Chaos at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  He takes my hand and rubs his thumb over my naked knuckles, igniting every nerve ending in my body.

  There's a long pause before Oscar approaches with a small glass bottle filled with black ink.

  “Bernadette likes it here, don't you, Bernadette?” he purrs, lifting the glass up between two fingers and shaking it back and forth so that it sloshes around inside the bottle. “Stop dragging your feet, Aaron, and accept it.”

  Aaron's jaw clenches and he runs his fingers through his auburn hair, taking a step back and turning away, toward the dark maw of the garage.

  My eyes narrow, and I exhale, feeling all of their eyes watching me, like they did that day in Billie's trailer, when I stripped my tits bare and changed in front of them. This is worse, though, like my soul is exposed somehow, like I'm emotionally naked in front of them.

  “I'm not designed to live any other life,” I say, and the words feel too real, like I wasn't quite ready to say them. I move over to the rusted shit-heap that's supposed to be my future car and hop up onto it, shedding my pink leather jacket as I do. “So do it. Make me bleed for Havoc again.”

  “We need to talk about the video,” Vic says finally, and I laugh, shivering as Aaron lays the tattoo machine down on the hood next to me, and starts to slip into the gloves. As he snaps the black latex into place, I get all sorts of dark thoughts, and my mind strays back to his hard body under mine as I rode him into a violent climax. My eyes lift to Aaron's and stay there.

  “What is there to talk about?” I quip as Aaron reaches out to take my hand. Even with the latex covering his fingers, I shiver when he touches me, laying my left hand out on my jeans-clad thigh. He weaves our fingers together, and it's impossible to miss the way Vic's staring at us.

  “I want to offer up an apology,” Victor says, and Aaron goes stone-still, lifting his gaze up to his leader's like he's seriously pissed him off. “I was wrong. No excuses. I fucked-up.”

  “You're telling her this now?” Aaron snaps back at him as he loads up the ink. It's mesmerizing, to watch his black-clad hands do the work, his tattoos bleeding out from underneath the gloves. “After the fact?” Aaron's tone is incredibly dry, almost enough to turn my damp panties into a damn desert.

  Vic just shrugs and slides his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, eyes still on us. Whatever it is that he's got going on between him and Aaron, it's toxic, something we're going to have to deal with sooner rather than later.

  “A real man admits his mistakes.” Vic's dark gaze moves from Aaron to Oscar, and the two exchange a look of their own. “Isn't that right, Oscar?”

  “Mm.” That's the only response we get as Hael slips his shirt off, his brightly colored ink catching the sunshine as he gets beneath the hood of one of the car skeletons inside the garage, unscrewing the bumper while Callum waits nearby to lift it off for him.

  “Can we be done with this, Bernie?” Vic asks, lifting an eyebrow. He knows he messed up. I'm glad about that at least, but I don't trust him for shit. He can't repair that quite so easily.

  “What about the Kevlar?” Aaron asks, wiping my knuckles down with some antiseptic wipes that Oscar brings over to him. He cleans my skin with a careful intensity that has me shivering, even with the hot sun on my bare shoulders. “You gonna apologize about that?”

  “What Kevlar situation?” I ask, fully aware that I have yet to accept Vic's apology. He grits his teeth, also fully aware of the situation I'm sure. Although I can't decide if half of his ire is for Aaron, or if it's all just specially cooked up for me.

  “At the Halloween party,” Aaron says, taking a pink disposable razor from Oscar and running it over my knuckles to get rid of the small blonde hairs there. He switches it out for another antiseptic wipe, giving me one, last scrub down before he takes a seat in a chair brought over by Oscar. “I wanted you to wear Kevlar; Vic thought it would be too obvious.”

  “Too obvious for what?” I ask, taking in a sharp breath as I prepare myself for the sting of the needle. That's the thing with tattoos; they always hurt. But it's a good sort of hurt, as the ink mixes with the blood, and the pain begins to edge toward a sick, sadistic sort of pleasure. It shouldn't feel good to hurt like this, but it does. It reminds me of what Callum said outside of Principal Vaughn's house, how pain can look pretty to those that have too much of it.

