To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

I struggled against my own smile, but when I saw how much was doing it, it seemed like it could be fun.

  He asked, “You’re the new kid, right?”

  I nodded, not wanting to allow my many creeping insecurities out, but then not really being able to help it. I was starting out in a new school, again. I was so goddamn sick of this dance, I barely had the strength to act hard anymore.

  “I’m Damien Wright,” the kid held out his hand.

  He was polite, and I’d encountered enough fake assholes at that point in my life to know when someone was sizing me up, which he wasn’t. So I took the hand and shook it, firm enough so he’d know I wasn’t a pussy.

  “Lazarus… Weston.”

  He grinned. “Nice to meet you.”

  Why does he smile so much? Oh right. He’s rich and popular. And his clothes fit him.

  He has every reason to smile.

  “Where’d you move from?”

  Normally I hated nosiness, but he seemed genuinely interested, so I let the shield down. Just an inch. “Long Island. Hempstead.”

  “Oof. Rough. No wonder you’re ready to take on the entire school,” he chuckled, and for some unknown reason, I chuckled back.

  Snapping out of it, I noticed that the hallway had cleared, which meant I needed to run to catch the bus. If I missed it, I’d be walking four miles home, and that’s not fun when carrying a metric ton of books on your shoulders.

  “Gotta go.” I slammed my locker and turned away, not waiting for him to respond before I was stalking out of the school.

  When I got to the front, the bus was just pulling off, and I puffed out a rough sigh.

  Figures.

  Sucking it up, I wandered away toward the road, mentally preparing myself for the long-ass walk when a black BMW M3 pulled up next to me.

  “Lazarus! Need a ride?”

  It was goddamn green eyes again. Jesus. What is he stalking me now?

  “No.” I kept walking, not in the mood for fake friends or charity.

  “Dude… Not everything’s a fight.”

  That caught my attention. I stopped walking and glanced at him through his open window. And for some reason, I decided to accept the preppy kid’s offer, if for no other reason than I really didn’t feel like walking.

  Turns out this one car ride would change my life. That was the day I met my first real best friend of my entire existence, at fourteen fucking years old, no less.

  After discovering that we lived only minutes away from one another, Damien decided he would be my new chauffeur. He straight up volunteered to give me a ride to and from school every day. And I had absolutely no intention of accepting his offer.

  I was content to remain a lonely loser with no friends or family; to spend the next few years working my ass off so I could get into Business School and make something of myself.

  I had no time for games or bullshit. Damien found it endearing.

  I wasn’t sure how he would benefit from befriending an orphan like me, but the more time we spent together - the ten minutes every morning and afternoon in the car - the more I discovered that Damien Wright was just as lonely as I was. The only difference was that he had lots of friends, and parents who loved him and gave him everything he could ever need. But Damien was an only child, and according to him, all his friends were fake, and didn’t give any actual shits about him.

  “I don’t give a shit about you either,” I had grumbled to that revelation, though his instant laughter broke me, and my smile was damn near impossible to hide. He knew I was lying.

  He always knew.

  So from that moment on, we were inseparable. Day became the brother I never had, and I the brother he always wanted. He invited me over to his mansion of a home almost every day, making sure I could benefit from the fruits of his wealthy family’s labors.

  And when the time came for us to graduate and go off to college, there was never any doubt that we’d go to the exact same place - NYU - and live together in a sick little apartment in the West Village that his parents paid for while we worked on building our future.

  And here we are.

  “You coming over for dinner?”

  Damien’s voice tugs me out of my nostalgia, and I peer at him. He’s sipping his drink, staring out the window. Even if I had plans of my own tonight, I would of course blow them off to spend time with him. Because he needs me right now.

  After all, Damien spent years taking care of me when I thought I didn’t need it. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.

  “Only if we can pick up some steaks to grill or something,” I tell him. “The takeout is really getting to me.”

