by KV Rose
“I think you should come to the funeral,” he tells me quietly. “I think you need to know what could happen to you, Zara. I don’t want anything bad…” He trails off, takes a shaky breath in. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” His fingers are still in my hair, and he’s got one arm around my back.
My mouth is so dry, my heart racing. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. Something bad is happening to me, I want to tell him. I’m the bad thing. Happening to my fucking self.
But saving me from doing anything at all, there’s a soft knock at the door.
I flinch, and Alex drops his hand from my hair but keeps his other arm thrown around my back as he turns to face the door. “Come in,” he calls softly.
No, please don’t.
My stomach flutters as I watch the silver knob to Alex’s door turn. I hold my breath as Eli Addison steps through the doorway, his tattooed hand clenched around the knob.
His eyes go to me first, and I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I want to kill him.
Alex’s arm tightens around me, his fingers curling around my shoulder.
Eli must notice the subtle movement, or else he’s done torturing me, because he looks up to meet Alex’s gaze. “You want a ride?” He’s in a black t-shirt, grey shorts. There are shadows under his green eyes, and I wonder if he’s always up like he was last night.
I wonder if he ever sleeps. I wonder if he’s actually insane.
I wonder if I am.
I wonder when I can talk to him. When I can rip his fucking head off and tell him we are never doing that again. It was a mistake, and he’s a fucking bastard.
I have no idea why he lied. Maybe he’s just bored? I don’t know, but I do know he doesn’t know me. Not like he seems to think he does. And if he thinks I’m going to let him get away with that shit, fuck that.
“Nah,” Alex says, leaning against me as he sinks onto the bed. “I’ve got to take Zara to her place so she can get some clothes.”
Eli’s eyes find mine again. I open my mouth to tell Alex I’m not going to the funeral. It’s not my place to be there. I don’t want to go.
But nothing comes out as Eli stares at me, the corners of his mouth lifting, like he thinks my paralysis is funny.
“Oh?” he says in his quiet voice. He lets go of the doorknob, crosses his arms and leans against the frame. “You’re coming? I didn’t know you and Rihanna were close.”
Dick.
Alex looks to me.
My mouth is still open, but all I can think about is Eli fingering me last night against the kitchen island.
My face heats with the memory. This bastard.
“She wasn’t,” Alex finally answers for me, “but she’s coming with me.”
Eli arches a brow, focusing on Alex. “I didn’t know you two were so close either.”
“Whatever, man. My dad will be there. I’ve got to go.”
His dad will be there? Yeah. I’m not going.
Eli nods. “See you there.” Then he pulls the door closed without looking at me again and I hear him walk down the hallway, toward the stairs.
I exhale, my heart fluttering in my chest.
“You okay?” Alex asks me.
I clear my throat, shift on the bed and slide off, ducking out of his arms. He stands too, facing me, his hands in his pockets. “Alex, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“I know, Zara,” he says through gritted teeth. “I know you don’t know. I know you would never really do that.” He says it like he’s not sure. Like he’s trying to convince himself.
“I’m not actually…” I clear my throat again. “I’m not actually feeling well. I’m going to um, I’m going to stay home.”
Alex’s brows flick up. “I don’t think you should.”
My temper rises alongside my hunger, my thirst, and my general irritation with being in this house, so far from my drugs, and with two boys that I’ve fucked with, one I’ve fucked over. “I want to stay home. I don’t want to go.”
Alex shakes his head, scrubs a hand over his face. “What is with you?” he asks, exasperated. “Why are you fucking like this?” He gestures toward me, as if this is just…me.
I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t even have a bad childhood to blame this shit on. I don’t have a horror story. I’m all fucked up, and I don’t know why, and I want to go home. I want to go to my room and crawl under my sheets and not think about Alex or Eli or why I’m like this.
“I just don’t feel good.”
He takes a step toward me. “Zara. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I cross my arms over my chest, wanting to bury under his clothes that I’m wearing. Disappear and hide. “Alex.”
He takes another step. “Yeah?”
“Jax said something about you last night.”
Now it’s his turn to squirm. His turn to look uncomfortable. Guilty.
“What did he say?”
I didn’t really mean to bring this up. I didn’t mean to talk about this right now. Before a funeral. While I’m coming down from whatever I snorted last night. I didn’t mean to but, “He said that you…” I wrap my arms tighter around myself, looking down at the floor. “He said you hurt someone.”
I can’t bring myself to say it. That horrible word that sounded so musical last night coming out of my mouth. Rape.
Alex doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He’s silent, and I keep staring at the floor, waiting. The more time passes without him saying anything, the worse this will get. The more guilty he seems.
“Hurt someone?” he finally asks, a beat too late. “Hurt someone how?” There’s an underlying edge of anger in his tone.
I rub my hand over my throat, one arm still wrapped around myself. “I don’t know.” My voice is a faint whisper, and I’m lying, but I can’t say it. I just can’t say it.
He takes another step toward me and reaches out his hand.
I take it with shaky fingers. He pulls me into his chest, wraps his arms around me, and I lay my head against his shoulder.