  “If we walked in there with you wearing Kevlar over that sexy, little midsection of yours, then the Charter Crew would've known we were on the lookout for their bullshit.” Vic turns away, facing off toward the road and the distant rumble of cars. The train tracks are just across the street from us, and we're only about three blocks away from the drive-in. “It was a tactical decision.”

  “A risky tactical decision,” Aaron says, turning his attention back to me. “You ready?” I nod, feeling beads of sweat trail down my spine. Once I do this, I'm committed. The only way to scrub Havoc from my body after this would be to get some crazy expensive laser treatments. The thing is, after what I've already been through with them, I doubt I could ever scrub them from my heart and soul. “You put Bernadette's life in danger.” Aaron starts the machine with a pleasant buzz, running his tongue across his lower lip and then looking up to meet my eyes. He presses the tip of the needle into my thumb and my breath escapes in a rush. “And you didn't ask her either.”

  “Right, yeah, we're having a bit of trouble adjusting. But we're getting there, aren't we, Bernie?” I don't look at Vic as he talks, focusing my attention instead on Aaron as he carves the letter H into my skin. It hurts like a bitch, I won't lie. It burns through me, and the vibration of the machine makes my hand quiver, like the movement is translating into my bones. It's shaping me, this tattoo, in a way that none of the others have.

  I'd thought when I first uttered the word Havoc that I was pressing start on this chapter of my life, that I was turning the page to race toward a cliff-hanger of an ending that I may or may not survive. But no. That was the motherfucking prologue. As I look down and see the letters take shape on my fingers, I know that this is it. This is my new beginning.

  I glance over at Oscar, finding him watching me and not the tattoo machine. Hael and Callum are still in the process of dismantling the old car, but I can tell they're listening, too. Oscar thought letting me see that recording of Penelope and the Thing would send me running.

  Instead, it's only cemented my desire for vengeance.

  “Don't make decisions like that without telling me,” I say quietly, my voice threaded with steel. I keep watching Aaron's fingers as he moves the needle across my knuckles. “Especially ones that involve my life,” I snap off the end of my tongue. I'm not sure if I'm pleased that Vic was willing to go so far to achieve his ends … or pissed off. I could've been shot. If Aaron hadn't taken that bullet for me, I would have been. I could've died.

  And Victor Channing was willing to take that risk.

  “She has a point,” Hael says, coming over to stand between Vic and the car. “If she's one of us, then she's one of us. If she's not, then … “He shrugs his shoulders and gestures loosely with a grease-covered rag in the direction of my fresh tattoo. “You're going to marry her. Don't you think she has a right to be brought in on everything?”

  Callum appears on my other side, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his sleeveless hoodie. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. His smile says it all. He knew about the Kevlar, about the video, and he didn't tell me shit. Because as nice as he is, as friendly as he pretends to be, he’s still the C in Havoc, first and foremost.

  “Oh, by the way, we're missing a few parts.” Cal throws his thumb in the direction of the old car. “I know where we can boost what we need though. There's this investment banker that lives in Oak Park that has a fully restored Eldorado. We'll break in there and grab what we need this weekend.”

  “I'll go with you,” I add as Vic works his jaw, watching as Aaron starts in on the V portion of my tattoo. It kills Victor to see Aaron do that, carve his
letter into my flesh. He hates it. But as per usual, he maintains control of his temper.

  “Oh, by we,” Callum starts, smiling as he leans in close to me. In a surprisingly bold move, he nips the edge of my ear and a small gasp escapes me, one that’s impossible to hide. “I actually meant our crew; stealing car parts is most definitely grunt work. We have better things to do.”

  I nod, licking my lips as Aaron carves admirably straight lines into my flesh. He might have a lot of tattoos, but tattoo artist he is not. This could easily be his first time doing this. If I had to choose a boy to do my ink though, it’d be Aaron. While Oscar’s lines on Hael’s knuckles are a calligrapher’s wet dream, they don’t have enough … heart.

  Aaron’s are pretty good, and they smack of emotion. That’s what I like best.

  “You never answered me,” Hael says, his voice dropping low. Victor turns his head to stare at his best friend, and the mood gets tense there for a moment. “As your future wife, what rights does Bernadette have?”

