by Amo Jones
Brantley looked between me and the other guy. “Nah, a friend’s.”
We began walking to the front of the house, when Brantley opened the door and entered, leaving the other one close behind me. As soon as I was inside, I stopped breathing. It was like a museum, not a home. With glass windows, stairs, and no family photos, just art. It was the opposite of what I was used to. I didn’t realize I had stopped walking until I felt a metal clasp click around my neck.
My hands rose to the front. “What?”
The guy who was behind me tugged on the lead. “You said you wanted to play a game, so guess what?” He rounded my body until I was in front of him, and my eyes flew between him and Brantley, who was now stopped at where the glass walls opened out to the outside dining area.
“Let’s fucking play.”
Saint
A party. He’s had them here a few times in the past, but those times I’d been told to stay in my room. Over the past few days, I’ve met his friends, been to a new house, seen them fight, and I still don’t understand the dynamics among them all.
Kore licks at my fingers after I close Medusa’s enclosure. “I know. I have been spending time away, but you have Hades and Medusa.”
I’m staring at the stained hardwood door when there’s a loud knock. If you look close enough to the pattern that naturally spills over the wood, you can see faces of evil. Brantley doesn’t knock, so I instantly know it isn’t him.
Taking the steps to the other side of the room, I squeeze the handle and swing it open. Bishop stands at the threshold, his hands buried in his jeans pockets with a hoodie resting around his neck. My mouth dries and my palms itch. I have to rub them down my thighs just to stop fidgeting.
“Hi?”
“Can I come in?” He gestures to my bedroom, and I step aside, allowing him to pass through. He’s not as tall as Brantley, but then not many people are. He’s strong, though, quite obviously spending just as much time lifting weights as Brantley does. His hair is either the darkest blond or a light brown, his skin kissed by a thousand suns. I shut the door behind me and then stop. Should I shut the door?
“It’s fine,” Bishop answers my unspoken question, walking to the other side of my room until he reaches the Italian silk curtains that shade out the sun from reaching into my room. I don’t answer as I make my way farther in, back to my makeup counter and light mirror.
“Is everything okay?” He lowers himself onto my bed, leaning against my marble headboard. His eyes remain passive on mine, but he doesn’t speak a word.
My mouth opens, and just as I’m about to say something, I spin around so my legs are beneath the dressing table and pick up my eyeliner.
“You’re different,” is all he says, and my hand hovers over my left cheek.
“Does that always have to be a bad thing?” I ask, but in the back of my mind, I can already feel myself wanting to ask why he’s in my bedroom. Or maybe this is normal?
When he doesn’t answer, I look up at him through the mirror, finding him still watching me, his hood now over his head. He swallows roughly, his throat contracting around the movement. “No. It’s not. Well,” he adds, tilting his head to the side. The way my bedroom light hits his jawline makes it appear as sharp as Brantley’s. I’ve always loved boys with a nice jaw. From what I saw in movies, anyway…
“Well?” I prompt him to continue, while stroking the liner over my bottom lid. I try for coy. Maybe if I seem disinterested in his answer, he will answer me.
“Has Brantley told you anything about his family?”
After finishing both eyes, I shake my head and turn back around to face him, clutching the silk tie that’s holding my bathrobe closed. “No.” My voice is soft, but the truth is harsh. I bring my focus back to him. “He doesn’t need to. I think I know enough.”
Bishop stands from my bed and moves around my room with familiarity and confidence until he’s directly in front of me. His index finger comes below my ear where he applies gentle pressure. I hold my breath and close my eyes as he drags the tip of his finger directly down from behind my ear to my collarbone. “Hmmm, is that why he branded his name down your neck?”
My tongue flicks over my bottom lip as my eyes reopen, and I’m looking up at Bishop from below. He towers over me, but I’m not uncomfortable. He doesn’t make me feel the way Brantley does. He doesn’t suck the oxygen directly out of my lungs any time he’s near.
With Bishop, it’s easy.
Calm.
Friendly?
