then. I pull up Rose’s name and start typing out a text about ten times. I just want to make sure she got home okay. I re-word it so many times but end up just closing out of the text message and pocketing my phone. I can’t go there. I need to fucking stop.

  I stand up and watch the world tip on its side. Okay, a little drunk still.

  Once the trailer is once again upright, I stumble my way out the front door and start walking around the corner to my house. When I pass Jackson’s house, I see the light on in his bedroom. I’m about to walk up to his door to see if he wants to smoke when I see a shadow through his window.

  Nope, two shadows. Fucking Jackson. He’s such a loner, but today he decides to fuck someone? I mean, I guess good job. The dude needs a little pussy every once in a while.

  I don’t stay to watch, instead walking back to my house, rolling up a joint, and smoking myself back to sleep.

  Fuck the world. Fuck funerals.

  Fuck death.

  Chapter Twenty

  Spilling blood is the only thing that keeps the Reaper away.

  Easton

  The thing about burying your best friend is that when you have shit to talk about, you now have no one to go to. I want to talk to him about how fucking pissed off I am that he died. I’m so angry with him. I swear if he were to bust his ass out of that dirt, I’d shove him back under it because I’m so furious with him right now.

  I would talk to Jackson, but well, it’s Jackson. He doesn’t speak. He grunts and gives me a look that I can mostly decipher, but overall, it’s just been me at the gym by myself and my fucking demons.

  I feel like I’m losing my grip on humanity. I hold on to the tiny sliver I have left of it because once I lose that, I know there’s no coming back. I’ll be a cold-blooded murderer and probably in prison within the year.

  Watching those damn funeral workers twist that crank and watching the casket creak and lower beneath the earth, well, it did shit to me.

  The only thing that feeds this thing inside of me is punching the hell out of people. Bags don’t cut it. Pads don’t cut it. I need to watch the blood running through someone’s body be split open with my fists, and drip onto the already stained mat beneath me.

  I haven’t spoken to Rich. I haven’t spoken to Hugo. I haven’t spoken to Cara. I have most definitely not spoken to Rose.

  Not that she hasn’t tried.

  The first night after the funeral, I thought that she finally got the picture. No calls, no texts, nothing.

  I try not to think about the pain I felt that night, but it still aches in my chest.

  The next day though, five phone calls from Rose. No voicemails, no texts.

  The day after that, seven phone calls, one text. No voicemails.

  Today, seven phone calls—so far—four texts. One voice mail.

  Her pleading to talk to me. Begging to listen to the words she has to say.

  I can’t.

  I can’t allow myself to go back down that road. She doesn’t deserve to be wrapped in the death magnet that is me.

  And I don't deserve anything. At least, that’s what I keep repeating in my head.

  Every time my phone rings, my fingers itch to reach over and connect our call. I don’t even have to say anything, just listening to her breathe is enough to bring me to life. Without her, I feel like a shell. Angry. Vicious. Untamed.

  It’s killing me, but it’s for the best.

  Nothing good can come from caring for someone as much as Rose and I care for each other. All it will bring is death and destruction. It’s inevitable. And at the end of the day, if something happened to Rose, I’d take down the entire world with my rage.

  So, it’s best she goes and lives her life, and I will drown in mine.

  I’m still angry with her. It might be an anger that she doesn't necessarily deserve. But the days since Logan’s death has cleared some of my fog and made me realize that it’s not Rose’s fault Logan got shot.

  But it’s still not going to bring him back.

  And it’s still not enough for me to let her back in my life.

  With a swipe of my finger, I wipe the sweat from my workout off my forehead. This is where I spend my days now. If I’m not at home sleeping, I’m in this gym training for the next fool to come and try and take me on.

  Duke is around here somewhere. He works with me for a while, but I’m so damn volatile lately that it’s gotten to a point where he just lets me beat the shit out of everything I can in this gym. That, and I run for fucking
miles on the treadmill.

  Running from my own life is what it feels like.

  When I hear the ringing of my cell phone, I stop my running with an exasperated groan and look down at the screen, expecting Rose.

  Except it’s not Rose, it’s a number I don’t recognize. I’m seconds away from declining the call when my curiosity gets the best of me.

