To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  Some teen pop crap from the nineties starts playing and Traci wiggles around in excitement, to which I roll my eyes. It’s bizarre that she only listens to love songs from when she was an infant, but I don’t question it. Instead, I stalk over to her speaker and press pause, cutting off the song just as they’re getting into it, leaving them both belting out the next line into utter silence. It brings a satisfied smirk to my face as they whip around fast and shoot daggers at me from behind their designer sunglasses.

  I know, I know. Damien told me to come over and keep an eye on Traci, not fuck with her, but it’s so much more fun to get a rise out of her than it is to sit inside by myself watching TV.

  “What the fuck?” Traci stands up and stomps over to me, hastily retying her bikini top behind her neck.

  I refuse to let my eyes fall to her tits, but they’re basically popping out of her top, which has me clenching my teeth in irritation.

  “Why’d you turn it off?” She huffs, finally securing coverage of her breasts, crossing her arms over her chest as she stands before me, short as fuck and going for sassy, when I could probably pick her up and toss her back into the house with one hand.

  “That song sucks,” I grumble at her, unaffected by the look she’s trying to give me. “You need better taste in music.”

  I hear her friend snort from the chair where she’s still lounging.

  “Go away, Lazarus,” Traci hisses. “My dad’s not even home yet, so it makes no sense for you to be here.”

  “I obviously know he’s not here. He’s stuck at work, but he’ll be home soon. Then we’re all having dinner together.” I lean in a bit closer. “Like one big happy family.”

  She scoffs and rolls her eyes, covered by Gucci shades. “Is your girlfriend coming? What’s her name again? Evangelina?”

  “Something prissy like that,” the friend mutters from her chair, still loud enough for me to hear. I have to purse my lips to keep from grinning.

  They really don’t like Evangeline. Probably because she came off like a snobby ditz when they met her on the Fourth of July. I wish I could say they judged her unfairly, but that’s actually an accurate description of my girlfriend. She’s a spoiled rich girl, who only gets along with other spoiled rich people. Except me.

  I tolerate her because she’s part of the image I’m going for. And also because I make it a habit not to spend that much time with her. I see her once or twice a week, and that’s more than enough. I haven’t brought her over here since that one time, because I don’t really see the point. She has dinner with Damien and me occasionally, but only if Day’s bringing a girl he’s trying to nail.

  The long and short of it is that we’re dating, but I don’t exactly like her all that much. I just like how she makes me look to myself. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t need an image for the outside world. I’ve never given a fuck what anyone thinks about me.

  But I want to prove to myself that I can be serious. I want the lifestyle I’ve always been watching from the outside, like a kid peering through the toy store window, lusting after the toy he’s too poor to afford.

  I’ve got the job, the money, the house and cars and all different types of fancy shit. Now it’s time for the model-looking wife.

  And maybe a kid. We’ll see how it goes being married first.

  “No, you scared her off last time,” I reply to Traci, who scowls at me. “You behave like a brat when there’s company. It’s embarrassing.”

  “This isn’t your house, asshole!” She snarls up at my face and I chuckle.

  “Whoa, whoa! Simmer down.” I hold up my hands. “I was joking. Tonight’s an exclusive family dinner. Evangeline’s not invited.”

  “You’re so annoying, I can’t even,” she mutters, then spins and trots back to her friend.

  I smirk after her, until I realize that she’s really sashaying her hips around, probably on purpose to get a rise out of me. It’s irritating, so I decide to go inside and get a drink. I’ll wait for Damien in the central air, rather than sweating my ass off by the pool, babysitting a couple lame teenagers.

  A little while later, I’m on my second glass of scotch, watching the Marlins get schooled on the TV in the living room when I hear a noise from the foyer. I get up and round the corner as Traci is scurrying away from the front door, and she runs right into me.

  “Oh! Sorry,” she mumbles, wiping under her eyes as she tries to move around me, but I grab her shoulders and force her to stop.

  “Hey, slow down.” I crane my neck to glimpse her face, since she looks and sounds upset. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Leave me alone, Lazarus.” Her voice is shaky as she fights me, but I keep my hold on her.

  “Are you crying? What happened?”

  She still won’t look at me, so I take her chin between my fingers and tug her face until she’s forced to look up. Sure enough, her eyes are puffy with a little smudged makeup underneath, and her nose is red.

  “Stop! I don’t want to talk about it!” She shoves me with her hands on my chest, though I barely move.

  Still, she uses the opportunity to dart away, making a beeline for the stairs in her bikini, running up them fast while sniffling to herself. A door slams upstairs, and I lean against the wall.

  I should probably just let Damien deal with her when he gets home. He’s surely more equipped to console his crying daughter than I am. But for some reason, it’s really irking me that she’s crying in the first place.

  Traci doesn’t cry often. At least, not in front of people. Even when Ophelia passed, she was eerily calm most of the time. Damien was afraid she was bottling up her feelings, which I can definitely relate to. Shit, I rarely let anyone see me upset, even when I was a kid.

  If she’s crying now, something must have happened, and it causes a strange tightness in my chest I don’t quite understand. All I know is that she better not be crying over a boy.