“No,” I whisper, resting my head into his arm. It must catch him off guard because his eyes snap to the action. I stand up straight. “Vitiosis is my name, too.”
“Touché.” Bishop chuckles, finally removing his finger from my neck. He’s walking toward my door when I stop him in his tracks.
“Madison…” I try the simple word that no one will speak.
His shoulders visibly still, his fingers flexing over the gold handle. He doesn’t move, but I can already feel the energy in the room shift. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it, but I’m going to anyway. Tillie filled me in a little bit about him and her. If they love each other that much, why are they not together?
He still hasn’t moved, so I take the shot I’m wanting to shoot. Only now I don’t know what to say. “I won’t talk about her. But I want you to know that if you would like, you can talk about her to me. If you want.” His shoulders rise and fall. “I just mean, you can—”
“—fuck.” He swings the door open and slams it behind his departure, shocking me with his harsh retreat. Maybe I overstepped. I don’t know. But there’s a reason why I think I’ve felt connected to Bishop, and I’m hoping that maybe that connection can be a friendship.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I stand in front of my Victorian mirror, catching Kore and Hades’ eyes in the reflection. “Too much?”
Kore almost dismisses me, placing her head back onto her bed, but Hades is still staring. He tilts his head.
“Maybe?”
It cocks to the other side. Sometimes I wonder if he sees the ghosts that walk this property.
I’m dressed simpler tonight. Black high-waisted boyfriend jeans that cut off above my ankles and a tight turtleneck. I slip on my Givenchy sneakers while scooping my phone up from my bed just as a text comes through.
?: I’ll see you tonight.
I pause, not quite reaching for the handle, and pull my hand back to reply.
Saint: You are coming to the party?
Pushing my phone into my back pocket, I open the door and make my way downstairs, passing the portrait paintings of Brantley’s family on the way down.
Once I hit the bottom of the stairs, the music is louder. No one is inside the house; they’re all outside near the pool—and my garden. The thought makes me anxious.
I round the corner to the kitchen when I bump into Tillie, head deep in the freezer. “Ah, you okay?”
She yelps, jumping back while hitting her head on the way up, rubbing it gently. “Shit, Saint, you scared me. Yes, I’m fine. Do you guys not have ice cream in this house?”
I hold my giggle. She looks flustered. Her pink hair is in natural waves and her face is, from what I can tell, free of any makeup. “We do, it’s in the freezer in the garage, though.”
She eyes me up and down. “No sundress tonight?”
“Well.” I smile. “There’s no sun, so no.”
Her eyes narrow. “Ha. You do have a sense of humor.” Turning, she mutters, “Gets that from me.”
“Sorry?”
“Hmmm?” She looks up at me like she’s said something she shouldn’t have. “Nothing. I just…” She flicks her hands up and down my body. “Really love your style. It’s unconventional. I like that one day you’re wearing a sweet little dress and then the next you could be wearing boyfriend jeans and—are those the new Givenchy?”
My cheeks flare. “I love to shop as much as I love fashion. I’ve become reliant on it to keep me busy over the years. As we
ll as my plants.”
“Ahhh, so you grow the boys’ pot?”
“The what?” I ask, confused.
“Shit,” Tillie stutters. “I’m going to get in so much trouble with Bran.” She reaches her hand out. “Pass me your phone, I’ll put my number in it.”
I slip it out of my back pocket, unlocking and handing it to her. Her fingers fire over my screen quickly before she gives it back to me, just as a notification comes through.
“Before you go out there, we are doing a selfie for Instagram.”
“For what?” It’s the millionth time since meeting Brantley’s friends that I feel like an outcast.
“Of course the brute didn’t allow you to have Instagram. We’ll set yours up later and let me deal with his wrath.” She flips her phone camera around and wriggles in front of me. “Smile!”
I do. Baring a full-tooth grin. Tillie brings the phone back down and checks over the photo. I like it. “Jeez. You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you,” I say, pointing at her. “We almost have the same smile.”
Tillie freezes, before typing out a caption. The Sinner & The Saint… or is she?
