by Elena Monroe
Drugs? No thanks.
“He’s not selling. He’s just some guy throwing house parties and offering his shit up as party favors. I don’t know who's supplying him if it’s not us.” He looked at me before licking a joint closed and I knew he was being honest. I had a gift for spotting frauds, posers, and counterfeits.
Ears was one of the most genuine guys I knew in LA. He was just trying to skate, smoke, and make music until he died - nothing more or less. He had zero desire to even make it big with his music.
It’s always the least expected who achieve dreams they never knew they wanted.
“Well, who is he? Dove is pissed off and now I have to deal with it.” Handing me the joint, Ears stared at my neck where his grasp had been. There was no way a bruise showed up on my latte-colored skin tanned from surfing and skating all day.
“He’ll show up. He skates here a lot,” passing the joint back I exhaled.
That’s how much I paid attention to people that weren’t necessary to my life, I didn’t notice anyone out of place here. I had too many people to keep tabs on already: Hamilton, Ears, Dove, buyers, and sellers.
Bouncing back onto my board I dropped into the bowl snaking with the other boarders, letting it feel like I was flying. That was the best part about skating, it was the closest I could get to flying without wings.
I spent most of the day skating until the lamps above the park came on with a buzz illuminating everything in a stark spotlight. Ears whistled with his fingers and nodded towards me when I followed his eyes to see a tall guy wearing a cut off t-shirt and ripped jeans with a bandana tied around his face covering everything but his piercing green eyes and messy hair.
Something about him had my attention, a familiarity I never allowed myself to have because that meant counting on someone and I never counted on anyone but myself.
I was glued to him soaring over the concrete effortlessly when I realized I was still moving too. Slamming into another boarder, everything between us crashed in a loud sound thankfully gaining no attention. Wheels, crashes, slams - all the soundtrack of our lives here.
Getting out of the way, I slid over to Ears balancing on my board and staying in one place, “That’s him?”
Some guy sitting on the wall behind us shouted, “That’s Khaos! He’s sick, right?”
That wasn’t a common name and I had heard it before.
Khaos was the thrasher I had seen at protests; he was always just showing up even after Justice disappeared and Vic took over the resistance marches. He was someone who oozed money effortlessly and would certainly be considered a threat to Dove.
Now it all made sense.
He was a rich kid playing criminal and giving it all away for free. Free doesn’t work for Dove, not when he paid whatever cost that gave him that giant chip on his shoulder.
Free is never that simple, there’s always strings and a price to pay.
Keeping my distance, I blended in with the boys. This wasn’t the time to make myself known.
As a tealeaf you learn the importance of timing, when to show your cards (if ever), and how too much knowledge isn’t ever enough.
Khaos was a virtual stranger. One that looked like a charity case yet was friends with some wealthy men. Their wealth was pretty apparent by the clothes, the cars, and the ability to woo someone like Justice.
It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from - money was universal and even girls like Justice could be blinded by it.
I stayed glued to Ears as the park came alive as more people showed up, the music pouring from his speakers changing the mood. He controlled every emotion with a simple fade into the next song.
I joined everyone skating again, everything else falling away when all I had to do was kick and push. Just when I was just about to get lost and jump the railing to grind down, I tripped over the shouting coming from behind me. Letting my board roll away as I fell down to my back, I felt my elbow sting with a cement rash that scrapped off some skin.
“Party at my place tonight,” he shouted like he was king of the fucking mountain. From down here he kind of was.
My mountain.
My safe place.
My people.
My distraction from the life I can’t get out of.
Sitting up I held my knees to my chest pissed off that today was going to complete shit.
When my days go wrong, I don’t pack it in or give up - I look for trouble. Khaos had trouble written all over his features with the banana pulled down. A square jaw, these eyes that seemed like they’d glow in the dark and lead you down a bad path, and these lips that pouted on their own.
He was less dangerous than Dove would ever be, he didn’t wear rings so that alone was a start.
So why did less dangerous seem like the right amount of trouble to turn my day around?
KHAOS
I like the attention, hell I was born in the spotlight, no seriously. I was born at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert in ‘95.
I live for the good kind of attention. That’s the thing about attention though: you don’t get to pick what kind you get so I keep shit surface level. Nothing is going to hurt me - sticks, stones, or your lame insults when I refuse to dive any deeper than my pretty face will allow.
My life is basically perfect.
No complaints.
The ratio of positives to negatives is mint.
I also work with a bunch of heathens, so I don’t have to get my hands dirty - plus.
The women falling for those heathens were the catalysts to change and now part of the family- edging me out of my own title - also a plus.
Justice and Abigail both had all four royal blood lines running through their veins making them more powerful than all four of us put together. It’s a plus if you don’t over analyze it. They can be the problem children instead of me.
Nothing in my life that was shown in the light was a negative. The kind of harsh lighting forcing you to see things differently isn’t the mood. I’m a big fan of setting the mood- normally with red light bulbs, but hell I would take anything that smoothed over the pitfalls other people focused on.