“Did you?” I ask him. “Did you hurt someone, Alex?”
He takes a deep breath. I feel his lungs expand and then deflate against me. He holds me tighter, his dark and woodsy scent enveloping me in familiarity. I think he’s just going to deny it, but instead he asks, “If I did, would you still want me?”
I close my eyes, holding onto him tightly. “You still want me, right? After everything I’ve done?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Hell, maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he just feels bad. Maybe he only picked me up last night because he’s got so much guilt. So much guilt about so many things.
“Did you do it?” I press. I didn’t mean to talk about it, but now I want to know. Now I need to know.
“It was just…” He trails off, and I hear him swallow. Then he tries again: “It was just a big mess, Za. It was just a misunderstanding. I didn’t hurt anyone, okay?” He holds me closer, tighter, his body pressed up against every inch of mine. “I didn’t hurt anyone. Do you believe me?”
No.
“Yes.”
He seems to relax in my arms. I don’t believe him, but I’m full of shit. I’m so full of shit, it seems wrong to judge him. I don’t know what happened. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know, because then I’ll have to do something about it, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything about it.
Alex is my lifeline right now.
Alex is the only constant.
He pulls back from me, holding me by my arms. “I love you.”
My heart flips. Can I say it back? Do I mean it anymore? Did I ever mean it? I look down at the floor again. “Look, Alex, I know you think I’m some druggie loser—”
“I don’t think that.”
“—but I’m trying, okay? I’m sorry for everything, but I’m… I’m trying.” I pres
s my fist to my mouth, swallowing back the tightness in my throat. Forcing back the tears that I feel pricking behind my eyes because I’m not actually trying, and I am a druggie loser but he can’t leave me now. Not yet. Not now.
“I know, baby.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “I know.”
He’s lying, just like me.
There’s no truth between us. I don’t know if there ever was.
And this fucking comedown is making me feel like absolute shit.
“We’re going to your apartment,” he says, his lips moving against my skin, his body pressed close to mine. “You’re going to get dressed. You aren’t going to take any drugs, and I’m going to take you to that funeral, because if you don’t stop fucking around, if you don’t try harder, Zara, that’s going to be you in that casket.”
I don’t say anything at all. I just think of the scars on my thighs. The ones Eli saw. The ones Alex has never noticed.
Maybe a casket wouldn’t be so bad, actually.
14
Zara
The funeral sucks.
The only good thing about it is Alex’s dad couldn’t come. Got caught up in some personal shit, Alex said.
Whatever.
The entire cheerleading squad is here and every single one of them threw shade my way when I showed up on Alex’s arm. I’ve never really fit in with them, so it’s not unexpected. Regardless, I throw it back by smirking at them, but that’s probably more because I’m high on Vyvanse and has little to do with any mean-spirited intent on my part.
I’m dressed in a long black skirt, a modest—for me anyway—black tank, and huge sunglasses over my eyes so no one sees my pinprick pupils.
But apparently, I wore the wrong color because everything here is in shades of blue and orange. Caven colors. Alex is wearing a blue tux and so is fucking Eli.
He watched over his shoulder, from the front row, as Alex and I walked through the small church, his face a careful mask of disinterest. My knees trembled as Alex and I made our way into a pew.
All I could think about is that I don’t like sharing a secret with Eli. It makes me feel physically ill.
And watching him dab at his eyes, making a show of mourning for Rihanna like he didn’t tell me just yesterday that he barely knew her? I can’t believe it took me this long to notice he was crazy. I should’ve paid better attention.
Right now, gathered around the gravesite, behind a sea of people that turned out for Rihanna, I see Eli offering her mother a literal shoulder to cry on. She’s dabbing at her eyes and howling. Beside her, a man whom I assume is Rihanna’s father is stoic, his hands clasped in front of him, shades over his eyes too.
Everyone is either crying, trying not to cry, or dabbing at their fake tears with tissues.
I’m hot and sweaty under the September sun and I want to push Alex into that open grave for making me come here. If he expected me to learn something out of this, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. The only thing I’ve learned is that his roommate is insane, and I didn’t need this funeral to tell me that. Him showing up at my apartment yesterday was proof enough.
Eli rubs Mrs. Martinson’s back, and then glances over his shoulder, his gaze on me. I swear to God I see a small smirk pull on his lips and now I want to kill him too.
But I wait.
I’m not that great at it, admittedly, but for this, I can do it.
And after the first spray of dirt is thrown on the casket and everyone is bawling their eyes out and Mrs. Martinson buries her head in fucking Eli Addison’s shoulder because he’s such a model student, such a quiet, smart guy that cared for her daughter, a guy that’s so distraught like everyone else over her death, he glances at me one more time to make sure I’m seeing it. And I am. Which is why I turn to Alex, stand on my tip toes, and press my mouth to his, clutching at his chest.
He’s surprised, and for a second he just stands there, not kissing me back, probably shocked by my PDA at a funeral, as if he doesn’t know I don’t have morals. But no one is behind us, and he finally opens his mouth, lets me twirl my tongue around his, and we have our first cemetery kiss while Eli watches.
