Facing Us (Kids of the District #1)

by Nicci Harris

  Deciding to keep my word, I stand and walk briskly over to the work bench, retrieving the Luna Caustic (Nitrate stick); one of my favourite tools. While I roll up my sleeves and wet the stick’s tip, I think about what a real shame it is that my captive won’t be conscious to feel the burn. I hear it is quite a unique sensation. My dick is throbbing like a stubbed toe below my zipper as I approach my captive and squat to his side. I begin to cauterise his slit wrist, the blood makes it rather difficult, however, not impossible, and I’ve had plenty of practise. “So young, Dustin,” I call over my shoulder, my eyes unwavering as I work, “we will pay Mr Le Feir a visit tomorrow, make a deal. We don’t want any product besides ours hitting these streets. This is now, our quartiere, our District. Why is this?”

  “Control the streets, control the city,” he replies, his nerves stammer through his voice. A chuckle escapes me, I think I may have scared my new partner; how quaint. It appears Dustin Nerrock doesn’t get his hands dirty; he must be a proficient delegator. But my father told me, ‘it is the dirt that makes the man appreciate the sparkle.’

  “More importantly than Mr Fier,” I say. “Is to organise a meet with the man my Capo spoke about… You know him, where will we find him?”

  I hear Dustin release an exaggerated breath. “Luca Butcher, lives in Connolly.”

  ONE: Blesk

  Cradled in the warmth of my bed, surrounded by the smell of daisies, peaches, and home, I’m almost content. Almost. The bed dips, and I recognise it even from somewhere between slumber and wake, rolling to accommodate his presence. My body curls to the side and I hug my Buffy the Vampire Slayer pillow, slowly drifting back to incoherence. Slipping, breathing heavier, relaxing into an exhale, until I feel movement between my legs, and his breath spilling down on me hard, fast, and hot. Usually, I wake up with him on top of me, but today he’s manoeuvring to push inside me from behind, while my fingers claw at the comforter.

  Comforter, what an ironic name.

  A moan escapes me, and I attempt to recoil, squeezing my thighs together, squeezing my eyes together, but it’s an attempt to no avail.

  “Thank you,” he groans into my ear, adding more pressure; pressure as he pries my thighs apart with his hands, pressure on my spine as he envelops my small frame, and pressure from his sharp thrusts inside me.

  ✽✽✽

  A sudden bump brings me back to consciousness, and lights and horns inundate me… I must have drifted off. I swallow down memories of the past and focus on my future. A brighter one. For most of the morning, I’ve sat in the back of a taxi, resisting the urge to jump out. Leaving The District after two decades is going to be a huge change. So much has happened there. In many ways, I should be glad. It’s an area apart from the rest of the country, with both a beating heart and sharp claws. As I watch the landscape change from urban to rural, I’m reminded of how isolated it is.

  Since my brother left three years ago to get his Bachelor’s in Commerce many miles from The District, I’ve basically been an only child. I haven’t seen him for months and haven’t lived within walking distance of him for years. My brother is four years my senior, and we are like chalk and cheese, but, nevertheless, for most of my childhood we were inseparable. My father says that from the moment I came into my brother’s life he was undeniably smitten, extremely overprotective, and accepting of all responsibility for his new little sister immediately. But I’ve changed so much since he’s been gone. I love him dearly, and yet, when he left, I felt like I could breathe for the first time.

  After I pay the fare and then wander to the campus reception to drop off my luggage, I make my way to the library. It is an impressive piece of architecture. It’s ten stories high, and from the bottom floor I can peer up to the very top. The stacks spiral to its peak, and it takes my breath away. It smells like leather and dust—I absolutely love it. I’ve spent an enormous amount of time in libraries, favouring the company of the characters in print to those in the real world. I have travelled with Huck and Tom, fought in wars, learnt from Atticus Finch and fallen in love with the likes of Angel Clare and Romeo Montague.

  My dad texts me just as I slump down onto one of the many multicoloured bean bags that are scattered across the first floor.

  Dad: You only have six of your nine lives left, Kitten. Remember that and let Erik take care of you. Don’t be stubborn. He wants to be there for you, so just let him.

