by Elena Monroe
Pulling alongside a building that was in need of a facelift and new coat of paint, I already felt my fingers trying to find the lock button on my keys.
She was out of the car before I could even process anything, and she pulled open my door, waiting for me to get out, instead of the traditional way we had established.
“I don’t know about this. What are you making me do?” She took my hand, dragging me behind her through the green door under the sign that read Shelter in bold.
“We’re just going to help with dinner prep: Cut some veggies, smile, and serve some good people who are down on their luck.”
I followed her inside anyways, trying to keep an open mind.
The inside wasn’t much better. The walls were covered with informative posters, faded paint, cracked molding, and the floors were raw concrete with plastic tables and metal chairs. The air felt humid and stale, making the whole place seem worse than it probably was.
Still following Justice through the dining area to a big open industrial kitchen, she shouted a name: “Christina?! I enlisted help!”
Enlisted? More like drafted.
The woman she was shouting for appeared with wild black curls, sharp features, and glossy lips that looked pouty. Extending her gaze past Justice, finally landing on me, taking inventory; she was not impressed.
Christina was allergic to money too. It was obvious by the way her eyebrows popped and her tongue pushed against her cheek, like I was blurred in her vision. She couldn’t see me, and I kind of liked that my elitism was blinding.
“I’m Vic. I was drafted into helping. What do you need me to do?”
Christina put me to work, immediately directing me to the instant potatoes, and left me to my own devices. Leaving me with a hairnet and apron to wear, they both left the kitchen, really trusting me to not fuck this up.
Jus had seen me cook personally, so her plan for me made sense. I shrugged off my leather jacket and put on my new uniform, instantly feeling humbled and prepared to work harder than I probably ever had.
I was still me, maybe even more me, and I didn’t hate him as much.
The staff were all preparing for the doors to open, just as Jus arrived by my side again, ready to serve. Some other guys propped open the doors and greeted the people crawling their way in, slowly but surely. They greeted everyone personally, by name, making their bleeding hearts easier to see.
Jus stood next to me, swaying her hips into mine, as I scooped the potatoes onto each tray that slid by.
Instantly, I was met with a challenging attitude when an older gentleman, clearly a regular of the soup kitchen, spoke to Justice. “Who’s the new guy, Pinky? Seems stiff.”
All housing pieces of Justice, the pieces that kept me on my toes.
“Pssst, this is him having fun. His face is just fucked up from the war.” She leaned in knowing I could still hear her clearly, and it made me smirk.
The war, huh? It was certainly something like that.
I struck up conversations with a few people waiting in the line, while I served the potatoes that really needed butter and some thyme. Every single person was an open book, willing to share their story, and they weren’t ashamed that their life led them here. It was simply a part of their story.
Glancing to my right, I followed Justice’s eyes towards a young kid sitting alone by the windows with his head down.
He didn’t look any older than 15, and suddenly my mind ran away from me. That could have easily been any one of us if we weren’t born into powerful families and given the idea we are above the law.
I could have been a kid at a table alone in a soup kitchen.
At least we both had Justice’s attention.
Stealing one of the full trays, she headed towards him without a word. I watched intently, giving up small talk in exchange to keep an eye on her.
Sitting down across from him, she slid the tray forward, until it hit his forearms, and he thrashed awake in defense mode. Tending, I kept my eyes glued to her, probably making a mess of the trays still going by.
She only sat with him a few minutes before she bounced back to my side. I watched him, eyes following him, not touching the food, until she was no longer watching. He gobbled it down like he hadn’t eaten in a while, and I realized that was the common theme in the room.
The real me, the one I never was this long, felt something. Something broke for these people inside of me—the part that wore my elitism like a goddamn badge.
“See? There’s a lot of ways to go to battle.”
Lots of ways.
Protests.
Volunteering.
Fighting with your boss.
She was saddling me with the same weight on her conscience. It didn’t matter how big the weight was, how much I saw or fought for; it was never going to fix all the problems of the world.
She wanted to save my soul, when realistically I had become more of a lost cause.
I now found a new way to fight.
“You make this look easy,” I shot her direction, while she scooped the green beans onto trays.
“Make what look easy?”
“Being a good person. I want to be good enough for you, this world, how this feels…” I could feel the risk of how painful this could truly be if things went sideways, but there was no ignoring it anymore.
Feelings were here, and they were winning.
Bumping into me playfully, I felt distracted, even by her warm smile next to me. “You are good enough to be a good person, Vicy.”
“I love you, Justice…” I almost whispered the words while looking down, my palms braced against the counter, almost hoping she’d ignore it or not heard me at all.
Letting the words hang in the air for a few seconds, I shifted my gaze to her to see that she was smiling next me like a Cheshire cat.
I hoped she ignored it, but when the words thank you escaped her lips, I wanted nothing more than to be validated.
On her tippy toes, holding a metal spoon made for serving, her lips pressed against my cheek for longer than a PG rated kiss should be. It was good enough for right now, until my soul was saved, that is.