  He tries to smile, but it barely works. “Don’t act like you cook dinner when you’re home.”

  “Not always. But at least I have a chef.”

  “I don’t need a chef. I have you.” This time his smile is legit, and it feels good to see him relatively happy, if only for a moment.

  Losing Ophelia crushed my best friend down to his bones. I felt it, too. I still do… She was a big part of my life as well.

  The love of my brother’s life, which pretty much made her my sister. And Ophelia was the absolute perfect person for Damien. Their love could have made me jealous, if it wasn’t so fascinating to be around. I’ve never experienced anything like it myself, and I’m not sure that I’m even capable of such things. But Day is. He’s the darling peach of the two of us; a true sweetheart, through and through.

  And I’m the shiny apple with the rotten core.

  About an hour later, we’re walking into Damien’s house with a couple grocery bags. He made us go to the supermarket ourselves and everything, even though he knows damn well either of our assistants would have done it for us. I’m not sure when he’s going to lose this stubborn, forced independence attitude, but it better be soon because he’s making me nuts.

  We plop everything down on the kitchen island, and Damien stalks outside without saying a word. He’s still uncharacteristically quiet and sullen. I’ll have to work on improving my cheer-up game, although I’m not sure how much more I could do at this point.

  I take it upon myself to unpack the bags, noticing an algebra book on the counter. That means the little Wright is around here somewhere, which instantly puts me at even more of a disadvantage in this house.

  Tracien, Day’s thirteen-year-old daughter, has been just as moody as him recently, though she’s more in your face with her attitude, since she’s a teenage girl. I understand where they’re both coming from with their endless grief, but rather than coming together to work through it, they’ve been at each other’s throats and it’s making me want to drink more heavily than usual.

  My eyes scan the worksheet tucked into the book. It takes me all of sixty seconds to determine that she has half these problems answered incorrectly. I huff out of frustration and roll my eyes. She’s clearly having trouble paying attention, in class and to me when I try to help her with this shit, which I only do because I know Damien wants her to get a good education. And whether or not naïve teens like to think so, math is a huge part of the real world.

  A small noise comes from behind me, and I turn to see Traci standing at the entrance to the kitchen, eyes all wide for some unknown reason. Her cheeks are red, like maybe she was just outside in the heat.

  “What the hell is this?” I gesture to her assignment. She stares at me in silence. “Have you heard a damn word I’ve told you about quadratic formula?”

  Her face morphs rather quickly from sheepish to infuriated. “Uh, yes. I have. It doesn’t come as easily to everyone as it does to you, jerk.”

  “It didn’t come easily to me, kid. Nothing has. I just paid attention to what my teachers were teaching, which you obviously haven’t.” I narrow my gaze at the petite blonde munchkin in an attempt to get my point across.

  But she’s so damn stubborn. She gets it from Damien.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she pops out her hip. “Don’t call me kid. I hate it.”<
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  I lift a brow and lean against the counter. “Then I guess I’ll call you… Trix.”

  She softens and swallows visibly. “Why Trix?”

  “Because Trix are for kids.” I wink and she scoffs, gritting her teeth like she wants to lunge and maybe wail on me a bit with her tiny fists.

  I’d almost welcome it at this point. Between her and Day, they need to get some of their emotions out. I’ve been working on him, but the girl is a different story.

  I’m not good with kids. Never have been. I treat them like adults, because I don’t possess the softness often needed to deal with youngsters. Fortunately for me, Ophelia and Damien didn’t coddle Tracien at all, so it was never a problem that I spoke to her like she was more grown than she was. Sure, they’re her parents, so they treat her like a princess, another foreign concept to yours truly. But they’ve always encouraged independence, which I can only view as a good thing for a kid.

  I grew up independent because I had no choice. I had no proper parental figures around me to teach me things, so I had to learn on my own. But I don’t see how having parents who treat you like an equal can be anything but positive.

  Then again, what do I know?