  Vic clenches his jaw and looks away, but Aaron doesn’t. His eyes are boring directly into mine.

  “All of them,” Vic says, sighing deeply. “Everything. I want her to have everything.” He glances my way, but I can’t turn away from Aaron, not when he’s making me bleed in such a delicious sort of way. My bones hurt, my skin hurts, but the injection of ink into my flesh is like an orgasm, taking over me, marking me. It’s just with ink instead of cum, I guess. “Aaron was right. Is right. I’m sorry about the Kevlar, too.”

  There’s a long pause as everyone in that garage waits with bated breath to hear what I have to say.

  “It takes big balls to admit when you’re wrong,” I say, nodding, but still looking at Aaron. Lost. Trapped. Mesmerized. “You’re all forgiven.” A feeling of relief seems to ripple through them. Hael moves off to continue working on the car, Callum lifts the rusted bumper up to move it, and Oscar finds a seat on a plastic chair. “But if you do it again, there won’t be a second chance.”

  “Understood,” Vic says, but he doesn’t press. This moment isn’t about him. It’s about me.

  Aaron finishes my tattoo and cleans me up, covering the newly inscribed wounds on my knuckles with a plastic wrap made specifically for this purpose. I then grab his hand, dragging him around the side of the garage and to the back of the building. It’s shaded, the long grass waving in the wind as I encourage him to lean back against the corrugated metal wall.

  “What?” he asks, looking down at me, my hand shaking and bloodied by my side. The wrap will keep it from leaking—which, grossly enough, tattoos are wont to do. “I didn’t fuck it up, did I? I’ll punish myself forever if I marred your perfect skin.”

  My lips twitch slightly, but I don’t know how to say what I want to say without sounding … lovestruck. You finally did it. You stood up for me, against Victor. It was no big thing, but it didn’t need to be. Love isn’t about sweeping grand gestures, it’s about doing little things each day to keep each other happy, little personal sacrifices instead of showy acts.

  “I just wanted to say …” I start, stepping forward and putting my hands on his lower belly. Aaron doesn’t argue with me about not finishing my sentence, not when I drop down to my knees and free his cock from his pants.

  The fingers of my right hand curl around the base as I slip my blue-painted lips over the tip, sucking him deep and taking my time with it.

  When he walk back around the building and into the garage, I’m still dabbing at the corners of my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket. There’s not much I can do about the smears of blue though.

  “Go home to your sister,” Vic says when he sees me, scowling like he has any right to judge. I don’t hesitate, walking right up to him and leaning up on my tiptoes to give him a messy blue kiss, right on the cheek. He looks dumbstruck over it. The guy knows how to mate like a lion, but he can’t handle a cheek kiss?

  We have serious issues to work on here.

  “On it,” I agree, happy to climb into Aaron’s Bronco with him.

  Maybe I suck him off on the way back, maybe I don’t.

  Either way, there’s plenty of room in the SUV for it.

  When Kali finally started showing up to class at the beginning of the week, her face was bruised beyond recognition, and her eyes burned with a seething hatred that made my skin itch. At some point, there’s going to be a confrontation between us, and it isn’t going to end well.

  At least now she has something real to hate me for. I did just bash in her face in. But before that, what did I ever do to her? We haven’t got any sort of relationship where I might be able to ask her why. Why did you do those things to me? Why did you steal my essay? Why did you call Havoc?

  It never escaped my attention that Kali had eyes for Aaron. I always knew that, but it never bothered me because I knew he was truly and wholly mine. Still is, I think. I mean, he spent years not fucking any other girls because of me. I don’t care much about words—people lie, after all—but actions, now that’s another story.

  And Aaron, well, he’s told me all he needs to with his celibacy.

  By Friday, I’m certain that I’m right about both things: Aaron is still mine … and Kali still wants him.

  I’m standing outside the doors to the cafeteria, waiting for the boys, my knuckles throbbing from the fresh ink. I’ve taken good care of my new tattoo, washing it with Dial soap and rubbing it with Aquaphor, but ouch, the knuckles are a hard place to take the needle.

