Disorderly

by Grace, Hazel

  Copyright © 2018 by Hazel Grace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To Sheep, Moo & Bonasha

  They say if you’re born on the wrong side of the tracks, you're destined for trouble.

  I call bullshit on that statement.

  If you’re born with shitty parents, you’re destined to be fucked until you’re old enough to solve the problem or rid it yourself. I liked options, so I did both.

  Staring down at my father’s lifeless body floating in the bathtub, I feel no remorse for what I’ve just done. It’s been a long time coming, especially after Mom died. For years, I watched him transform into a demon, possessed and heinous by liquor and drugs, and now it was over. No more cracked ribs from him beating the shit out of me. No more screams from Levin and Isla, my younger brother and sister, when he fondled and molested them.

  I’ve just eliminated the fear that constantly coursed through my sibling’s veins.

  A child should never fear the night in their own home. But we did, every single fucking time dusk fell, piling bookshelves and anything heavy we had in front of our bedroom door to keep the monster out from one of his bad highs or drunk binges. He made home a living and breathing hell, one we were too young to escape from. Many times, I awoke to Levin or Isla screaming in the darkness. Somehow, he’d find a way to break into their rooms, so I stopped sleeping, waiting to hear loud footsteps shuffling through the hall or the signal that he was home when he tripped and knocked something over

  After a while, we all slept in my room to make me feel more at ease. But the lack of sleep made it hard to focus on school; my grades started to slip and the stress led me to fighting at school. The pressure to graduate and get my brother and sister out of our home sucked the life out of me.

  But plans alter, and after Levin received a hard-enough blow to the head where he landed in the hospital for two days—and Andrew took a lighter to Isla’s stomach—his time on this earth ended. So, like a predator waiting for his prey, I waited for Andrew to transform into his daily vulnerable state. Because if I didn’t end this, one of us would be killed and not a soul would notice. We had no family that I knew of, no real friends to stay with, and the teachers were so worthless, it'd be days before they’d spot one of us gone. And by that time, we’d be buried in a shallow grave in the woods somewhere.

  Sirens suddenly ring out in the distance through the early morning air. They’re coming for me; I told Isla to call. I want to do this right, be an honest citizen. Mama taught me that good deeds brought good karma. I consider this a good deed for my siblings and society as a whole. Who knew what else he was doing outside our home’s walls.

  Isla’s screams and cries amplify when the cops handcuff me. I shout to her that I’ll be home soon, that this is just a mandatory thing as I’m shoved into the back of the patrol car. Before the car door slams in my face, I bellow for Levin to make sure they go to school tomorrow, assuring them again I wouldn’t be gone long.

  But I was wrong. So fucking wrong, it was stupid.

  I was naive as shit, thinking the cops would listen. That they’d hear my stories about how Andrew was so morbid and violent, and they’d understand. But no one listened. No one cared. Not one cop wanted to hear how he beat me and my siblings, that I found Andrew about to rape my eleven-year-old sister the night before, or that Levin just got out of the hospital two weeks ago from being beat in the head with multiple liquor bottles.

  The jury announced a guilty verdict.

  The system was fucked.

  And so was I.

  I was asked out on my first date. My mind still can’t unravel itself as I sit in Trevor Valentine’s car. Well, his dad’s car. President of the student council and a total babe, Trevor is my idea of the perfect potential boyfriend. While my high school is full of douchebag football players and emo band players, he’s different, and I always liked different. Most of the guys talk about how many times they could get laid by the end of the year, but Trevor focuses on our Junior class and college.

  We catch Harry Potter playing at the theatre for two bucks, split a large bucket of popcorn with extra butter, Twizzlers, Goobers, and Sour Patch Kids. When the movie is over, Trevor and I drive around for a little bit, the warm summer night air lofting through the passenger window while “A Decade of Under the Influence” by Taking Back Sunday plays on the radio. It’s a Wednesday night; not much for teenage kids to do except the movies or the mall.

