by Elena Monroe
I watched all the home movies, because… let’s be real: Hollywood wants labor to look amazing, so we’ll all populate the world some more. I read all the blogs and books. I even went to all the classes. By the time my water broke (at a Sinners dinner at the Supper Club—baby girl wanted an audience), I was a goddamn professional. I could have given myself the meds, pushed, and caught her from falling on the floor myself.
That wasn’t the case. Nothing prepares you for the crashing pain and the way your body feels mutated just to make room for her coming out party. Nothing prepares you to push 7 pounds and 6 ounces through the only organ that gives you pleasure. My heart? Sure, if you wanna feel butterflies. My vagina? Intense, mind altering, toe-curling orgasms. And my daughter was trying to break mine.
There wasn’t much I wasn’t good at, except labor. That was a hard pill to swallow with a type-A personality, with all the adulations pointing to being number one, and well, being me.
The minute I held her in my arms, I knew most of my awards and hard work to be perfect was all bullshit. This little girl was my greatest achievement.
All the Sinners paced the hallway waiting for the green light to come in and finally see the first in our next generation. It came as no surprise when I named my daughter Bijou, my precious jewel, my greatest trophy.
We couldn’t call them Sinners, not before they actually sinned. Ollie settled for Saints. Maybe it’d inspire some good behavior, and they’d steer clear of our checkered pasts. I wanted to feel some kind of comfort in saying only time would be the judge of that, but let’s get real, once our kids learned why we are called Amherst Sinners, I’m sure they’d try to rival all the bad behind us in some attempt to act out. That’s the real karma of our sins.
The End
(for now…)
T he Amherst Sinners Series
The Best Years (Book One)
The Best Moments (Book Two)
The Best Mistakes (Book Three)
The Celestial Bodies Series
Awful Curse (Book One)
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Arianna
T he storm of butterflies in your stomach that induces a slight sweat and kicks anxiety into gear?
That was me, every six months—never adjusting to being permanently new, never feeling rooted to anyone or anything, always willing to say goodbye at any moment, even through my firsts, making them suddenly lasts.
The new kid, again, great.
I stood in the middle of the room I was assigned to at the West End Preparatory School, for the forgotten, left behind, and otherwise independent. I didn’t begin to ponder which one I was. I wasn’t ready for that kind of truth. Painfully real observations were my specialty, when it came to the rest of the world. I had a sharp tongue, constantly breaking its cage of teeth to tactlessly hurt people in the wrong way. I was still learning to wield this kind of power with my words.
My dad was military, grade-A quiet, which only made my tongue even more antsy to do the talking for someone else too. It was only him and me after mama passed, when I was ten. Naturally, I absorbed her silence too, turning it into blabbering. Synchronously, that was the exact time we lost our grip on our sanity. We took her for granted every minute up until we lost her. Suddenly, we were fighting to learn how to do anything for ourselves.
I stumbled my way through puberty to barely making it to womanhood with no real female gracing my presence—not a permanent one anyways, just my highly decorated military dad. He was a ranger, who spent more time overseas than actually in the country he swore to protect, leaving me to bounce around from different family and friends constantly.
The woman, who was guiding our West End tour, wasn’t even close to friendly. She actually used skeleton keys to unlock the door we finally stopped at, which sent goosebumps up my arms. I watched scary movies, wondering too hard how those people felt while in the middle of sheer horror. Now, I knew.
She was tall, but that was no reason to literally look down at people. I was painfully aware I didn’t belong here, with my purple hair, Doc Martens, and jean jacket that was from the 80’s. I let people associate me with being a Stranger Things super fan, instead of telling people it was my dead mom’s. I made that mistake at school number three this year, with what I learned later was the mean girl. Suffice it to say, it didn’t work out in my favor when I landed in the principal’s office.
She huffed, waiting for my father, who was trailing too far behind us, carrying my duffle that really looked like a body bag and wheeling two suitcases I refused to wheel them in myself because I shouldn’t be here, period. I looked at the brochure the whole way here, like it would magically illuminate a way out of bad behavior, the attitude that grew into a monster, and the last three schools, making a good case of having me banned in the tri-state area from the public. Guess that’s how I ended up at West End Prep boarding school.
