by Rina Kent
Didn’t Ronan say he’s drunk? This must be the alcohol, and all I have to do is ignore him.
Kimberly: In your dreams.
Xander: Good.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Another text comes soon after.
Xander: You didn’t answer my original question. What are you doing?
Kimberly: The lack of an answer is an answer. Take a hint.
Xander: That fucking attitude will get you in trouble. Now, answer the damn question before I find out for myself.
Kimberly: And how the hell will you do that, genius?
Kirian is out, so even if Xander calls and asks him, he won’t get anything.
Xander: Told you. Through the window.
Kimberly: From Ronan’s house? Just how drunk are you?
Xander: Enough to run from Ronan’s house to home. Or make Aiden drive me. I have plenty of options.
Kimberly: You can’t be seriously serious about this?
Xander: Seriously serious, yes. That’s it. I like the syntax of that.
Dammit. He pushed me back to my most basic form. Why the hell would I even repeat serious?
Kimberly: I’m doing nothing. Happy now?
Xander: Nothing, as in you’re sitting around? Or nothing, as in you’re hiding under your covers, trying to pretend the world doesn’t exist?
My blood boils and my legs shrink further underneath me.
Kimberly: Nothing, as in nothing. Ever heard of the word? It means empty, nada. Now leave me alone.
Xander: So you can drown in that nothingness of yours?
Kimberly: Yes, which is none of your business, by the way.
Xander: Is that what you think?
I’m almost punching the keyboard with my fingers as I type.
Kimberly: Yes! You can’t come here and pretend to know me. You don’t, okay? You never fucking did.
Xander: Let me see, I know you dance to upbeat music on your own, and it’s the only time you’re not fake. I know you hide behind that makeup and new wardrobe because you see yourself as an ugly little monster on the inside. But not the hair, the green is you. It’s the only real thing about you, because you’ve always been obsessed with that colour. You stopped eating your favourite pistachio gelato and green M&M’s because they don’t go well with the whole look, but you still take notice and stare when you see others eating them. You like Elsa too much, so you do everything to appear perfect in front of her, and by doing that, you kill parts of yourself slowly, thinking if she actually saw your true self-harming, vein-cutting, pill-popping self, she’d give up on you. When you were talking to Jeanine that day, Kirian came to me frantic and told me about that night. He saw you fainted after you popped some pills, and for that reason, he’s been hugging you more often lately and asking me if adults keep their fucking promises. I know you don’t look long enough in the mirror, if at all, because you hate the person you see there, and if you stare long enough, you’ll be out to destroy her, so you choose to hide behind the designer clothes and the layers of expensive makeup instead. But here’s the thing, Kimberly, you can hide from the world and from your fucking self, but you’ll never be able to hide from me.
Oh my God.
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
My hands tremble as I re-read his words and pinch my thigh to make sure this isn’t some nasty dream hitting me out of nowhere.
How…how does he know all that? How can he figure out so much in such a manic, detailed kind of way?
Unless he’s been watching me, too? He’s been noticing me, too?
But Xander doesn’t watch people. He doesn’t stop to make room for me. He doesn’t even look at me most of the time.
I’m the only one who does. From afar. Like a stalker.
Xander: So? How well did I do?
Xander: I can go on if you want. I can psychoanalyse your relationship with Jeanine and Calvin and Kirian, and even with Marian.
Kimberly: How about the one with you?
Xander: You have no relationship with me. Know your fucking place.
I push the covers away and jump to my feet, my muscles pumping with destructive energy.
He can’t tell me all that and then decide he wants nothing to do with me. He has everything to do with me. Hell, he knows things I refuse to admit to myself. He can’t pretend nothing happened and that he didn’t just stab a different type of weapon in my already chipped armour.
That he isn’t peeling underneath it and seeing what no one else has seen.
Me.
It terrifies the fuck out of me, to be seen by Xander out of all people.
But at the same time, it feeds a starved part that’s been waiting for this since forever.
It’s time I confront him about this whole thing.
9
Xander
A buzz starts at the back of my head. It’s my cue that I drank too much and should probably cut it off.
Well, fuck that side of my brain.
I snatch a bottle of vodka from Summer’s hand and chug half of what’s in there in one go.
The burn picks up where the buzz left off.
The burn means I’ll be able to collapse and sleep without having thoughts I shouldn’t have. I’ll wake up with an epic hangover, but it’ll be worth it.
In other terms, I won’t let my mind take me into dark mazes that have no way out.
As usual in one of Ronan’s parties, it’s full-blown mode. People grind against each other, and other people who won’t shag tonight tell them to get a room. Post Malone is playing in the background, but he’s ignored with the amount of chatter in this place.
Noise.
So much fucking noise.
It’s normally my playground. Their noise means they can’t hear me. Their distraction means they can’t see me, and even when they do, they see what they like to see. Popularity, social status, trust funds that could boost a third world country’s economy.
I’m as rotten as they are, if not worse. I just hide it better.
With the help of my friend vodka.