  Pulling over under an old overpass, Trevor turns off the car, rambling on about things he wants to accomplish for our class this year. My heart pumps fiercely at the intimate surroundings. A street light flickers above, displaying the dirty road and wooded area around us, accompanied with a few abandoned construction trucks. Besides the crickets, it’s quiet with the occasional car that passes overhead. I leerily eye the woods, waiting for a vampire to jump out at any minute. Only if it was Damon Salvatore would I be fine with it.

  “So, what do you think?” Trevor asks me, bringing my attention back to him.

  “Uh…” I shrug, trying to play it off like I was just listening. “They all sound like great ideas.”

  A giant smile graces his face. “Thanks, Nov. I’ve been thinking about it all summer long. I have a notebook at home that I’ve written ideas on. I’ve filled three of them already.”

  Wow.

  “That’s fantastic,” I drawl, trying to sound excited. I don’t want to talk about school. It’s not that I don’t like it; the teachers are cool, homework isn’t hard, and I have a lot of friends, but this is my first date, and I want to get to know him better. I want him to ask about me and feel small butterflies in my stomach when we have something in common or when he leans in to kiss me. We are in a secluded area, after all.

  “You’re so supportive,” he chimes. “You’re like the only—” His door opens abruptly and he’s ripped out of the car.

  Gasping, my arms find my chest. Loud footsteps crunch over the dirt, followed by what sounds to be a kick and Trevor’s loud grunt. Forcing my body to move, I peer over to the driver’s side of the car. Two people are standing there, yanking Trevor up from the ground. Male voices mumble something to him, before Trevor drops to his knee again, seething in pain.

  This is worse than vampires.

  We’re going to be murdered here.

  A thin frame blocks the view of my date as he leans in to look inside the car. My whole body suspends as I stare into the eyes of Jerry Kempfield, my mother’s personal assistant. Pushing the frames of his rounded lenses up the bridge of his nose, he narrows his eyes at me, tsking between his perfectly straight teeth.

  “Nova Aurora,” he grumbles, straightening his perfect maroon bow tie. “What are you doing out at this hour?”

  “I—I….it’s seven o'clock,” I stutter. I don’t know what just happened. It’s like I’m living outside of my body and this isn’t real. He isn’t real.

  “On a school night,” he scolds.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Where’s Mom? Did she send—”

  “She’s at a function tonight, and I volunteered to look after you.” He looks me up and down, lingering too long on my bare legs. “Get out of the car, Nova.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so,” he replies in a cool tone.

  “But—”

  “Now.” He doesn’t yell. It’s more of a deep evil growl that just sprung from his mouth.

  Slowly, I open the car door. Goosebumps trail up my arms as I walk around the Dodge Neon, ke
eping my eyes on Jerry.

  Clad in a gray, fitted Armani suit, he oozes authority. The need to flee taps at my nerves, but I can’t leave Trevor behind, so I push my legs to round the front end of the car. My date is laying in a fetal position, rocking back and forth while holding his stomach, and I stride toward him immediately.

  Jerry’s skinny fingers grasp my arm, keeping me from getting too close to Trevor. “You won’t go near him again.”

  I furrow my brows. “Why?”

  Jerry doesn’t answer me but nods to the other man. His friend, bodyguard, whatever the hell he is, kicks Trevor again.

  “Stop!” I yell, jerking at my arm. I glare at Jerry. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Dirty, dirty mouth,” he hisses. “Did he touch you?”

  My brows knit together deeper. “What?”

  Jerry’s fingers dig deeper into my flesh, making me wince as he pulls me against his body. “Did...he...touch you?”

  “The hell does that have to—” I’m cut off by Trevor’s loud yelp. The brute kicked him again, now pulling him up by his hair. “Jerry, stop it!”

  “Answer my fucking question,” he snarls through his teeth.

  “NO!” I fume.

