by Alyne Robers
Rushing through the apartment, I grab my camera bag and phone after leaving a note to Brooklyn. My hands are shaking and my mind is racing. I feel like how my dad would look when he hadn't had a drink yet. I'm craving for my own kind of escape.
I almost run down the hall and hit the button for the elevator, digging my keys out of my bag.
"Shit," I whisper when the doors open. I completely forgot I got a ride last night.
I glance back down the hall and swear again. I can't call Miles. I'm not ready to face him yet. Until I get paid for my last shoot, I can't afford another cab ride. I have only one other option, if he's home that is.
Amazed at how unprepared and unorganized I am today, I head back down the hall toward Kane's apartment. When I get there, the door is already open a few inches. I push it open and take in the familiar scene in front of me.
What might have been a table is broken in the center of the room. It looks like someone already broke in until I notice the evidence of a party. Cans and a few empty bottles lie on the floor. The smell of liquor and smoke wafts from inside. There's a body, face down, in the center of the room. I start to panic then I recognize the dark hair and side profile.
"Kane?" I whisper, not wanting to freak him out. "You okay?"
He mumbles something and I step inside, closing the door behind me. That seems to wake him.
"What the fuck?" Kane slurs and scrambles to sit up. "Huh?"
His eyes are bloodshot, his lips are swollen, wearing only a pair of jeans that are unbuttoned. There are bite marks on his shoulders and scratches down his back. I look around again, but he's alone, so I wonder who put the marks there.
"Your door was open," I tell him.
He rubs his face roughly and glares at me for a long moment.
"What are you doing here, London?"
"Closing your door." I look down at my hands. "And asking for a favor."
His eyes cloud over as he stares at me expectantly.
"Never mind. I can see you're busy."
I start to leave but Kane calls me back.
"I left my car at a bar last night and was hoping you could give me a ride."
Kane nods, pulls himself to his feet and disappears down the short hall. Soon, I hear the shower start and a door close.
His apartment is identical to ours, but backwards. The kitchen is on my right instead of the left. The counters are a dingy blue, instead of our green. This place is darker, the sun coming from our side of the building. A small leather sofa faces an expensive TV and a broken coffee table sits in between.
I wander into his kitchen and check the fridge. It's just as bare as ours. Dirty dishes are piled in the sink and my skin starts to crawl. Unable to help myself, I quickly load the dishes in the ancient dishwasher. It only takes a minute to wipe down the counters. I can't stand the memories walking in here brings up.
I grab a garbage can from the pantry and clean up the empty beer cans and bottles all over the floor. I grab Kane's shirt that is thrown over the TV and an empty pizza box off the couch. A red pair of flip flops are buried under the table remains. I instantly recognize them since I was the one who glued the rose charms on the straps.
My stomach clenches when I realize Brooklyn was here last night. She left those marks all over his body. I think about just leaving while he's in the shower. If he's involved with my sister, then I need to stay away.
"Are you actually cleaning?" I hear behind me.
I spin around, feeling guilty and embarrassed.
"Um. Yeah."
"You don't need to do that." He comes over and takes the garbage can from me. He smells like soap and cinnamon.
"I couldn't help it. Sorry." The smell and the sight was too familiar. The old me kicked in, erasing the ugly scene like I had dozens of times before.
Kane tilts his head as he looks down at me like he's trying to figure me out. I don't like all his attention on me.
"I should go," I say way too loud. I need out of this apartment. Now.
Images of Kane and Brooklyn are filling my head, making my already sensitive stomach uneasy.
"Why?" he asks.
I hold up the flip flops as an answer. A look that almost resembles regret flashes across his face.
"We can be friends, right?"
"I don't like being in the middle."
"Nothing to be in the middle of. I'm taking you. You have a shoot today?" Kane asks as he hands me my camera bag.
Kane is already pushing me out the open door. I have few options, so I don't resist.
"Not today. Just scouting some new locations. I'm not from around here, so I need to do some exploring."
Kane leads me out of the apartment, locking up behind us. I opt for the stairs. Being confined in that tiny box is the last thing I want right now.
"What's bothering you?" Kane asks as we cross the lobby.
"Nothing," I lie.
"I'll believe that when that angry V between your eyes fades. You're much prettier when you smile."
I ignore him. I'm pretty because I look like Brooklyn, and I don't owe him an explanation. That would mean I would need to identify what is really bothering me first. I feel like I shouldn't be with Kane right now, but feel like I have the right to be as well.
In the garage, we come to a stop in front of motorcycle. It's painted a flat black with all chrome parts. It screams danger and speed. Kane takes a helmet and hands it to me.
"Where's your car?" I ask, taking the helmet and staring at the bike.
"This is better. Scared?" The corner of his lips turn up in a mocking smirk.
"Yeah," I say honestly. "I've never been on one before. I don't want to be, either."
"How do you know you don't want to if you never have before?"
"I just do. There are four wheels for a reason. Even horses, the first method of transportation, have four legs."