Summer is blabbering about the shit from today and how her best friend, Veronica, had to go to the doctor – an aesthetic one – to fix her nose and how upset she is, while she drags her fingernails up my thigh.
“If you’re upset, maybe you should be with her.” I smile, speaking with the slightest slur.
I’m drunk as fuck. I know because I hold my liquor well and don’t typically slur. Also, I’m seeing double and Summer shouldn’t have ten fingers on one hand.
Still, I don’t speak as if I’m wasted. That’s the power of being a drunk fool since I knew what drinking was. I would say I blame my mum and her own alcohol problem, but meh, who needs that tearjerker in their lives?
Step one into decimation: mummy issues.
Summer is protesting about some shit, but I’m not focused on the blabbering. I shake my phone as if that will make it magically light up with a text from her.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that all at once like some pubescent with a problem of holding down his wiener.
To my defence, I usually have a wingman, Ronan, to stop me when I’m drunk. He disappeared somewhere, and he’s been acting like a dick all night, which probably means he’s mad at me.
Fuck him, basically.
I’ll have time to regret tonight tomorrow, so I might as well continue the show.
Unlocking my phone, I type.
Xander: Do you still sample Calvin’s collection of tea?
No reply.
Xander: Do you still hide Jeanine’s brushes to have her come out of her studio?
Nothing. Absolute fucking desert.
I don’t know why I want to prove that I know her better than anyone else, that the fucker Ronan or that other metalhead arsehole Knox, Elsa’s brother, would never know her the way I do.
It’s not how it’s supposed to go, but I continue my self-destructive path.
Xander: Are you still scared of horror films
but watch them anyway?
Xander: Do you still make wishes upon the stars?
Xander: Do you still want to sleep beside me at night?
I delete the last one before I hit Send, then shake my head.
Fuck this. I’m spiralling down that rabbit hole. I stagger to my feet and Summer protests as she falls on her arse.
Huh. I forgot she was even there. Sorry, I guess.
I hit one person, or three, as I walk on unsteady feet, still gripping the bottle of vodka in my hand.
It takes me what feels like an hour before I finally find who I’m looking for. Cole sits beside the poker table, watching a game between Elites’ team members. His face is calm, almost interested in what he’s watching, but I know he’s fucking pissed off because of a certain someone.
He and I are the same on so many levels. But I’m way worse because I’m fucked up in the head and need someone to stop my thoughts from going in that direction.
“Yo, fuckers.” I raise my bottle, making a show of my drunk state.
Cole’s at my face in a second, gripping me by the nape. He smiles at the others, but when his green eyes fall on mine, they turn deadly.
It’s weird how he has the same eye colour as her, but his hold no beauty at all. Hers can be the reason for my free fall to hell.
“Your eye colour is fucking ugly,” I say.
“What do you think you’re doing, Knight?” he asks with a harsh undertone. “We have a game tomorrow and you’re hammered.”
“Ronan knew and he didn’t stop me. If I’m going to the corner, send him with me, Captain.” I laugh, even though I meant to smile. That’s what happens when you’re drunk – you sort of lose control over your actions.
“Jesus.” He punches me across the face, but it’s not mean like what I hoped for. He’s only doing it to make me sober up.
It’s enough to fill my thoughts with pain instead of the hell trying to break loose in there.
“Go sober up.”
“Yes, Captain.” I grin.
“The bottle.” He extends his hand and I put it in there. “The fuck is wrong with you lately?”
“Your eyes,” I slur.
“My eyes?” I swear he’s smirking in one of the two versions standing in front of me.
“No, not your eyes. The colour. Fucking green.” I slap my palms against his cheeks, smushing his face with the motion. “Why green, though? Just why?”
“Are you going to kiss?” Aiden’s bored voice brings me out from my spiritual questioning.
My vision is slow as I turn towards him. He’s wrapping an arm around Elsa’s waist and tucking her to his side as if he’s ready to kidnap her out of here any second – which will probably happen. Her goth sister with a tendency for sarcasm, Teal, is standing by her side, wearing a T-shirt that reads, I don’t want to be here.
Then get out of the fucking door, sis.
Oh, wait. She won’t, because she’s a masochist like me.
Teal and Elsa are blushing as they watch me and Cole.
Aiden brings out his phone and directs it at us. “Let me commemorate the moment.”
That’s when I realise the position Cole and I are in. I’m grabbing him by the cheeks and he’s staring at me with a bored expression that matches Aiden’s.
“Any second now,” the latter says. “If this can help with your case at the human rights court of law, you have my blessing.”
“Mine, too.” Cole smirks. “I’ll take one for the team.”
“Fuck you both.” I shove Cole away.
I should bleach the colour of his eyes so this shit never happens again.
“Where’s Green?” I ask Elsa, who’s still watching me and Cole as if expecting the show to resume.
Seriously, as much as guys enjoy fantasising about girls together, I’m pretty sure girls fantasise about boys together, too. They’re just not as vocal about it.
That was the Sherlock in me. Now, he’s going to sleep.