  I am now my little family’s only surviving female member. My mother died a few years ago after a long fight against cancer. She wasn’t my mother for my whole life, I’m adopted, however, no one else ever came close to fitting the bill. She had long, wavy brown hair, big brown eyes, and resembled an Arabian princess to me. I miss her every day and am reminded of her whenever I see the peach trees we planted in the meadow behind our house. We planted the trees after a research paper we found suggested that peaches are beneficial in fighting the cancer cells and can even help with hair loss. Peaches are my favourite fruit, not only because I like the smell, and taste, but because of the memories they hold.

  “How’d I know I’d find you here?” I hear my brother Erik call out from a distant stack. His voice carries through the library, and much to my embarrassment turns many scowling faces.

  I raise my finger, pressing it against my lips. “Shhhh…” I whisper as he approaches. “I’m not sure if you’ve ever been in one of these before, but you’re supposed to be quiet.” I force a smile at him as he sits down by my side. We stare at each other for a few moments and I narrow my eyes to take him all in.

  Erik has a casual and endearing confidence to him. He's self-assured and forthright and has always been much more interesting than I am. He's really tall, or at least it feels that way to me. He fulfils the Australian stereotype to a T, with sandy blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, and the athletic physique of a man who spends his afternoons at the gym.

  He grins at me. “How was the drive?”

  I slouch with a sigh. “Non-eventful.”

  “Miss me?”

  “I was miserable,” I mumble. Then I grin at him and add, “So it was just like having you at home.”

  “Oh, very funny.” He clears his throat, looking almost disappointed by my joke. “Dad good?”

  “Yep, he’s fine,” I say.

  What next? Is he going to ask me about the weather?

  “It’s been fucking hot, hey?”

  I snort.

  He rolls his eyes. “Trust you to find your way into the lamest part of the university.” Erik takes Jack Kerouac’s On The Road from my hand and tosses it onto a random shelf. I make a mental note to return it to its rightful place. An awkward silence hangs between us. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.

  Desperate to say something to end the insufferable quiet, I say, “Have you seen the size of this library?”

  “Oh, no, never, Bebe. Not once in the three years I’ve been going here.” He grins at me through parted lips that display his near perfect teeth.

  You know I hate being called that.

  “Sarcasm is the weakest form of humour,” I mention.

  “It’s also the most popular.”

  “Well it’s amazing in here,” I state very matter-of-factly. “And a brain is wasted on you.”

  Erik erupts into laughter, and the air in my chest slowly eases out.

  Thank God.

  “Well I suppose I’m lucky girls don’t like me for my brain. Ain’t that right?”

  “Well, maybe they would, if you actually--”

  He interjects with a silly snoring sound. “And now I’m bored. You’re late for an afternoon of orienting yourself with university life.” As Erik stands, he offers his hand to me to take. “Up.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your orientation, Blesk.”

  “A few more minutes?” I plead.

  The university is overwhelming and although my actual reason for being here excites me, the renowned student lifestyle has the opposite effect.

  “N
o one puts Bebe in the corner,” he mocks.

  I loathe that reference.

  “Erik, please don’t say that in front of people,” I beg, frowning up at him.

  “Get up, Blesk.” His smile tightens and he waves his arm insistently. I stare at his outstretched hand, willing myself to take it.

  Well, I suppose I can’t hide in here all day.

  I place my palm in his and he helps me to my feet.

  Flattening my skirt down my thighs and tossing my blonde hair to one side, I peer at him sheepishly. “Do I look okay?”

  He scoffs. “You know you’re pretty.” Then he pauses to look me over. “Everyone with eyes thinks that, Blesk.”

  I scoop my satchel up and swing it over my shoulder, then sigh. “Okay. Let’s do this”

  “Your hair is getting so long, Goldilocks.” He flicks a rogue strand off my face.

  “Don’t call me that,” I grumble, stepping behind him to exit the sliding doors.

  He chuckles. “Grumpy.”

  “I’m not, sorry.” That dream has me in a funk. I fidget with a few frayed fibres on my shirt’s hem, “I’m just nervous.”