  “You finish your homework yet?” Damien asks Traci as he stomps back inside from the veranda where he must have been lighting the grill, because I can smell the fire on him as he brushes past me.

  “Almost,” she answers her father, still glaring at me.

  “She’ll have to redo it,” I butt in, not really sure why. “It’s almost all incorrect.”

  “Mind your own business!” Traci shrieks at me.

  Damien’s head whips in his daughter’s direction. “Tracien! Don’t be rude.”

  “He’s the one being rude!” She flips her blonde hair. “I didn’t ask for his help.”

  “Well, you’d be lucky to get it, since he knows what he’s talking about.” He sounds exhausted as he pulls the rest of the groceries out of the bags. “Take another run at it, then have Laz double-check for you.”

  Her eyes dart to me, and she looks uneasy.

  “Happy to help, Trix.” I smirk and she seethes, which widens said smirk. It’s fun to fuck with her when I’m bored, like whipping oranges at cars to pass the time.

  “Stop. Calling. Me. That.” Her big blue eyes are bright with flames of rage, and it reminds me of when Ophelia used to get pissed at Damien in college. She was a damn firecracker, that girl, which was odd because other times she could be such a hippy.

  “Why are you so hostile?” I yawn, reaching inside the cabinet to effortlessly locate the tray Damien can’t seem to find, handing it to him.

  “Because you’re being an asshole!” Traci squawks and I bite my lip to stifle my laughter.

  “Language!” Damien hisses.

  “You’re both assholes! I hate it here!”

  She stomps over, hip-checking me out of the way to grab her book, then storms out of the room. I chuckle to myself, but smother it when Damien gives me a tired look of reprimanding.

  He wants me to keep the peace. But what he doesn’t understand is that the two of them need to hash this shit out. Wandering around like zombies isn’t healthy, in my in-no-way-expert opinion.

  A door slams somewhere, and suddenly there’s loud music blasting from wherever the kid is having her temper tantrum. My forehead lines in perplexity because it sounds an awful lot like a nineties pop song is playing at the highest volume her speakers will allow.

  “Is that the fucking Spice Girls?” I cringe, looking to Day who says nothing. Amused confusion covers my face. “Does she think that’s angry music??”

  Damien shrugs and I have to laugh at how ridiculous this girl is.

  “At least put on some Metallica or something!” I shout toward the music. “Or… Jesus, I’m dating myself here, aren’t I? What do the kids listen to these days?”

  Damien smirks. Then the smirk turns to a grin. Then the grin turns to a full-blown smile, accompanied by a soft little chuckle, which is so rare on him these days, I can’t resist the feeling of endless warmth sweeping through my gut.

  He looks good when he smiles.

  Damien used to smile all the time. Ever since I met him, he was just one of those guys constantly smiling and chuckling at everything, like he was in on a secret the rest of the world would never find out. I’m not a smiler, personally. I’m more of a scowl like the world pissed in your cornflakes kind of guy. But Damien, and Ophelia, could always wrestle smiles out of me, with their endless love and affection. They were my family, and apparently, as I learned entirely from them, that’s what family is for.

  And now my family is broken. It takes extreme effort to get smiles out of Damien now, and it’s been like this for years, since Lia was diagnosed. She stayed strong for him and Traci, as much as she could. That woman was a force to be reckoned with, and if anyone could take on the big C, I figured it would be her. She hung on and went out swinging.

  But she did go eventually. The once bright flame of her ethereal soul flickered out a year and a half ago, and now we’re all just wondering where to go from here.

  Hours later, we’ve cooked, eaten, and finished the homework properly, much to Traci’s brooding irritation. I don’t really care, though. She can get pissy all she wants, but she knows as well as I do that I’m not going anywhere, and I’m going to help her just like I help Damien.

  Well, maybe not exactly like I help him.