Did I mention it’s my senior year, on top of being new? Double whammy.
The room was suffocatingly small, and even the walls were wood, straight out of a horror movie. The one small window dividing the twin-sized beds in the room barely illuminated the completely dark side, belonging to my roommate.
Yes, a roommate my senior year of high school. What could be better than putting two hormonal girls together in one room.
I desperately missed my bedroom that was all to myself at my last stay-cation. That’s what I called long vacations with no real destination. I was used to being a residency guest at various homes. My aunt drew the line when the cops brought me home, and my then-boyfriend’s mom lodged a formal complaint with our school. That was my strike three with disobedience.
To be clear, we snuck into the dam after hours and security didn’t feel like giving us a warning, not with my reputation—and not when you’re with the son of the mayor. I couldn’t even hold it against him. I dragged him there, craving an adventure of my own. He was completely innocent, if we didn’t count the heavy make-out session and his fingers slipping between me and my underwear.
The tall, slender woman, with hooded eyes and the kind of nonchalant glare that could knock you over, handed me a piece of plastic which doubled as an electronic key card and debit card to pay for my meals. I tucked it in my back pocket, not focusing on staying, but on escaping. They could keep the doors locked, as long as I wasn’t locked behind them.
My dad’s heavy hands landed on my shoulder as the woman ghosted her way out of the room. She moved like air, and I couldn’t even tell how. Her legs were covered by the length of her all-black, plain dress.
“Okay, kiddo, this is it. You’re gonna be on your own, but the school knows the deal. I’ll call when I can, so keep your phone on you.”
I couldn’t force my eyes up further than our shoes between us—ironically, both were boots—mine rooted in rebellion and his in order. I hated goodbyes with so much passion it crippled my heart.
After saying goodbye to my last boyfriend, I vowed to cage my heart. I shoved the organ in a box, filled it deep below my lungs, and threw away any idea of a key. I had to start protecting myself. This new home didn’t beg any promises of permanent either, not when it was senior year. I had dreams to be in California, not to settle here.
“Dad…” was all my dry voice choked out.
He pulled me into his broad, solid chest, holding me to him tightly, as my eyes welled up, and I held my breath. He finally pulled away after what seemed like longer than a typical hug, and he couldn’t resist ruffling up my hair, like I was still his little broken girl, who lost her mom too young and couldn’t manage to find stability.
“No boys, seriously. Aunt Dee really let that slide.”
I pulled the delicate skin with my pointer finger, wiping the tears away and smearing m
akeup that wasn’t waterproof.
“I’m almost eighteen, old man. I can date. You’re the only person who thinks that way.”
He saluted me in the doorway, as he typically did every time he left for some secret mission and location. As he created distance between him and I, I heard him shout loud enough for it to echo. “I mean it: No boys! I’ll hunt them down personally, and you know my aim is aces.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, as I still wiped away stray tears. I thought I’d be used to goodbyes by now. I had plenty of practice, but they never got easier.
The mattress was wrapped in plastic, and it made an obnoxious noise as I sat down, wilted. My beat up Doc Martens were no longer white but stained with every kind of dirt from at least six different states. I was a walking road map, and I grew to like my shoes collecting pieces of where I had been.
I didn’t even bother to unpack this time. I simply laid my suitcases down and threw my duffel on the dresser meant to me mine. I closed the door to the room, barren and all, before I went to investigate my surroundings.
My dad joked that I was surveying the land, mentally marking threats, and doing exactly what he does on a much more precarious scale. He loved finding small things connecting us, since I was my mama’s shadow. It made him feel important, so I never harped on it. Small victories.
Arianna
I had transferred a few months into senior year, which meant everyone had already started classes and most likely fell into their groups already. I would be the odd one out—finding certain classrooms and trying not to eat lunch alone outside, until someone took pity on me.
I roamed around with nowhere to be, since it was the weekend and I knew no one in this god-forsaken town. The campus was large and reeked of old money. The Seattle overcast created a strong sense of looming doom that didn’t help brighten my mood one bit. I looked up at the light gray sky, cursing my existence and questioning the chain of events leading me here, out loud.
“If you keep doing that, people are gonna think you’re crazy. Don’t want you stealing my role here.”