I raise an eyebrow at her caption. I know what it means. I laugh anyway, and then quickly open my app store to download Instagram. “You’ll have to show me how to use it. I’ve never had any apps on my phone, only my computer.”
“I will.” She hooks her arm in mine and begins to lead us out of the kitchen. We grab a couple of ice creams from the freezer in the garage before heading back through the main foyer, through the sitting room and past the sliding doors to the outdoor patio.
Music spills out around loud laughter as people splash in the pool. “Ignore all of the stares,” Tillie whispers in my ear over the vociferous atmosphere. “You’ll get used to it. Wait until they find out you’re with Bran.”
I don’t answer her, mainly because I don’t think I vocally can. We move past girls wearing bikinis and some wearing nothing—literally nothing. They’re completely naked. I’m still staring back at the group of people making out in the spa when Tillie stops us.
I slowly turn around, my hair falling over my shoulder when I see everyone seated around a firepit between the pool and the entrance to the cemetery. It’s far enough away from the music for it to not be overwhelming, but close enough to still be able to enjoy the tunes. Music is something I have also lived through. Movies, music, and books. The three ways to live more than one life.
I find Brantley instantly. He’s sitting on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the fire. He’s wearing a dark hoodie, black jeans with tears in the knees, Chuck Taylors, and—I lose my train of thought because his eyes are moving up and down my body.
“Well, if it isn’t the new duet,” Eli purrs from the other side of Tillie.
Tillie smacks the back of his head while taking a seat beside Nate, and I find myself beside Bishop because he’s closest to me in a two-seater lounge chair. I also don’t know where else I’m supposed to sit.
Bishop remains silent, bringing the rim of the glass to his mouth.
I turn my head to watch him as he takes long sips. Drowning himself in liquor. I would love to meet the girl who has brought this man to his knees, all while holding his broken heart.
“So, you think this is going to work?” Eli asks, looking at Brantley. Eli has to be around the same age as the rest of them, but he’s more on the pretty scale. His sunken cheekbones and the few scatters of beauty marks on his face are so feminine, but I get the feeling he’s anything but.
“Don’t know,” Brantley says, and when I look up at him, his eyes are still on mine. His jaw is tense, the shadows around his face more obscure. Nerves in my belly swim to the surface. I feel like I’m doing something wrong, as if I’m being scolded by a parent, but I have no idea what for.
“You need to fuckin’ chill, my man.” Bishop laughs loudly at Brantley from beside me.
I’m lost. Again.
Bishop smirks around the rim of his bottle, and I bring my hand out farther toward the open flames to warm my palms. “You and I both know that’s not this.” He mutters something else under his breath, too, but I don’t catch it.
“Saint!” Tillie calls out from a few chairs over. “Ever had alcohol?”
“—No,” both Bishop and Brantley snap at her.
“Jeezzz.” She rolls her eyes. “I see the whole” —she waves—“is in full effect.”
“Do better, Tillie…” Bishop growls at her.
I can see Brantley kick his legs out of the corner of my eye, leaning back in his chair. When I finally look over at him, he’s still watching me. The orange hues that bounce off the flames slap him across the face, leaving a shrill spray of shadows over his features.
“You know, I give Brit Robinson twenty minutes before she’s crawling on Bishop’s lap again,” Tillie muses. Eli is quiet, watching whatever is happening in the hot tub. He always seems bored. Like he needs to have something to play with at all times.
“—trying,” Nate corrects, massaging her belly.
“Trying,” Tillie says, spooning a chunk of Ben & Jerry’s into her mouth. I wonder to myself if Bran is the same. No doubt he would be, but I’ve noticed people stare at Brantley, but they don’t approach. It’s as though they’re almost… too afraid.
“Just stay right beside Bishop, Saint. Scare them all away.” Eli snickers around a cigarette.
“I don’t need her to scare them away. They know who runs this shit.” Bishop leans onto his elbows, hanging his head between his shoulders. My phone vibrates in my back pocket, so I lean up to grab it out.
“Oh, you’re allowed a phone?” Bishop mocks. “I’m shocked. Really.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Brantley kicks dust toward Bishop, snickering.