Kane laughs and forces the helmet over my head anyway. I fight his hands as he does the buckle under my chin but he keeps smacking away my attempts.
"Seriously, I don't want to."
"No. You're scared but that has nothing to do with what you want to do. Live a little, London."
I actually snarl at him but he ignores me. I'm sick of being told to "lighten up" or "live a little." I swear I'm always being told to be more like my sister. Maybe she should be more like me.
I don't want to always be the boring one.
Kane mounts the bike and watches me patiently. When I continue to stand frozen, he offers his hand. After a mental pep talk, I take his hand. He holds mine while I throw my leg over and sit on the seat.
"Hold on. Lean with me when I lean," Kane tells me.
He turns the key and a loud rumble echoes in the garage. It's loud and I feel it moving through my whole body. Kane puts up the kick stand and my heart rate skyrockets. I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze. After a light tap to my white knuckles, we are off.
There's something terrifying about being so exposed to the road and cars around you. Everything feels bigger and closer when you are not surrounded by four sides of metal. I feel so vulnerable, but I feel free with the wind and sun on my face. It's so scary, it's exciting.
Soon, we are on roads I don't recognize. I squeeze Kane's leg to get his attention since I now realize that he never even asked where my car was. His large hand covers mine but he doesn’t slow or acknowledge that I have something to say. Even screaming, he wouldn't hear me with all the wind and my helmet. He lets go and I watch the scenery flash by, waiting for a chance to talk to him.
Growing up in Tennessee, we didn't see much of the ocean or palm trees. I'm captivated by the blues of the water. It's calming and soothing, easing the shaking of my hands and the racing of my mind. When the bike goes over a long bridge, I cling tighter to Kane. I feel so small and light over the water without the metal walls to protect me.
Soon, we are riding down a wide road that looks long forgotten. We pull into in large and deserted parking lot and Kane
kills the engine. I climb off the bike, still feeling the vibration in my body. Kane follows, helping me with my helmet. His fingers lightly brush my throat as he loosens the strap. My eyes dart to his, but he seems unaware.
"How was it? You lived I see, even with just two wheels."
"It was fine," I say as I fix my hair and look around.
"Fine? You know how to bruise a guy's ego."
"It's was terrifying, honestly."
"But you loved it," Kane says, his voice dropping lower. His dark eyes are on me, demanding the truth with their direct intensity.
"Yes. But this isn't where my car is. What is this place?"
I look around at the massive concrete building. It's definitely abandoned, but not forgotten. There are weeds growing in the cracks of the concrete, but the walls are covered in graffiti.
"It used to be a marine stadium but shut down after a hurricane. Come on, I'll show you."
Kane starts walking to the chained gates, and I hurry after him.
"Are we allowed in here?" I ask as he pulls the gate open enough for me to slip through.
"It's discouraged."
Kane takes my camera bag and gestures for me to go through the gap. My heart is pounding as I look around for any witnesses. It's broad daylight and I'm breaking and entering. Or is it just entering? Kane follows after me and leads me up a ramp and up some cement steps. The walls are covered in graffiti along the way.
"Discouraged?"
"It's discouraged, but as you can see, we aren't the first ones to get in here."
We pass cement pillars, all entirely covered in colorful graffiti. Every surface of the place seems to be covered in art. We come out at the bottom of the stadium, looking up at hundreds of stadium seats facing the open water of the ocean. I gasp when I take in the size and the view.
"It's amazing," I breathe.
Every seat has been tagged. Row after row of metal seats are covered in color and words. The thick stone pillars that hold up a massive canopy are also covered in spray paint. Art has been painted over art. I walk in a trance, running my fingers over the railings, thick with paint.
Kane wordlessly hands me my camera and I look through the viewfinder, trying to pick where to start. There's so much to look at. So many colors. So many messages.
"Is it really vandalism when it's this beautiful?" I ask, focusing on a bleeding heart on the pillar near me.
The smell of paint lingers in the air, mixed with the salt water behind us. Each seat is unique. There's a large space where the seats have been removed, the ground below it just as colorful as the area surrounding it. I move on instinct, being drawn to one spot, then the next. Kane silently follows me down a long and winding corridor.
"How did you find this place?" I ask while I continue photographing.
"You see the luxury apartments over there?" I turn to look across the water. "This is the perfect place to photograph their windows with a high zoom. I go where my subjects take me."
"Is that legal?"
"If their blinds are open for anyone to see, it is."
It's here where the largest pieces of art are. Names written in graffiti lettering stand six feet tall. Bright pinks, blues, and greens mix in my mind to cover the red and orange of flames that haunt my mind. Every terrifying image is painted over with the illegal painting I see on the abandoned walls.
The words 'Dare to Live' stand proud and vibrant over all the other tags. Each letter stands taller than me, and I snap a panoramic of it. It's a big message, not just in its size.
From the top of the structure, I look down at the entire stadium. The Miami skyline is in the distance and the ocean is calm before me. I stop to appreciate the creativity and time it took to decorate every square inch of this venue. Illegal or not, this space isn't going to waste. I take a deep breath and realize that my hands stopped shaking.