  “How’s it healing?” Aaron asks, pausing to stand beside me. I glance his way, and my breath catches in my throat. How can he do that to me, leave me breathless and aching? We were always star-crossed lovers, too sweet to find a happily-ever-after, destined for some bittersweet ending that stings the tongue. Yet here we are, freshly fucked, and gazing at one another like we’d rather be naked and alone somewhere.

  “The bruise you left on my hip?” I ask, pressing my hand against my pelvic bone and smirking. “Or the tattoo?”

  “Well, since you brought it up,” Aaron starts, eyes sparkling with surprise. With the exception of Wednesday at the garage, I’ve been avoiding him a bit, and he knows it. Unlike Vic however, he’s giving me space to breathe. I’m not sure if I love that or hate it. Mostly, I just want him to touch me. “Feel free to discuss either.” He tosses back his cherry coke and then leans down to put his lips near mine. “But I’m more interested in hearing about your sexual battle scars.” He pauses, licking his lips, smelling like roses and sandalwood, his breath sweet with cherry soda.

  “In that case, my ass still hurts, and I have finger-shaped bruises on my thighs,” I whisper back, wondering if I should touch him, curl my arm around his neck, kiss him.

  As Aaron’s leaning over me, I spot Kali standing down the hall, staring at the two of us from her bruised and swollen face. She’s got Billie, Ivy, and a few of their trashy friends standing at her side, but she doesn’t approach us. Obviously, there’s been no sign of Danny, and the tension in Prescott High is ratcheting up to dangerous levels, but despite their poking and prodding against Havoc, we haven’t moved on the Charter Crew.

  Yet.

  The way Kali is looking at me … I can sense something beyond her usual hatred, a longing, a reaching, a silent pleading. After all, she’s known Aaron about as long as I have. I remember her in junior high, twirling her hair around her finger and watching him from across the grassy area in front of the school.

  “He’s the kind of boy you want to marry,” she’d told me in her thirteen-year-old voice, like she knew the secrets of the entire world.

  Vic appears before I can decide what to do, and Aaron pulls back slightly. But not out of fear—out of respect. He hates Victor, but he respects the hell out of him. That, and he desperately wants his approval.

  “We need to do something about Kali,” I say as she turns away abruptly, heading for the front entrance of the school with her girls in tow. Stacey Langford watches them carefully from the vicinity of
her locker, eyes narrowed. In general, it’s her job to deal with girl drama at Prescott. Kali and Billie are ruining her carefully crafted empire, one that shines, even with Havoc’s shadow cast over it.

  “We will,” Vic says, nodding briskly, eyes tracking Principal Vaughn. He’s kept his distance from us. In fact, he hasn’t even looked our way since he got back. I wonder how long he thinks this careful dance is going to last? Everyone knows that once the requiem is over, the mourners leave the cemetery. “Actually, Callum and I have a special present planned for their crew. We’ll drop it off tonight.” He lights up a cigarette, passing it my way after a drag. Our eyes meet and something dark travels through me. I’d call it a shooting star, but it’s much more wicked than that. Still, it streaks through the endless blackness of my soul before disappearing into the infinite depths of the universe.

  Hael catches up to us next, but he isn’t smiling.

  “I’m going with Brittany today to talk to her dad,” he says, raking his fingers through his hair. “Oh, and she wants us to take care of a Fuller High football player that she fucked while we were at the lake house.”

  Vic raises both brows, glancing over at his friend as I smoke my cigarette. Aaron finally tears his gaze from mine to look at Hael.

  “The one she cheated on you with before school started?” Vic clarifies, and seeing someone as built and beautiful as him say something so inane twists up my sense of reality. He’s too muscular, too big, too brutal to be a high school student. At least he’ll be eighteen soon.

  “Nope,” Hael grinds out, lighting up a cigarette of his own. The boys disabled the smoke alarm in this hallway on the first day of school. I know, because after I called Havoc, I saw them later that day fucking around with it and, like everyone else at Prescott High, I pretended like I didn’t notice. “That was the quarterback, the one Cal nailed in the face with hot coffee. Brittany says he, uh,”—and here Hael stops to give a bitter laugh and a shake of his head—“didn’t even come while he was inside of her. And she used a condom. The only other possible father for this kid is the fullback, some douche named Rich Pratt.”