I unlock my phone, but I don’t answer the message.
“Put my number in so if you ever need someone to save you, you call me…” Bishop yaps off his number as I enter it into my phone, sending him a blank screen so he has mine.
“I sent you a text.”
“Why’d you grab your phone out?” Brantley interrupts and everyone falls silent. I open up Instagram, turning the screen toward him.
“Tillie told me about this photo app.”
“Did she fucking just—” Brantley glares at Tillie across from him.
“You’re welcome.” She blows Brantley a kiss. Again, I’m confused with the dynamic. I gaze over my shoulder at the group of people all making out in the hot tub, switching partners and kissing each other. Amongst other things. Maybe this is what they all do?
“What are you thinking about?” Eli asks from opposite me.
I don’t take my eyes off what’s happening. “Just wondering if you guys do that, too?” I gesture over to the hot tub.
Eli barks out a laugh and it’s not long until Nate is joining him.
“I fucking wish,” Eli murmurs. “Well, historically speaking, it has been known for us to switch, but seeing as—”
“Eli!” Brantley snaps. “Either shove a cock in that mouth or put a pussy on those lips.”
Eli doesn’t flinch, his smirk remaining on me. “Bran just wishes it was his cock.” Then he leans back, bringing his beer to his mouth and flipping Brantley off.
Bishop stands, and we all watch as he stumbles across the lawn and to the patio. “Will he be okay?” I find myself asking out loud.
“He will be fine as long as there’s no snow in the house.”
I turn back around and my eyes connect with Brantley, who has his beer up to his mouth. His legs are spread, one knee bouncing, while his dark eyes are completely and utterly focused on me. He’s doing that thing where I don’t know what he’s doing again.
He lowers his beer bottle and mouths, “Come here.”
I stand from my seat and take the three steps to him, looking down at what little room there is beside him. I manage to squeeze in, curling my legs up beneath my butt.
“So this is al
l you guys do at parties?” I ask Brantley, turning to face him. “I hate to admit it, but I don’t think I’ve been missing out.”
Just when I don’t think he’s going to answer me, the corner of his mouth curves. Not a lot, but enough to know that I had said something to appease him.
He swings his arm over the back of my chair, tilting his head to the side to study me. “I’m sure that will change the longer you’re with us.”
“And how long will that be?” I ask, picking at the fray where his knees are cut.
He begins to laugh, which is exactly when I realize I’m touching him. “What’s funny?”
He shakes his head. “Just that you think you’d have a life without me in it.”
My heart sinks a little. “Oh.” The guilt I’ve lived with is intoxicating. Far more deadly than any of the drinks they’re consuming tonight. “Can I ask you a question?”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes remain on mine, which I’m taking as a go-ahead for me to continue.
“Why did you stop coming home?”
I watch as his whole demeanor shifts. His jaw tenses, his eyes become more guarded, and the muscles in his thighs flex. I already know why. I just want him to say the words. I want him to finally admit that he despises me. That every time he sees me, he sees his nightmare in the flesh. He won’t, though. That’s what Brantley has always done. He has never dealt with his emotions, because he doesn’t have any. As he got older, I watched him transform. He became moody. He stopped talking. He withdrew from the boy I knew and attached himself to a corpse. I didn’t get to witness it for too much longer, because he eventually stopped coming home, or when he did, we never saw each other.
He forgets that I know him, though. Not just his corpse, but the soul he hides beneath it. I know all of him, and I don’t just mean his dark parts, because all of Brantley is dark. With some people, they become this way because of some unfortunate event that made them that way. That’s not Brantley. He was born like this. Nature over nurture, though nurture did not help.
“I had other shit I had to attend to,” is all he says. We sit in silence for a while, and listen as Eli and Tillie go back and forth on baby names. Nate adds in his two cents every now and then. I relax slightly when I realize I’ve warmed up to the setting. Brantley pulls out his phone for a few minutes before the people who were here partying are being escorted out by men in suits. I recognize a couple of them as being around the house at times over the years. Not all the time, but sometimes.