  The last thing I want to deal with is having to break some teenage twerp’s knees because he hurt her.

  I make a fast, albeit not very well-thought-out decision to go upstairs and make sure she’s alright. Outside her bedroom door, I pause for a moment, considering what the hell I’m even going to say. But despite my reservations, I decide to give it a shot, since I just realized I don’t like seeing her sad and I want to make sure no one fucked with her.

  I knock on the door. There are no sounds or anything from the other side, so I knock again, and wait. Still nothing.

  “Trix?” I call through the door. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Go away!” She shouts at me from inside her room.

  Her obstinance is driving me nuts.

  I twist the doorknob, and it opens, so I peer through a small crack in the door. She’s across the room on her bed, still in that damn black bikini, face smashed into her pillow. Against my better judgement, I push open the door and walk inside.

  As I approach, Traci’s face quickly turns, and she gawks at me like I’m insane, watching me step up to her bed while crossing my arms over my chest.

  “What the hell are you doing on my room?” She chirps, not so much angry as she is apparently baffled. I’m a little shocked I’m in here myself.

  “I told you, I’m making sure you’re alright. Now, scoot over.” I push her legs out of the way so I can sit down. “Why are you crying?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Lazarus, please,” she mumbles, blinking up at me with her face still and those little makeup smudges beneath her eyes making her look way too grown-up.

  I ignore her and continue prodding for information. “Did someone hurt you?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No.”

  “Well then, what?” I watch her closely, impatiently waiting for her to just say what the hell is going on so I can get back to my drink.

  Thank God I don’t have a daughter because I really don’t have time for this nonsense.

  After a few more minutes of sniffling and no wor
ds, Traci sits up next to me. She’s remains quiet, staring at me while chewing her bottom lip. It’s making me sort of uncomfortable, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s because she’s barely dressed, and the last time she looked at me like that while we were alone, she tried to kiss me.

  I swallow hard and shift in my seat before she glances down, noticing her lack of dress. She grabs a pillow and hugs it to her chest to cover herself, which is a relief, not that I would ever look at her in that way.

  “Merci’s parents are sending her to boarding school in Georgia,” she finally tells me, her words wrought with devastation. “She’s leaving in three days.”

  Oh… Well, fuck. My mouth drops open a little, but I don’t know what to say.

  Now I get it, and I can sympathize. The purple-haired girl is Traci’s only friend, and it’s obvious she loves her to death. She’s had friends here and there over the years, but never any as close as she is with this girl, and definitely not since Lia died. Damien was right that having this friend brought Traci out of her shell since losing her mother. It would really suck if she regresses because of this.

  “Trix… I’m sorry,” I murmur. I’m completely out of my element now and kicking myself for not just leaving it alone and waiting for Damien. “That sucks.”

  Much to my surprise, Traci lets out a small chuckle and shakes her head. “Yea. It does suck. It sucks really bad.”

  “Why are they sending her away? Because she’s a nuisance?” My lips curve a bit in amusement. She laughs again and hits me in the arm.

  “Shut up, dick. No, her mom and stepdad are sick of dealing with her. They’re going to be traveling this upcoming year for her stepdad’s business, so they felt like it’s easier to send her away for her senior year.”

  “That’s ridiculous. They sound like shit parents.”

  “They are. But she’s not an adult yet, so she’s stuck with them.” She shrugs and glances at her lap. “She’s my only friend. I don’t want to go back to being a lonely loser…”

  “Don’t say that about yourself,” I scold, in a tone stern yet gentle. “You’re fucking awesome. And there’s nothing wrong with spending time alone. If you’re comfortable with yourself, it’s a good thing.”

  Her blue eyes sneak up to mine. “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  This puts a small smile on her face as she tucks blonde locks behind her ear. “Thanks, Lazarus. You’re not as much of a douche as everyone says you are.”

  The coy smirk on her lips is pretty fucking cute, and much to my chagrin, she made me laugh. It actually burst out of me just now, which rarely happens for anyone other than Damien.

  After that, her smile turns thermonuclear, like she’s immensely proud of herself for getting a laugh out of me. I don’t know whether to worry, or feel flattered.

  “Very funny, Trix,” I narrow my gaze for show. “And hey, if you ever need a friend I’m sure Evangelina would love to hang out. Should I give her your number now, or…?”

  Traci bursts out into a cackle that reminds me so much of Damien it makes me momentarily dizzy.

  Speaking of Damien, he’ll probably be home soon, and I don’t really want to be in his daughter’s bedroom when he arrives, so I stand up.

  Her face tilts as she watches me closely. Now she looks like Lia. A lot.

  “You gonna be alright?” I ask, picking imaginary lint off my shirt while she blinks her doe eyes at me.

  “Yea,” she whispers. “I think I’ll be fine.”

  I nod, effectively ending my round of fatherly advice that’s really not all that fatherly.

  “Good.”

  Leaving her room, I head back downstairs and top off my scotch, then sit on the couch to finish watching the game until my best friend gets home.

  But I couldn’t tell you a thing about who won, the score, or even who was playing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Traci

  New Year’s Eve always makes me miss Mom.