  He turns to face me and rubs my shoulders with both big hands. “Don’t be silly. You’ll be fine. I’m like a god in this place.”

  And so modest.

  He spins on his heels and begins to wander towards the outskirts of the orientation festival.

  Rolling my eyes, I chase after him, trying to appear as though I belong. “Only in this place? You’re slipping.”

  Erik ignores my comment, and as we pass other students, he either offers them a charming smile of recognition or a flirtatious wink. “I see nothing has changed,” I mutter.

  “Like I said,” he grins at me, “I’m like a god here.”

  ****

  There are hundreds of students on the oval and the sun is blazing in the cloudless sky, which, to my delight, means I can wear my sunglasses and hide my anxiety behind them. A stage at the front is surrounded by small stalls run by students advertising an assortment of extracurricular activities. The student guild. Sporting groups. Debating.

  Socialists scurry around me. It’s colourful and noisy. Most of the girls I pass are wearing jeans and sneakers, making me feel even more uneasy in my skirt and wedges. I wished there were uniforms.

  I wish I didn’t wish there were uniforms.

  I tighten when Erik puts his hand protectively on the small of my back and steers us through the crowd towards a group of kids who are waving at him. He can be so overbearing and domineering, but I know his sole interest is to keep me safe. I know this. Still, his possessiveness makes my stomach stir.

  My breath hitches as we approach the smiling faces eagerly interested in me.

  “Hey dickhead!” A young man laughs as he and Erik share a slapped handshake. “Is this Blesk?” He turns his keen eyes to acknowledge me as I step to Erik’s side.

  Erik chuckles at the greeting. “Yes, this is my little sister, Blesk.”

  “Hi, B, I’m Jaxon,” he says, extending his hand for me to shake. “Heard a lot about you. You don’t mind if I call you ‘B’ do you?”

  “Yes, she does,” Erik chimes in.

  “No, no I don’t,” I reply, shaking his hand. Shaking hands is weird. “I may not answer to it though.”

  They all laugh.

  Was that funny?

  “So this is the famous younger Bellamy, ay?” Jaxon tucks his hands into his pockets. “You never told me your sister was hot, Erik."

  Erik stiffens. “Jaxon, jeez dude, that’s my little sister! Show some respect! You got it?”

  I squirm. Couldn’t he have waited until I wasn’t standing here to say that?

  Jaxon is a stocky guy. One of those high protein, CrossFit types. He stands with his biceps protruding at his sides, as if he’s posing for a bodybuilding magazine. With dusty brown hair that is trimmed short, deep grey eyes, and a sharply defined jawline, he’d be attractive if he wasn’t such a jock.

  “Now I don’t wanna just to piss you off, but she just got 50% more hot to me,” he smirks with a quick rake of my body with his eyes.

  Wow, I’m standing right here.

  A pretty blonde holds out her hand for me to take.

  Another handshake.

  O…kay, so I’m a hand-shaker now.

  “Sorry about them, they’re Neanderthals,” she says. “I’m Pembie.” She’s model-level attractive. Taller than me, slightly slimmer, leggy, with dark brown eyes, not unlike mine. Her clearly expensive jeans fit her perfectly and, and her makeup is glamorously applied by an evidently talented hand. From the look of her brows, I would say she isn’t a natural blonde like me; however, she pulls it off. I can’t help but feel a little intimidated, despite her friendly introduction.

  “Hi,” I say, returning her pleasantries as the boys bark beside us about something. “I’m Blesk.”

  Her attention is suddenly redirected to the stage, and she punches Jaxon hard before telling him to hush. “Konnor’s up next. Shut up!”

  Jaxon winces as he takes the hit and then gently shoves her back, which, by the scowl that transforms her face, doesn’t appear to be received graciously.

  Erik leans into my ear. “Our friend is doing a speech. God only knows how he got the gig. I think his parents either paid the lecturers off or he’s fucking them for grades.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  While obviously wary of eavesdropping, Erik mutters quietly, “Because he’s a full-blown functional alcoholic. Pretty much everyone knows it, but no one talks about it.”