Fuck you, Eli.
15
Alex
Zara wants to go home.
I don’t really want her to. I don’t know what she’ll get into by herself, but she makes it pretty clear she doesn’t want me to stay with her, and I guess we aren’t technically back together. I mean, she’s definitely mine, and I’m not fucking around with anyone else yet, but still. We’re technically broken up.
She doesn’t even kiss me goodbye as she slides out of the Jeep. She just waves without looking as she walks down the sidewalk, then up the exposed stairway to the second floor of her apartment complex. I keep staring after her, long after she’s shut the door behind her.
She seemed so distracted today.
And then, last night. When Eli told me what happened, right before I’d found her in the kitchen and he’d gone up to his room, apparently. Goddammit.
She doesn’t even remember.
She stripped for my best friend and she doesn’t even fucking remember.
I close my eyes, my fingers clenched on the steering wheel. And then my phone starts to ring through the speakers of my car.
I open my eyes and answer the call, holding my breath until the line connects.
For a few seconds, there’s just silence and then I ask, “Mom?”
I hate that my voice is rough, kind of broken. I hate that my entire body is tense as I stare at the steering wheel, waiting for her to say something. Wondering if her calling me was an accident.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’s pocket dialed me.
“Alex!” she says in a false-cheerful voice.
That almost hurts worse. It makes my heart sink, hearing her pretend. Hearing her as the shell of the mother she used to be.
I flex my fingers against the wheel, lean my head back and close my eyes. I want to go upstairs, to Zara’s apartment. I want to fall into her arms. I want to tell her I’m scared. I want to tell her I don’t want her to become my mother.
I want to tell her I think she already has.
“How are you, son?”
I swallow down the anger. “I’m good, Mom. Dad said that he couldn’t make it because—”
She laughs, cutting me off. There’s no humor in her laugh. No amusement whatsoever. Just cold, bitter anger. “What did Dad say?” But she doesn’t let me finish. “I’ll tell you what really happened, because I’m sure he didn’t. There were more pictures today, posted on the church website, right in the comments section under Dad’s latest blog post.” Her voice takes on a hard edge, and I can imagine her jaw locked, her narrowed eyes. I can imagine her rage. I can imagine how much she hates him. “Right under the latest post about keeping the fucking spark alive in your marriage.”
I hate it for her. I fucking hate it for her.
I slam my fist against the wheel, but don’t say anything. She’s not done ranting. But if she’s ranting, it means she’s not using. Not right now. Probably later. Probably as soon as I get off the phone with her, and I’d sit in this fucking Jeep all night long if it meant I could keep her talking. If it meant she’d fall asleep on the line with me. If it meant she wouldn’t slip into a Xanax-induced coma.
“I confronted him of course, and he lied. Of course.”
Of course.
“Mom, I’m so—”
“Don’t ever do this, Alex, do you hear me?” Her tone changes. It’s not hard anymore. Not so angry. It’s…pleading. “Don’t do this to any girl. Even if it’s Zara. Dad said Zara was at the party, with Rihanna…” She trails off. “Screw what your dad says about her. Don’t do this to her.”
Obviously, Dad didn’t tell Mom what Zara did with Jamal Clint. Probably better that way.
I glance up at the windows on the second floor of Zara’s apartment. I wish I could see inside. I wish I could always be with her. I wish I could save her.
<
br /> “Mom, I wouldn’t—”
“Don’t wreck her world because some newer, younger, shinier toy comes into your life. Do you understand me, Alex Christian?”
I rub my hand over my heart. “I understand, Mom.”
But… What if she doesn’t want me? What if she pushes me away? What if she’s like you? What if she leaves me for something new? Something…shinier?
“I know you’ve made some mistakes, Alex, and I know you’ve got to sit the next three games out, son, but don’t you dare let those things make you bitter. Don’t you dare allow the world’s hurt to make you into someone that hurts other people.”
I think about that bottle of tequila. Forcing it down Zara’s throat. I think about the videos going around about her. I think about pulling her into the pool. I was drunk, and stupid, and angry, but I had no right. I had no fucking right.
I think about last fall. Another party. Another girl. Another mistake.
The police. The accusations.
The girl left Caven. She left. Why didn’t Eli and I have to leave?
Because Eli’s dad is a lawyer. Because my family has money. Because that girl was no one.
That girl was just like Zara.
“Okay, Mom. I won’t. I’m so sorry, Mom, I—”
“It’s not your fault. It’s your father’s.”
Are you going to leave him? “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She sighs on the other line, and I can imagine her glancing at the orange tinted prescription bottle. I can imagine her fighting it. I can imagine when it all started. When the rumors of Dad cheating on her were in full force and I didn’t believe it. I didn’t fucking believe it, because Dad is a pastor and he wouldn’t.
And then I went into the pool shed while Mom was away with some friends. I’d come home early from school, wanting to spend the weekend with my dad before he was engulfed with church on Sunday. I’d come home one hour early on a Friday, and he was fucking some girl in that shed.