  But I know her studies are important to her future, and she’s seemed much more distracted lately, which her father will have to keep an eye on. I suppose you could chalk it up to teenage hormones and her becoming a woman, but we all know there’s more to it than that. Damien’s been talking about having her see a shrink, and I think it could be a good idea. Not that I’ve had great experiences with therapy myself, but this is about the girl, not my fucked-upness.

  Day and me are watching the Heat game in his living room. He’s on his third glass of scotch already, and I’m trying to take it slow because I’m not sure I should spend the night again. I don’t want to get used to always crashing here. Not because I don’t enjoy staying, and the guest room is beyond comfortable, but I feel like I should start giving them a little more space to move on as a family.

  I know Damien considers me family, and of course I consider him the same. But he needs to regain some of his independence, and it seems like he’s been getting a little better recently. It’s a process, but the world will never stop spinning.

  Up until about six months ago, I practically lived here. I was around so much, just making sure he didn’t succumb to the meltdowns he was battling daily. Damien needed me, and I had to be here. Not to mention that I was running the company on my own for a bit, with the help of our partners, until he was good to get back to work. It was a lot of stress on me, but I’ve always thrived under pressure.

  I like the heat beneath my feet. It motivates me to fight harder not to burn.

  After Damien came back to work, and we got him on a schedule again, it made things easier. Having a routine is important. I’m a little neurotic with my own schedule, and I’m convinced that any time I injure myself in some minute way it’s because my assistant has several voodoo dolls of me which she uses to get me back for it.

  But I can’t hate. It’s just the way I am. Coming up from a child with nothing to a billionaire in his thirties has taught me to use my flaws to my advantage. To mold and shape them into useful skills that can benefit me in the corporate world. And that’s precisely what I did.

  Own who you are.

  So now, despite how distracted and gloomy he can still be, Damien is rocking the show. He’s slowly but surely beginning to resemble my best friend again, and I’d even deign to say he might be up for going on a date sometime in the future.

  Maybe the distant future… But still. He’ll get himself back out there. I know he will.

  My phone buzzing against my thigh distracts me from my thoughts, and I tug it out o
f my pocket. There’s a text from a girl I met at a benefit a few weeks ago. Kim something.

  We went out last Saturday night, and she ended the evening in a very compromising position which was vastly entertaining for both of us. And now she won’t stop texting me, asking when we can have a repeat.

  I’m not usually into reruns. I’m a bachelor, meaning that I don’t date the same women over and over again. I enjoy sampling new flavors, like ice cream.

  Think about it. What happens when you find an ice cream flavor you love? You start eating it all the time, and the next thing you know, you can’t stand the sight of it. I’d rather not have any part of that.

  I like ice cream way too much.

  Kim’s first message is pretty standard. She’s out at a club with her friend and wants to come over after. I’m all ready to politely decline when she throws me a curveball and tells me her friend wants to tag along.

  Interesting.

  I text her back to confirm that I’m alone, just to make sure she’s not referring to some attempt at a double-date. And she answers, perfect.

  She has my attention now.

  “Plans later?” Damien says, and I glance up to see him watching me.

  I never lie to Day, and I know he wouldn’t care about me wanting to leave to get laid. But there’s an inexplicable morsel of guilt trying to weasel its way into my mind. It confuses me, but I ignore it and finish my text to Kim, letting her know I’ll be home in a half-hour.

  “It would seem so.” I tuck my phone into my pocket. “Kim, that girl I met at the St. Mary’s Benefit. She wants to come over with her friend.”

  He nods, but his face is unusually still. “Cool. Well… have fun.”

  I swallow, that stupid feeling seeping back. “Is that okay? I can stay if you want…”

  “Lazarus, please. I don’t need you to babysit me anymore,” he chuckles, though it’s not a happy sound. “It’s been over a year. I’m fine.”

  “Don’t,” I shake my head at him. “I want to be here with you, you know that.”

  “Yea, but you have your own life.” His eyes are wider than casual would allow for. “You should be out. Seeing women. Having fun.”