Aiden and Cole exchange looks, smiling like two little psychos.
“Green?” Elsa repeats. “Who’s Green?”
Fuck. I said that out loud? I must be drunk out of my mind. I need to get the fuck out of here before I word vomit everything.
“Yeah, Knight.” Aiden feigns nonchalance. “Who’s Green?”
“I think I heard that name somewhere.” Cole taps his chin. “When we were young and –”
I punch him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. The fucker is bored and out to destroy lives because of it.
There’s no way in shit I’ll be the next victim of his sociopathic boredom.
“I know where she is,” I whisper so only he can hear.
“She?” Cole repeats with a semi-serious tone.
“Yes, the she.” I raise an eyebrow. “She went with Ronan.”
And with that, I’m out of the scene.
People hit two birds with one stone, I hit three.
One, I made Cole shut the fuck up. Two, I escaped his and Aiden’s circle of sociopathic tendencies. Three, I directed his wrath towards that little bastard, Ronan.
I swear I come up with the best ideas when I’m drunk.
On my way out, I steal some boy’s cup of alcohol, down it, then steal another one.
They don’t even protest. No one attempts to put a brake on whatever the hell I’m spiralling into. No one dares to punch a minister’s son to teach him some sense.
Fuck you, Dad.
Somewhere along the way, I find myself heading to the garden. The music fades as the chill wraps around me, but instead of waking me up, it turns me a bit more drunk.
On the night, the stars, the fucking world.
You suck, world. You really, really suck.
I throw away the last cup and head to a small covered porch at the back. Kids don’t wander around the area because a) it’s cold, b) Ronan will skin them alive, and c) did I mention it’s fucking freezing.
So I’m surprised to find someone there. She’s dancing, earbuds in her ears and hair flying behind her.
Not someone.
Her.
The one I can’t have.
The only one I can’t fucking have, but I still find myself roaming around and watching anyway.
Her dress falls to her knees but is tight at the waist, showing off the lines of her soft curves.
She’s there, up for the taking, and for whatever scenarios my mind is conjuring at a supersonic speed.
I should go, leave, never return.
But I take a step towards her instead.
I can’t have her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t play with her.
Love is impossible, but hate is an open game.
10
Kimberly
My eyes are closed as I let the music take me away from my physical shackles.
Magic by Coldplay drums in my ears and it’s almost like that – magic. The lyrics speak so much to me and to the person I’ve been. It becomes a bit painful to listen, to be that fool who still believes in magic.
Music is the only thing that keeps my head afloat and somehow manages to keep the fog at bay.
Ever since I walked into the party and saw Summer rubbing herself all over Xander, I’ve been having these small bursts of nothingness.
I know I came to confront him, and I’ll do that, but I need to calm the hell down first.
The shot of tequila didn’t work, being with Elsa didn’t, and Ronan, my own tailored distraction, is nowhere to be found, so music is my only reprieve.
I let it float me away as the melody fills my ears and my senses. My body moves of its own accord as I take refuge in the darkness and the cold, knowing no one will come out here in the middle of this wind.
As soon as this song ends, I’ll walk back in there and tell Summer off. If she doesn’t leave, I’ll punch her like I did her friend – or not. I really don’t want to witness that same expression on Mum’s face again.
It’s enough for one day.
; Anyway, I’ll just push Summer away and demand he explain whatever the hell he sent me in texts.
In and out. It’ll be in a place full of people and I’ll be able to disappear in no time.
I nod to myself and pluck out my earbuds as I turn around, determination bubbling in my veins.
My feet halt automatically when my eyes meet those ocean-deep ones. The ones filled with magic that I can’t stop believing in.
With arms and ankles crossed, he’s leaning against the tree right behind me, as if he’s been watching the entire show.
Wait. He was?
The light coming from the huge mansion casts shadows over his features. I swallow, still trying to get over the fact he’s been there all along.
The hell? Since when did he become such a creep?
And why are you secretly happy about it?
If he’s a creep and I like it, what does that make me?
“Don’t stop on my account.” He twirls his finger. “How do you do that thing with your hips?”
I blush, and I’m so glad he won’t be able to see it due to the lack of lighting.
“It’s like a belly dancer. Is that what you practice late at night?”
My head snaps up. “How do you know that?”
He can’t possibly be watching me, because his room always has its dark curtains pulled down.
“I think we’ve established that I know a lot of shit about you.” He pushes off the tree, and my body instinctively tightens.
The way he stalks towards me is nothing short of a predator. Someone with the need to hurt and destroy. Someone who’s after me, not anything else, just me.
Still, I speak in the most neutral tone I can afford. “Why?”
“Why?” he repeats, lifting one of his brows.
“Why do you know a lot of shit about me?”
“That’s the question of the century, isn’t it? Why?” He stops when his chest nearly brushes against mine.
This close, I can breathe the stench of vodka on him, strong and unyielding like everything else about him.
He’s drunk. No, he’s wasted. I’m surprised he was able to walk that small distance from the tree to here or even sound relatively normal.