Parties, drugs, women, men - I used them all with precision to set a constant mood.
I’m a social media post with the best caption and filter and I have the money to buy as many likes as I want. I even bought into my one true desire to never have to be alone.
There were few things I hated about my life and that topped the list. Once the party ends and the noise stops and everyone goes home, that’s when the racket in my head kicks up a notch. A deafening amount of noise reduction that amplifies the guilt that made me resent being me.
The skate park is the one place I can get a hit of testosterone and a different kind of noise. That's what happens when you have a house full of girlfriends, twenty-four to be exact, all on payroll because I’d rather control the narrative.
A narrative that I like to keep relationships transactional and limited to letters of the alphabet.
For someone who thrives in chaos I had plenty of rules for my ‘love life’ just like I had rules for the house. I needed them to keep me from going too far off the path.
Without rules bad things happen, Khaos happens.
Twenty-four girls.
One guy.
Three rules.
Nothing outside of the alphabet
No one with the letter G (you know Voldemort in Harry Potter? Well, that’s my version. No lightning bolt scars, only a broken heart courtesy of Genevieve)
Visitors are allowed but only for the alphabet to enjoy
When it got too dark to skate and the crowd got restless for an outlet, I screamed party like I always did. It was the cure-all, be-all, and end-all for me. There wasn’t anything on this earth that wasn’t cured with some good music and a micro dose.
Texting Poppy to come pick me up was just another benefit I was letting sit in the pile of positives. I boarded everywhere and if I couldn’t then I hitched a ride
from someone on payroll or one of the guys.
I got distracted looking at a blonde border fly high up off the bowl, grabbing her board, and twisting perfectly before landing as Poppy’s pink Mercedes Wagon horn cut through the air.
Remember when we were kids and some would get so embarrassed to be dropped off or picked up in front of their friends? Always been lost on me. I always wanted to be a version of Richie Rich who was chauffeured… only more rich and more excessive.
Kicking my board up into my hands I jogged to the car and slipped inside, watching everyone scatter to follow.
“Hold on I gotta text the girls. Impromptu party,” I typed into the group message while settling in. Practically turning all the way around when I was done texting, I looked at the backseat, “Did they have the fruit loops in stock?”
She laughed in her proper Sussex way before speaking with her British accent that got my dick hard. “I got three boxes. Spread them out, ya? I don’t wanna have to beat up six-year-olds for your cereal.”
Ignoring her, I ripped open the box shoving my hand inside. I was high most of the time and fruit loops were my munchie food. Twisting back around, I fished around the back seat for milk, twisting the cap off with my teeth and drinking it.
Back at the house, Poppy punched in the gate code before it slowly opened to the circus I always kept on hand, short of a Ferris wheel. Believe me I tried, but the state of California wouldn’t budge and threatened to sue me even after I brought up Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch.
I knew better than anyone that it wasn’t the equipment but how you use it. I’m the only element you need to create a good party atmosphere.
Hopping out of the car, I dropped my board and skated up to the door. As soon as Hefner’s house was put on the market, I offered to wire an absurd amount of money to the real estate agent and won the highest bid. Now I live in a fully renovated version of the playboy mansion with twenty-four ladies and very different rules.
As soon as you walk in there’s an untouched wall, except for the spray paint, with the rules of the house. Not that I let the parties ever come in - I have boundaries just not as many as normal people.
No red solo cups
No touching my mood music
No catching feelings
No mentioning Voldemort
The girls were all scattering around the house like there was a fire and they had to gather all their stuff before the fire department showed up to kick them out. I respected women, I envied women, I loved women enough to know not to say shit. I let them do their thing and if I fit the equation then I’m down to solve it.
Finding Chipotle on the counter, I fished out a taco and unwrapped it before I texted the guys, I always invited them to every party even though they never came. These were the guys I was forced to grow up with, forced to like, to deal with, and yet they never noticed how much I struggled with the loneliness of life.
I watched the three dots appear in the group message while I ate the taco trying to be hopeless and not hopeful.
VIC: Pass.
BOWEN: 2 drunk 2 drive
GRIMM: Are you insane? I have a baby bro.
We were locked into a brotherhood, yet it was one of the most counterfeit relationships I had in my life and they weren’t even on my payroll.
Just for a split second I let my mind travel back to Genevieve and her threat that no one would like me for anything but all the noise I create. Hell, I wasn’t even convinced I liked myself without the show stopping charade I refused to stop giving into. If there was a chance that no one would like me without the dramatics, then I wasn’t going to stop being dramatic.
Pulling my shirt off, I exposed all the random tattoos spanning my body along with all the scars and scrapes from skateboarding. I may be considered elite, but my body sure did tell a different story if you just connected the memories.
I have a giant 1995 across my lower abs that people normally notice first which acts like bookends for every other smaller one in between and there are angel and demon wings taking over my back. All the others are random tattoos like a girl riding a taco, a pacifier, a snake for the Clave, movie quotes, music lyrics, some french writing, and a tattoo for each of the girls letting them mark me.