  She used to love this holiday. She’d spend all day cooking, everything from snacks and appetizers to elaborate desserts. Then we’d hang streamers everywhere and dress up in our fanciest attire, depending on whether or not she planned a theme. One year we did The Roarin’ Twenties; another year it was a pig roast Luau.

  And we would count down to a new year together, popping champagne bottles on One, jumping around, kissing each other, laughing and cheering. Whether we invited friends and family over, or just did it the four of us - naturally Lazarus was always there - it was a wonderful time.

  Some of my best memories took place on New Year’s Eves. That all stopped four years ago. And we haven’t celebrated a new year since.

  Until tonight.

  Dad organized his first shindig, as Mom would’ve called it, since she got sick. And honestly I’m proud of him for that fact. I just wish it didn’t have to be so big and stuffy.

  There are almost two-hundred of our closest friends coming over tonight to ring in the new year, most of whom are clients and business associates of my father and Lazarus. That means almost two-hundred posh adults… and me.

  I’m anticipating a bland evening, especially since Merci is stuck at her boarding school. Apparently they don’t even let you come home for holidays, unless your parents really want you to, which Merci’s parents do not, meaning I have to ring in the next stupid year without my bestie.

  Hopefully Dad will let me sneak a glass of Moet… Or five.

  I’m sure I’ll need it to take the edge off another evening watching Lazarus parade his fake-titted bitch of a girlfriend around like she’s a prized show pony.

  I’ve been trying to limit my encounters with Cunt-Bag, I mean Evangeline, to as few as possible, because looking at her perfect injected face makes me feel stabby, and also every time I do see her and Lazarus together, they look so fantastically dull it makes me want to blow my brains out for them.

  I still don’t understand what Laz is doing with a woman like that, but I can only hope the novelty is wearing off. They’ve been seeing each other for a while and every second I think about them together, kissing and touching, and enjoying one another’s company, it physically pains my heart as if it’s being punctured by a very blunt object. It’s densely painful.

  I struggle not to let my mind wander there, but it’s difficult since my imagination is where I’ve been dating Lazarus for the past two years. Lazarus Weston doesn’t enjoy most things, and he certainly has never enjoyed the company of the same woman for months on end like this. I’m not sure what he’s trying to prove, or what kind of phase he’s working through, but I can only pray he snaps out of it soon, before something bad happens…

  Like Evangeline getting knocked up.

  It’s my worst fear. I lie awake at night plagued with images of Lazarus smiling at her while she waddles around, pregnant with his baby. I couldn’t stand it if that happened. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to live the rest of my life watching them be in love. It already hurts more and more each day knowing I can never have him, but adding that tall, leggy fembot to the mix has me teetering on the edge of a major freak-out.

  I’ve stayed in my room all day today, so as not to interfere with any of the setup for the party. Now it’s about time to get ready, and I’m still hesitating. I wish my mom was here to help me pick a dress and do my hair and makeup. It was always the best part of getting ready for New Year’s Eve, sitting on my bed while Mom fussed over my hair, singing along to whatever bubble gum song was playing.

  She would do my makeup perfectly, though she barely wore any herself. She didn’t need it. She was gorgeous just the way she was.

  A knock on my door tugs me out of my head before I can slip away, and I choke the tears back in my throat as I bark, “Come in!”

  Dad wanders into my bedroom and I allow the small smile that dances on my lips from how great he looks. It immediately wipes away all the sadness I was just feeling, because I’m so happy to see him finally looki
ng like his old self again.

  He’s wearing a tux, and now I’m glad I didn’t get dressed yet, since I wasn’t aware it was such a formal party.

  “Hey, Tiny,” he croons, sitting down on my bed next to me. “You gonna get ready anytime soon?”

  “Yes, Father,” I groan and his shoulders move as he chuckles at my grumpiness. But then I blink at him with sincerity. “You look great, Dad.”

  He lets out a wistful breath and glances at the floor, saying nothing for several minutes. My smile falls away because I know he’s thinking about her. I just wish our collective thoughts were enough to bring her back. But wishes like that are more pointless than low-fat cheesecake.

  “Look, muffin, I know it’s going to be weird tonight,” Dad starts, taking my small hand in his big one. “Having a New Year’s party without Mom.” His tone is replicating the exact emotions I’ve been carrying around all day. At least I’m not alone. “But still, I want you to try and have a good time. I really wish you would’ve invited a couple friends.”

  “Dad, my only friend got shipped away to boarding school,” I drop my head.

  “I know, T. And it sucks. But I still just can’t wrap my head around you not having any other friends.” He peeks at me. “You’re pretty much perfect.”

  A giggle slips through and I scowl to cover it up, which makes him laugh. “None of the kids at school get me. They’re all too immature.”

  “I get it, Trace.” He nods. “You’re brilliant and wonderful, but you might have to push past your differences and try a little harder to let people in. I worry about you.”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation right now…”

  He exhales a frustrated breath, then holds his hands up. “Fine fine fine. New topic. Don’t freak out…”

  My head snaps in his direction and I notice how suddenly guilty he looks.

  “About what?” My words are slow in hesitation as I gape at him.