  Jerry pinches me, wrenching me back and forth. “You’re a fucking liar!” A sharp slap crashes against my face, heating the spot where he just struck.

  Shocked, my free hand comes to my cheek as I squint at him.

  This is Jerry, right?

  Gay Jerry?

  Jerry who took me to the Britney Spears concert when I was thirteen. The same Jerry who binge watched all seasons of Desperate Housewives on DVD with me as we ate a whole gallon of cookie dough ice cream.

  No, I don’t know this man standing in front of me.

  He looks malicious and hateful, his brown eyes fumed with anger and, for the life of me, I don’t know why.

  “Take him out of here,” Jerry barks, dragging me to the overpass. His fingernails continue digging into my flesh, his pace quickening as he jerks me by my arm.

  “Jerry, what are you doing?” I dig my Converse shoes into the hard dirt, but to no avail, as I’m being drug by a man who has taken care of me since Dad died. A man who made sure I lived a somewhat normal childhood while my mom was too busy launching her fashion line.

  Stopping under the bridge, Jerry spins on me. “Get on your knees.” I just stare at him, not able to encase my brain around what the hell is happening. “NOW!”

  He won’t hurt me.

  I repeat it over and over in my head. Was I supposed to tell him where I was going? Mom didn’t say I was supposed to check in or…

  He shoves me to the ground, his foot curving around the back of my ankle so I land on my back, hitting the asphalt full of tiny rocks and pebbles. Instantly, he’s on top of me, straddling my stomach as he starts to undo his belt.

  “Get off me!” I scream, beating at any body part of his I can land on. He doesn’t stop, ripping his belt out of his pants loopholes.

  This isn’t happening.

  Engulfing my wrists, he slams them into the ground, leaning inches over me. “You let him touch you,” he accuses.

  “I already told you—” He slaps me again, and I see white spots lingering between us. Pain tingles my skin, as I feel him lower himself on top of me. The sensation of cool air brushes my upper thighs as I try and force them shut, but his body barricades them, not allowing me to do so.

  “This fucking pussy is wet for me, isn’t it?” He’s gazing down at my underwear, entranced by the pink lacey boxer shorts. Using my stomach muscles, I heave my body up, shifting Jerry’s body and allowing myself to wrench one of my hands free. I don’t think, I just do as I swing and connect with his jaw. His look of shock quickly turns into rage as he seizes me again, this time driving my cheek into the concrete.

  “You don’t want this?” he roars in my ear.

  I dig my fingernails into his hand. “Fuck you,” I hiss.

  I’ve just had my fifteenth birthday, and the fear of dying whelms over my thoughts. I’ll never get to fall in love or go to college like I always wanted. I won’t get to go to spring break my senior year and drive around in a crappy car with my girlfriends. I won’t get to make my dad proud of me and all I have planned to accomplish for my life.

  Jerry’s hot breath against my cheek interrupts me, reeking of liquor and mint, making my stomach knot.

  “I plan on it,” he rumbles as I feel another burn and drift into a sea of blackness.

  The bag of flour explodes in my hands as I quickly try to open it. The powdery substance sticks to my tongue as I clench my eyes closed, searching for something to wipe my face off with.

  “Paige!” I yell, knocking over something and hearing it hit the tabletop. “Geezus.”

  “What the hell are you—Oh shit!” Paige starts, barking in laughter.

  I extend my hand in the air. “Give me a cloth.”

  “Well, let’s see how long it takes for you to find one first,” Paige teases with so much amusement in her voice that I hope I can find something hard enough to throw at her. I’m normally not so tense or violent, for that matter, but this cake is everything. It’s more clients, more business, long overdue credit card debt that I can finally pay off.

  A towel hits my face, and I catch it, wiping the gunky texture off my skin.

  “Wow,” Paige sighs. “You really fucked up Katherine’s cake.” My movements are quicker as I rub at my eyes to see what I’ve done.

  Flour covers the beautiful buttercream cake that we’ve spent a full two days on, hence why it’s at my apartment instead of the bakery.