"Thank you," I tell Kane who is standing a few feet away. He was giving me space, but never letting me get lost. "I could spend hours here, never seeing enough."
Kane gives me a half smile and I snap more photos. My favorite view is getting the art with the clear blue sky above. Kane leads me up a ladder to a metal bridge. Across the plank, a room with large windows overlook the stadium and the water. It used to be the control room. I snap another dozen or so photos until my battery starts to get low.
"I should get back," I say, my voice laced with disappointment. "Brooklyn will need the car soon."
Kane leads me out of the stadium. I hate leaving when I haven't seen it all yet.
"Where's your car?" as we cross the empty parking lot.
"The Sand Bar," I tell him. "Miles and his band played last night."
"Sounds like fun. Why didn't you leave with him then?" Kane's tone is flat like he doesn't really care, but he's watching me like he does.
"Not so much fun. Complicated. We got into an argument and I left, came home and found comfort in a whole bottle of wine."
"Do I need to kick his ass?"
"No," I say with a laugh and I shake my head. "We've known each other almost our whole lives. We fight like siblings."
"He didn't look at you like you were siblings."
I have nothing to say to that, so I don't. He saw Miles when he was in his most protective state. I know how Miles looks at me and I know how he looks at Brooklyn. It's probably similar to how Kane looks at her.
Back at the bike, he takes my camera bag. I am again picturing Kane and Brooklyn together last night. And Miles and Brooklyn together. How do I fit into all this? Is there even room for me?
It's never a competition, but it's always a battle. An unspoken and hidden war to be our own people but stay connected to the one person we care about more than anything.
"So, what's with the party last night? Special occasion?" I ask him. He wants to pry, I can too.
"No party. Just me," he says slowly as we get to his bike.
"All that alcohol for just you?"
"Something like that." Kane puts the helmet over my head.
"And my sister?"
Our eyes connect but I can't read him.
"You're destructive." Kane notices my eyes fall to a bite mark on his neck.
"You have no idea."
Silently, we mount his bike and start the long ride back to where I left my car. I'm slammed back into reality. Back where I'm forever tied to my twin sister, running from the man and the life that created us. Back where I no longer know what it is that I want because I am always thinking about what we need.
When we stop, I remove my death grip from Kane and get off the bike. I step out of reach so he won't help with the helmet again.
"Thank you for the ride," I say, handing him the helmet.
"Anytime."
I start to walk away but turn before getting in. Kane is watching me, motor off, eyes covered by his sunglasses.
"I'm not Brooklyn."
"I am well aware of your differences, London."
"She's callous and reckless. Destructive and unemotional at times. She will take everything, give nothing."
Kane pushes his glasses up to rest on his head. He examines me like he's seeing me for the first time.
"I want nothing from her, so you should worry about yourself for once and not her. Like I said, I am aware of your differences."
The loud rumble of his engine cuts us off and Kane pulls away.
TWELVE
Brooklyn
Our feet are hanging over the back of the couch. The bright pink nail polish on our toes is drying while we watch Teen Mom.
London finds the show disgusting. I think it's entertainment at its best. Never having seen my own mother struggle, I like imaging what it would have been like. I think London doesn't like to see what we might have missed.
Muffled voices come from the hallway.
"Shit. Miles," London whispers, flipping right side up. "I don't want to deal with him right now."
She sways for a moment from the head rush and hurries to the wi
ndow.
"Are you going to jump?" I ask.
"No. Fire escape."
"Seriously?"
Then she's gone. She actually just crawled out our sixth floor window to get away from our best friend. I didn't talk to her the other night when she got back from the gig. I could sense the anxiety rolling off of her, so I didn't pry. When Miles was scarce most of the week, I figured things didn't go well.
I flip off the couch and head to the door to listen. Miles isn't alone. The other voice is deep and warms my entire body like only Kane can do. I bite my lip, uneasy with the both of them together.
"Just leave them alone," Miles says. "And stay away from London."
London? What does she have to do with Kane? Was he concerned for me or her? Miles has always been protective, but he's entering a new alpha territory here.
"I'm here for Brooklyn. Back off," Kane says. Why does he need to clarify that?
At first I was almost touched Miles cared enough to approach Kane. Is he worried about me at all?
"I don't care why you're here. Leave her alone. She doesn't need someone like you."
"Someone like what exactly?"
"Someone who will just hurt her. She's not a toy."
I've had enough.
"I can hear you guys," I say as I swing the door open.
Both men have the decency to look embarrassed. I put a hand on my hip and glare at the both of them.
"I can fucking take care of myself."
Miles looks down at the floor, knowing silence is his best defense. I may not have been able to save us from our father, but I can damn well stand up for myself against men like Kane. They are the ones who are actually transparent, no matter what lies come out of their mouths.
There is no confusion between Kane and me. He doesn't feed me bullshit. It's the men like my father whom I really fear. The ones you think love you, only to break you the worst way imaginable. They are the ones so manipulative and disguised that you never learn the truth, falling for their lies time after time.