  “There he is!” Pembie points enthusiastically as a guy strides on stage. The oval erupts in wolf whistles and hoots.

  Air floods my lungs and my breath catches when he turns to face the engaged crowd. He’s undeniably gorgeous. And while I can’t make out his eye colour or the exact shade of brown his hair is, I can tell he’s strong by the way his shoulders and chest fill his shirt.

  “Slater! Yewww,” Jaxon yells, cupping his mouth with both hands.

  “Konnor!” Pembie screams and claps through her enormous beaming smile.

  “Hey, everyone, I’m Konnor Slater,” he begins. His husky voice makes me feel a little lightheaded. I shuffle my feet nervously while my eyes stay anchored to the stage ahead. “Education is not an option. It is not a right. It is the foundation of human existence. Education is not for the young, the clever, or the articulate. It’s for everyone. It’s not for a term, a semester, or a year. Education is forever.”

  Where the crowd gave him a big rowdy welcome, they are all now silent, a clear show of their respect for his words, specifically, and his presence, in general.

  Konnor continues, “I would love to stand up here and tell you all that you have the option to embrace or ignore education, that you are privileged enough to choose, but in my opinion there is only one choice. Education is in everything you do. It’s in the way you dress, in the way you move. It produces greatness and tears it down. It is the backbone of every inspiration. But, most importantly, it enables.

  “It enables us to be anything we want to be. I know for a fact that intelligence is not the foundation of success.” He pauses momentarily. “I’m standing up here, aren’t I?” He chuckles at his own expense, invoking laughs and claps for a few moments from the audience. “It is not money or family. It has nothing to do with your past. All that matters is right now! The decision you make to move forward. The decisions you make for your future. The past is just that, it’s passed.”

  He paces the stage with the microphone clutched in his hand and makes a generous effort to glance at as many different sets of eyes as possible. “Education will change your world; it will open it up and brighten it. Count yourself lucky every day and teach everyone around you and enable them. Enable them to teach you. Thank you.” He begins to walk off stage but stops to yell out, “Watch me leave, ladies.”

  And he’s a Show Pony too…

  I let out a big breath I h
adn’t realised I was holding and then attempt to tame what feels like a big ridiculous grin. Looking around, I realise that watching him interact so seamlessly with hundreds of people in such a compelling way hasn’t only made me admire him, but everyone else, too. Nearly every girl around me is flushed and restless.

  Konnor Slater.

  The sea of his peers applauds him as he descends the stairs to the right of the microphone. Pembie claps so hard I swear she may bruise her palms. Craning her neck to find him in the crowd, she disappears towards him.

  “He was really good,” I say to Erik without removing my eyes from the charismatic guy who is now standing with Pembie in his arms. They look wonderful together. She obviously idolises him.

  Erik scoffs. “Yeah, he knows it, too.”

  “Like you can talk, Mr Centre Stage,” I smirk.

  “God,” he points both thumbs at his chest, “Remember?” He laughs and nods suggestively towards a group of attractive young girls sitting on the grass in front of us.

  I snap my fingers at him to draw his attention back to me. “I could never stand up there and do that,” I say once he ceases his inappropriate eyeballing.

  He spins to face me and shrugs. “What? Yeah, right. You sing in public, Blesk.”

  I shake my head fiercely. “That’s totally different. I don’t even look up, and I don’t interact. I just pretend no one’s around.”

  His eyes crinkle as he grins at me. I’m immediately suspicious. “And on that topic,” he grabs a slip of paper out from his back pocket, “I got you a job.”

  My jaw drops. “Come again?” I take the slip from his hand and read the typed text, mouthing as I go.

  Grill Bar O Campus, Tuesday & Fridays, 7:00 pm. Marcus Donnelly 0407789659.

  I peer up at him questioningly. “What, like waitressing?”

  He turns his nose up. “No way, it’s a gig. They want you to play a few sets two nights a week. Marcus listened to 'Hero Boy' on my phone and loved it.”

  Not that song, Erik.

  I get lightheaded for a moment. “I don’t want to play here,” I gulp, trying not to sound ungrateful. “I have to see these people every day.”