  “Hello?” I ask, out of breath.

  “Easton Malone.” I pull a face and am about to ask who the fuck is calling me when it clicks.

  “Frank Aronole. What do you want?”

  “I want you to know that we found my son. You’re a fucking bastard for what you did to him. No one wants to touch this case when I say you need to be questioned, but I can promise you this— what you did to Corey? That is going to be a slap to the wrist for the shit I'm going to do to you, boy. I promise you that.” With that, he disconnects the call.

  My body starts vibrating from the soles of my feet all the way to the hairs on my head. Anger, anger, anger is all I feel nowadays. I can’t control it, and this shit with Frank just heightens it tenfold.

  I’m not sure what he has up his sleeve, but I’m not afraid. I hope he brings his pocket knife from boy scouts, because the moment he crosses over the line onto my territory, his ass is mine.

  ~

  Later that night, after I park my truck in front of my house, I decide to stop over at Jackson’s house. I know he’s going through some shit, but we all are. We’re weaker apart more than we are together. We can’t separate the pack now. We need each other more than ever.

  He swings the door open after only a few knocks, a cigarette between his lips and a bored look on his face.

  “What’s up?” I gruff.

  He shrugs, leaving the door open as he walks back to his couch where Call of Duty is on. He lifts a controller to me, which I take because otherwise I’m sure I’ll be sitting here, begging him to listen to me like some petty bitch.

  “You haven’t come down to the gym or anything. The fuck you been doing here?” I ask while waiting for the game to load.

  “Not in the mood.” He chokes out. It sounds like his voice hasn’t been used in days. Which I’m sure it actually hasn't.

  “This shit fucking sucks, but don’t shut me out, dude.”

  “I can’t sit here and pretend that shit hasn’t been fucked sideways. Our boy is gone. The best guy in this shit ass town. While I sit here, the town mute, and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it!” He picks up the ashtray next to him and throws it at a wall, leaving a nice-sized dent in its place. “I’m just pissed, all right?”

  “I feel you. Just don’t shut me out.” We play a few rounds, and I tell him about my training and my fight tomorrow. He tells me he will be there, and I really hope so. This will be my first fight ever without Logan by my side, and I can guarantee it’s going to be a hard one.

  I also tell him about my phone call from Frank earlier, which he just shakes his head. He’s not worried either.

  As I’m about to leave, I glance over on the couch between us when his phone lights up with a text. What surprises me, though, is that it’s a text from Cara.

  “You’re texting Cara? What does she want?” That’s odd, since they have never been close, and have probably only talked about a handful of times.

  “Who fucking cares?” He says and slips his phone in his pocket.

  I nod my head but say nothing else.

  Walking home, I can’t help but think about why my dead best friend’s girlfriend is texting my other best friend. None of the reasons are good.

  None at all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sometimes I feel like a spool of thread that’s falling apart more and more by the second.

  Rose

  Friday morning rolls around, and once again, there is no Easton in sight. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been so long that he’s been at school, he could practically be a dropout by now. The school would never do that to him, though.

  It’s become lonely, being here at school alone. I’ve caught up on most of my school work, and now I basically roam the halls by myself and wait for the final bell to ring. No one talks to me, either because they’re too afraid to know me or they just don’t like me, I’m not sure.

  Either way, the crowded, noisy halls of the school are more depressing than a damp, abandoned cave.

  When I pull into the lot, I’m pleasantly surprised to see Cara getting out of her car. I honk my horn, alerting her to wait for me.

  “Hey, how are you? I didn’t know you were coming back to school today.” I say as I get out of my car.

  She looks better than she did the day of the funeral, but still doesn’t look like her normal self. The bags under her eyes make her look like she hasn’t slept in weeks, and her rumpled, wrinkled, baggy hoodie and sweats flood her body.

  “Are those Logan’s clothes?” I winkle my nose as I point to them. Not because they’re Logan’s, but because they look like she’s been wearing them for the past week straight.

  She glances down as she pulls them away from her body. “Yeah, I just—yeah, they are.” She shrugs.

  “Hey, it’s all right. I understand.” I give her a smile. She took care of me for a while after the shit with Corey, and it’s no doubt my time to take care of her.