They weren’t going to mark my heart so I might as well let them mark some kind of real estate on me.
Going outside, I laid down on the chaise lounge by the pool trying to muster up the energy to follow through with my stupid idea of a house party. You’d think I would have learned my lesson after throwing house parties I wasn’t invested in since I was 16. I didn’t.
I’d rather party and pretend to enjoy myself than to be alone. I was constantly overwhelming my space and drowning out the anxiety and loneliness that hovered over me.
Nothing would ever change. People forced into liking me couldn’t even fake it so how would anyone else? That’s how I became polyamorous and undomesticated, all it took was one bitch and a dash of fear that no one could like me for me.
I was killing a lot of birds with one stone by just letting Genevieve be right.
The girls basically performed a magic trick in the twenty minutes it took to get back from the skatepark, turning the back yard into some kind of neon theme, complete with our DJ (AKA Quinn), and party favors. These girls knew what I wanted before I did which made them perfect distractions.
I didn’t even have to think of distractions.
I laid there quietly until people started arriving full of energy and boards already finding their way to the ramp in my backyard. Closing my eyes one last time I centered myself before I peeled my eyelids open and came alive.
“Who’s ready to get fucked up?!” I shouted, jumping on top of the lounge, taking a huge step off letting the water of the pool catch me.
Showtime, motherfuckers.
GRACE
I hitched a ride with some of the guys when it occurred to me that I had never seen Khaos drive anything other than a skateboard. Not even to protests.
Was he that much of a spoiled brat?
In all the shuffling to leave it was hard to see anything when I yanked on the door handle to climb in. Holding the board between my legs I asked one of the guys where we were going.
“He lives in Holmby. It’s close. He throws the gnarliest ragers. Your hangover is gonna have a hangover.”
I wasn’t exactly straight edge by choice, all I was willing to touch was pot. I just preferred to stay sharp around Dove. He required it. The moment you lose focus is the same difference as being a knife at a gun fight - you might do some damage but after taking some blows first.
There were girls at the end of the driveway directing cars to park and handing everyone white shirts like this was all planned.
Khaos wasn’t a planner, that much was obvious.
Getting out of the car and pushing my closed fist into the guys who let me bum a ride, I took in the spectacle. That was exactly what this was - dramatic, overdone, overwhelming- and it just started.
Walking towards the pool a girl handed me a white bikini that was practically just strings with a smile, “There’s a pool house straight ahead if you wanna change.”
Looking at her, my eyes widened, “I’m not wearing that.”
“It’s part of the theme, come on, don’t be a party pooper. There’s neon paint and it’s not going to show up on your shirt.”
She was sweeter than the experience of creating a cavity which made being brash even harder. I had dealt with girls like her my whole life: pretty, everything handed to them, and working for anything was a distant idea they’d never ponder.
Snapping, I folded my arms pushing past her with a frozen shoulder, “Don’t tell me what to wear.”
She wasn’t giving up when she followed on my heels, abandoning her post of handing out white bikinis near the driveway. “You don’t need to be a bitch. You’re the one visiting, I’m a resident.”
So, this was Khaos’s type? Sweet and unable to take no for an answ
er.
Brave but dumb.
Ears jogged over not bothering to talk me down when all of his attention focused on the girl in a bikini top that might as well have been invisible with how little it covered, and jean shorts unbuttoned like even she knew they wouldn’t be on long.
Classy, and that’s coming from some real street trash.
He stuck his hand out between us even though I didn’t make any attempt to hit her. I had a lot of pent-up anger that seeped out when people can’t take a hint to leave me alone. I wasn’t afraid to fight or throw punches. Pretty sure that’s why Dove liked my hair down better, covers up how much I’ll fight anyone at any time.
“Resident, huh? Must be like, really hard.” My voice was soaked in sarcasm when I did my best impression of Cher from Clueless.
There’s always been a divide between the rich and the population of the world that weren’t born as lucky. I was born as unlucky as they’d come - a stranger willing to throw me in the trash kind of cursed. Apparently, I cried loud enough to change my fate and I haven’t cried since.
The exotic looking dream with a fake tan and pin straight brunette hair finally got offended. If I wasn’t in the mood for trouble and a fight, I would be impressed by her ability to keep calm.
“Resident, as in I live here and you’re a guest in my home. Do you even know Khaos? He has a thing for respect.” Her stress-free voice irritated my last nerve when I pushed Ear’s arm out of my way.
I didn’t plan on having some bruised knuckles, but I would take trouble in any dose tonight.
When I got my hand around her silky hair I tugged when a loud voice behind me shouted at us. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My grip on his girlfriend loosened and she popped upright trying to fix herself already while biting back tears.
Well, there it is… her truth she covers up.
She’s actually a crier, no longer pretending to be perfect.
Looking over my shoulder I saw Khaos, shirtless and wet, standing there like some disappointed dad. Ears stood in front of me whispering between us, “Be cool, B. Relax. You need something, remember?”