  I shake my head violently. “No, no! How do we fix it?”

  Paige stares at the cake and shrugs. “Brush it off?”

  I glare at her. “It’s frosting not fondant. Princess Katherine wanted creamy, fluffy white frosting.”

  Paige chuckles. “Well, now it looks like it’s been sprinkled with cocaine.”

  I facepalm my forehead. “She’s coming at 5:30 to check on it.”

  “Well then we have five minutes to fix it,” Paige announces, glancing down at her watch.

  “She is going to freaking kill me.”

  Quickly brushing the flour off my hands, I start to blow on the cake. Not very sanitary, I know, but Katherine’s cake is my current paycheck. Apparently, she is someone in this town, like one of the Mean Girls or something. I really don’t care who she is as long as she brings us more business.

  A phone rings in my apartment kitchen, but I’m so focused on this cake that I let Paige take it. The cake looks like absolute shit. There would be no way in hell I’ll be able to pull this off and make it presentable again.

  “Sooo….Katherine is in the lobby,” Paige alludes.

  I look at her like a deer in headlights. “She can’t come in here.”

  She thumbs over at my window. “You going to climb out the fire escape?”

  I peer over at it.

  Not a bad idea.

  “No,” Paige snaps like she is reading my mind.

  “I’m not here.”

  Paige narrows her brows. “Huh?”

  “Tell her that I went to the store to buy more supplies. Tell her anything, I don’t care, she isn’t seeing this cake.”

  “But—”

  I tear my apron string off from around my waist and neck. “Just do it.”

  Making my way to my apartment door, I open it slightly, scanning the hallway before sprinting toward the emergency steps. Once I open the door, the elevator chimes open.

  Fuck.

  Darting down the stairs, I slide my hand down the metal rail to keep myself from going head first into the staircase. Once I make it down the first set, I hear the squeak of the emergency doors open.

  There is no way in hell that she is following me.

  “Is that you, Nova?”

  I cringe. The voice of the devil herself echoes through the cement encasement as I focus on the railing and my footing,
continuing downward.

  Then I hear it.

  Heels clicking upon stairs.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  This chick just can’t let this damn wedding cake go. I’ve never seen a person obsess so much over a dessert before. I would’ve assumed she had other things to take care of; caterers, the music, the seating chart, maybe her damn dress, but no. Katherine was consumed by the...oh, what did she call it? The angelic, virginal, white on white cake with white pearls to give it the Elizabeth Taylor look.

  “Darling, is that you? I came to see the cake,” Kathleen coos.

  Jesus Christ.

  Looking over the railing to the next pair of stairs, I see a man walking up them. I panic, the sound of heels sounding closer. I need to either cover my damn face or disappear into thin air because I’m not about to deal with her right now.

  I can’t.

  If she finds out that I just ruined her wedding cake days before her wedding, I might as well throw up an ‘out of business’ sign right now. Making our first wedding cake in Paige and my new bakery was supposed to be fun, but I was foolish to think that Katherine would give me any creative authority at all. Her constant phone calls and changes to the cake have mentally exhausted me, and I only just moved out here three months ago to get away from drama.

  But Katherine Tunner bleeds, breathes, and shits drama.

  Clearing the stairs, I purposely run into the man, pressing my body against his hard one and wrapping my hands around his neck. “Please just go with it for two seconds,” I tell him.

  I don’t see his face; everything happens so swiftly, but I collide my lips against his. His body freezes for a moment before his hands wrap around my waist. The clicking of Katherine’s heels fade as his soft lips caress mine and the smell of his woodsy cologne and leather engulfs all my senses.

  “Seriously, this isn’t a game.” Katherine’s voice pierces through my few seconds of heaven, and before I can even focus on her nearness, my stranger’s tongue enters my mouth. Taking a step toward me, my back hitting the hard wall, his solid chest claiming my space. Large hands roam up my ribs as a shutter of heat passes through me.