  Her eyes fill up with tears at my concerned tone. “I can’t. I don’t think I can do this.” She cries and turns back to her car. “I think I need to go home.”

  “Just wait. Please, let’s just try it for a little while. If it gets to be too much, I promise I will leave with you, okay?” I can’t deny that I’m being a little selfish. I don’t want to be here alone anymore, and it feels good to be talking to someone I know.

  “I don’t want to be here without him.” She wipes her tears that seem never-ending.

  “I know, but what do you think he would want you to do? Be sad like this? Or go on living your life? He loved you, Cara. He’s loved you for years, and I don’t think he would want you to feel like this.”

  “He just died, Rose! My boyfriend just died!” Eyes start turning our way at her screaming.

  “I get it, I do. But he wouldn’t want this of you, so you need to pull yourself together and get the fuck to class.”

  She looks at me as if my words snapped the delirium out of her.

  “If shit goes south, I’m going home.” She wipes her nose with her oversized sleeve.

  “I will go with you. Promise.”

  We walk into school when Cara gets a text and discreetly looks down at her phone before pocketing it.

  “Who was that?” I question and attempt to read her face.

  She rolls her eyes. “Just Jackson. He asked if I wanted to go to the Pit tonight. I guess, uh, Easton’s fighting tonight.”

  This is complete news to me. But I guess I don’t know where else I would hear the news from. I don’t talk to anyone anymore.

  “Are you going?”

  She looks at me sideways. “Fuck no. Why would I go if I can barely handle going to class?”

  “We should go. It might do you some good. Plus, it would give me another chance to talk to Easton.” I look away as I say the last part, not wanting to see any pity. None at all.

  “How’s that going?”

  “Not good. He wants nothing to do with me.” Sadness tickles the edges of my heart, but I shove that shit deep, deep down inside of me.

  “Yeah, Jackson said he's being a dick lately. I guess he’s at the gym almost every day.”

  “You’re talking to Jackson? How is he?” I haven’t spoken to him at all, not for a long time, actually.

  “We talk sometimes, I guess. I don’t know. He’s okay.” She quickly says, which only makes me more curious. Cara is a gossiper, so it’s kind of odd she’s being so quiet about it.

  It could just be the whole Logan thing that’s making her more subdued.

  “I’m going to class. Come over to my house when you can, and we’ll head over ther
e, I guess.” She says before walking into the school with her head down.

  I frown at her mood. I don’t like this Cara. My Cara is usually running up the walls with excitement to go to the Pit and watch shirtless men hit each other. She’s acting like she's going to go do someone else’s homework or go scrub some toilets or something.

  “Okay.” I watch her walk off and slump my shoulders, walking to my own class.

  I was hoping today would be the first day that I’m not lonely, but I guess today will not be that day.

  ~

  Later that night, I’m getting ready when the nerves start to really hit me. I haven’t been to the Pit since Corey. The dizziness hits me with this realization, and I almost pass out, having to grab onto my bathroom counter for support.

  I mean, I was pretty much there when we went to go see Logan, but actually going to the Pit? Yeah, this is too much for me.

  “Shit...”

  Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

  No, I can’t back out. Although, I’m worried about Easton because last time I talked to him, he basically threatened me when he told me off. I can’t give up on him, though. I know we’re supposed to be something great, and I know he’s just blinded by his grief to realize that. I can’t give up until I try every avenue.

  I just can't.

  I wish I could talk to Cara about all my worries about tonight, but I can’t burden her with my bullshit when she’s going through her own hell.

  At least I don’t have to deal with my mom tonight. She’s going out to dinner with Jeff and then staying the night at his place. I didn’t tell her that I’m going anywhere, but on the off chance that she comes home before I get back, I write a note for her to let her know I’m going over to Cara’s house.

  I don’t think she knows about the Pit, and I would like to keep it that way.

  The drive over to Cara’s house is fast. Faster than I would have liked.

  I was hoping that it would take longer so I could prepare myself to see Easton. I can’t back down so quick from his heavy glare and growly presence. He expects it, and that’s why he acts the way he does. He knows I’ll back down with one snarly sentence.

  I have to be just as rough with him as he is with me if I'm going to get through to him.