I’d go to thousands more protests, volunteer here every night, be the guy people hated for thinking I can have money and still be a good person, be disowned by the Clave. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t endure if it meant her saying those three words pointed directly at me like a loaded gun.
JUSTICE
My Grams always said the true way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
Maybe she meant every man besides Vic.
The way to his heart was giving him a reason to fight, making him feel like a weapon, and playing on his inability to say how much peace became a dependency for him.
Vic jumped into fighting for new reasons: seeing what resonated with him during our few weeks of bliss.
He even took Meadow’s sunrise yoga now.
We had become inseparable, still being each other’s favorite kind of fighting. He would spend a few nights at my place, and I would spend a few nights at his.
I didn’t dare call him my boyfriend even in my head, but I knew that’s what this was without having to figure it out.
Vic even convinced Grimm to let me see Abigail more, which helped me figure out how to say those words in return.
I wanted to, but every time I tried my voice would go so hoarse I couldn’t even speak my own name.
Abigail kept telling me that when it was right, I wouldn’t have a problem saying it. It sounded corny and accurate at the same time.
Vic just got out of the shower and was padding around the room barefoot, while I stretched and scrubbed my eyes of all the sleep dust in the middle of his bed, letting the sheet fall down around my hips.
Once my hands dropped from my eyes and I peeled them open, I saw Vic standing there in his underwear, gawking at my chest like a cute kind of creep, and I yanked the sheet up.
“Hey!”
“You’re looking comfortable in my be
d.” He chuckled like it was funny to be this comfortable, but I knew what he meant.
I was comfortable enough to be in his space naked, but I wasn’t comfortable enough to say I love you still.
Fight words.
Reaching down to the floor, my fingertips didn’t find my shirt where I normally left everything I would take off or leave here. “Where are my clothes?”
“I cleaned out a drawer, you know. It’s an alternative to using my floors. The maid gets really confused when I tell her not to pick up your stuff.”
I watched him open the drawer and wave a hand over it, like a showgirl presenting the end of a magic trick. Everything was folded perfectly and no longer wrinkled, which meant his polish was rubbing off on me.
“Why would I do that? The floor is closer…” My twisted logic didn’t even make sense in my head. I was going to let him have this one, because I wasn’t returning those three words... yet. The drawer was further away from myself, but closer to his heart.
Since rumors started to take up space in the office after Samantha died at the hands of Grimm’s gun and my orders, everyone became more afraid of me than they were before.
Half the office avoided me altogether.
Every time we walked into the office and went by her desk, my chest swelled in regret.
Vic and I exchanged sins without realizing it—now making us equals.
Sitting down behind my desk, I pulled up a group conversation with Meadow, Jasper, and Grace, trying to plan our next attack, just as Bowen appeared in front of my desk, scaring the shit out of me.
“It’s creepy when you do that. We’ve talked about this.”
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Khaos distracted him by the elevators. I escaped, but only by the skin of my teeth…” I quipped, unamused.
“You’ll do. I need you to arrange some shit for the Grove coming up. I made a list.” He dropped the list on my desk in his chicken scratch writing and watched me go over the seemingly normal tasks.
- Book 50 black vans
- Hire a chef
- Call the grounds and make sure it’s been cleaned
- Organize with dads when to arrive
There was a mess of other points that all pointed to this being a party. After hearing about the ball from Abigail, I was staying clear of Clave related gatherings.
“No women allowed.” His voice smacked down, like a hammer and final ruling.
“Not interested anyways… There’s no address for me to tell people.”
“Just say Bohemian Grove, and they’ll know. Contacts should be programmed in your computer… you know, the company one you never use.”
Tossing the list to the side, I focused on my coffee. “I’ll see what Vic wants to do. I need his go ahead.”
He stared at me, trying to pinpoint sarcasm that wasn’t there, when Vic walked over and asked, “What about me?”
Leaning down into me, his lips unanticipatedly caught mine, pressing together softly, like it was normal for us to kiss like this in public with eyes all around us. Holding up the list between my fingers, he snatched it from my delicate grasp, examining it.
“I’ll handle it. I want you as far away from the Grove as possible…” He sounded serious, and I had become accustomed to him protecting me at every turn.
It was making me soft.
“Men only, huh?” I popped an eyebrow up, staring at him with my opinion still lodged in my mind.
“Yeah, yeah, I don’t make the rules. Do you wanna speak to my dad about it?”
Disappearing into his office after shooting back sarcasm, I turned my attention back to my group conversation and coffee. Bowen vanished too, but I wasn’t sure if he left as quietly as he showed up or if he had faded into Vic’s office right behind him.
Once the clock hit lunch time, I grabbed my bag from under the desk, texting Vic that I was headed out to grab some lunch. I would normally go in, but whatever this event was… I didn’t want to get involved. While I was fishing in my bag for my wallet and badge that I refused to wear, I heard Vic’s voice above his normal volume while on the phone. I decided to just pick him up something anyways when I snapped up to see his stepmom in front of me.
Why was everyone so damn quiet? First lesson they teach them in how to be a good cult member?
“Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My chest was on fire and collapsing inward from the terror. “It’s okay. He’s on the phone, but I’m sure he’ll be done in a few minutes.”
“I just wanted to drop off some lunch, since I had to come into town for my hair appointment.” Her eyes bored into me, and I couldn’t quite decipher the message that they were so clearly trying to give me. “Headed to lunch yourself?”
Nodding a shaky yes, I was still trying to figure out her uncomfortable atmosphere in front of me. Her eyes kept darting around, her hands fidgeting, and her mouth not able to hold a smile long.
She seemed like a battered woman trying to escape her husband’s claws, but I couldn’t be sure from just the two interactions we’ve had.
“I’ll take you to lunch. Let me just drop this off inside to Vic first.”
I didn’t decline, and I didn’t know why. The soft parts of my heart always ran with pity first.
“Sure. I could do lunch…” My voice trailed off, since she already had his door swinging open and a smile plastered on showing her teeth. I waited for her to back out of his office, taking a deep breath before standing upright.
“I wanted to apologize for dinner a few weeks ago. Victory’s dad isn’t the most gentle of men… but he means well.”
I followed her down to the garage and even to her cherry red Mercedes parked next to the stairs, leading to the elevators- a no park zone.
“I wouldn’t know. Family dynamics are kind of lost on me, with dead parents and all.”
Her car beeped loudly, echoing in the concrete structure, when she gestured for me to get in. Opening the door, I saw a manila envelope sitting on the seat, and I stood there, unsure of what to do. I didn’t want to just move it out of the way when it wasn’t mine; I barely knew this woman.
“I thought you looked familiar, Justice. That envelope is for you. It’s going to explain everything I can’t, but you aren’t meant for this world. I care about Victory very much, I do, but he will destroy your good will if you let him.”
Picking up the folder with a hard swallow, I didn’t let myself truly grasp it, unsure if I wanted to really know what was inside.
“Do you have all your things, sweetie? I’ll get you out of here. We can talk at lunch. I’m not sure what’s bugged and what’s not.”
None of this sounded real, possible, or even genuine when it was this much of a pill to gulp down. I wanted to believe her. I could see her features cave in with worry and her lips drawn together tightly, after she mentioned her car possibly being bugged. I wanted to believe her beyond the pity, but it was hard to.
“I don’t understand. What’s happening? What do you mean I look familiar?” I jumped right into the idea of her being crazy and medicated, no one prefacing me with that information.
It would have been helpful for, you know, right now.
I was already in the car—crazy or not was still up for debate. I opened the folder and pulled out a thick green file, laying it on my lap. The name on the edge read the same as the folder before that Vic found virtually empty.
I took a deep inhale, knowing she made the same mistake as Vic. I instantly felt better with an eye roll. “This isn’t my name. Vic made the same mistake.”
She was stopped at a red light, but I didn’t even realize she had taken off while my body reacted to her crazy, the folder, and the worst case scenarios swirling around my head. She turned towards me, grazing her fingers over my knee. “Sweetie, that is your name. It was changed to Fritz after what happened.”
I didn’t know what to say or do. My brows fell downwards into my line of sight, and I felt my w
hole body become dizzy with her words.
Two girls with my odd fucking name? Give me a break.
She could see me falling into a dark place, all from the seat of her expensive car, right next to her. “We’ll be able to talk at lunch. I’ll explain everything.”
Clamping my eyes closed, I finally opened them slowly, feeling like I would throw up any second. I was choking on the information, and her voice was too sweet in its delivery.
Pulling up to a curb, I almost darted inside with the folder under my arm, in the search of a bathroom. I was dusted in a clammy kind of sweat, when I finally saw a neon sign that read Bathroom on a white subway tile, giving everything a very clean appeal.
I didn’t have time to appreciate much of my surroundings before I dove into a stall and used the thick folder for a cushion for my knees as I held my own hair back and all the emotions I didn’t want to feel stormed my boundaries.
That was the thing about feelings: They feel good, until they don’t. Right now those feelings I had for Vic tasted like the bad aftertaste of a sour lie.
The folder must have weighed a few pounds, feeling like a workout just to pluck off the floor, when I splashed some water on my face and started looking around the funky restaurant for Vic’s stepmom.
Finding her worried eyes, I panicked at the only truth in the room. That I could become her—scared, paranoid, all individuality lost—all because you don’t know how this life will change you. There was no doubt about it. It didn't matter how strong you were when walking into love with someone who doesn’t even belong to themselves.
If I was going to love Vic, that meant I had to love the secrets, the killing, the Clave parts of him that turned his stepmom into this kind of crazy.
Clutching the folder to my chest, I found another exit, before she could spot me.
I wasn’t a person who liked working out, per say, but I took off running in my Palazzo pants and Converse down the street, until I recognized a bus stop with a bench. I paced the entire time, until I flagged the bus down, only letting my lungs fill again once I was in a seat.
Thumbing the pages erratically, I looked at every page with so much attention I thought my eyes would dry out.