The slender, brooding, raven-haired boy sat up against his elbow, from his spot, laying in the lush grass. His eyes were strikingly green with flecks of dark emerald, even from behind his glasses. I squinted, trying to pinpoint any signs of imperfection, but his skin was filtered smooth and glazed with a brush of bronze. His pile of necklaces weighted his neck like chains, while my eyes scanned his barely buttoned red shirt. Only one button held together the dark red shirt with black palm trees around his body.
“The only ones here who are this quiet are either nerds, or you’re the new girl the school’s been buzzing about.”
His words crashed down around me, breaking the thick layer of fog he induced around functioning. “The latter. New. Always new.”
His gaze fell down to my beat up shoes. A snort shook his body. “At least something about you is new.”
My peculiar set of eyes, a hue of violet rimming the ocean blue, darted down to meet his. “Can’t say your brand of fashion is my favorite either.”
He took inventory of me, looking at my expression, as the sass slipped out of my mouth, for any insecurity. He wasn’t going to find a hint of apprehension. I struggled to find shame in the words I said; that was the problem of my silver tongue.
He stood up, pushing a hand out between our bodies, offering his name. “Austin, resident crazy.”
I looked at his hand, debating if I was going to go down this road again, for the fourteenth time, of having to say goodbye again in a quick nine months, when we all chose separate colleges. An ache as heavy as all my other goodbyes made me painfully aware I locked my heart away before I looked down again.
“Look, I’m only here for nine more months until college. There’s no point of getting to know me.” My hands were up, and I even backed away to drive it home—a clear warning to stay away from me. I was heartache waiting to happen, with the ring of a relocation phone call.
He stepped forward anyways, pushing his hand out even further. I noticed the rings, all big and bulky, like they were heirlooms, not just jewelry. “Nine months is a long time. You want to be miserable? Come on.”
Who shook hands anymore? Who was this guy and why wouldn’t he give up?
I sighed, letting my shoulders bounce before I pushed my hand to meet his. “I’m Arianna. You should feel accomplished.” I stopped talking as soon as his palm touched mine to say “ow” instead when the shock sizzled against my palm.
He looked up at me devilishly. “Well, isn’t that a sign? Besides, I’m supposed to be showing you around campus, and Mr. Alba would lose it if I actually blew you off.”
He waved me along with a graceful hand gesture, and I followed. Of course, I followed. He was a perfect demi-god, and we literally had sparks just fly between us. Even with my heart safely locked away, I couldn’t ignore some kind of divine intervention. I stopped suddenly, logically. “Why were you in the grass?”
He laughed, turning around in his funky button-down, barely held together, and ripped jeans. “I blew you off, but now I’m into it.”
My eyebrows jumped up into an arched position, looking at him in shock. He had the infection of an independent tongue too; all his honesty was a breath of fresh air. I didn’t ask where we were going. The futile journey around campus fed my hunger for an adventure. He pointed out various buildings unenthusiastically. His vibrancy faded quickly, and he was just as gloomy as the sky.
Now, I understood the crazy he dubbed himself. I was on board with his self-diagnosis, and I was positive WebMD would confirm. He didn’t perk up until he pointed out the faculty building—a whole building for the teachers. I really didn’t belong here. In the public school system, teachers were barely paid a decent wage, never mind a building to themselves.
He turned around, walking backwards. “Off limits. Key card won’t work.” His voice was soaked in curiosity and the misguided behavior I found irresistible in men. The willingness to break a rule for a good time wasn’t only something I admired, but a trait I valued in myself—my own version of fearless, much more reckless.
Who would wanna break into the faculty building? Nothing about that seemed fun, even though his childish grin spurred me on, exactly how he intended.
He clutched my arm, dragging me past the building as he announced our journey to the dining hall. Something about the faculty building drew my eyes back for one long, last look, taking in the details of the old structure. The whole campus was out of an old gothic novel, complete with gargoyles at the entrance paired with an iron gate.
Prisoners had come to mind, when we had driven through the gate earlier.
He opened both doors, dramatically letting them open wide for us to walk through. Someone should have been given a bullhorn or a mic to just shout my presence to the whole flooded room. Thankfully, no one was looking in my direction, and if they were, then I was willing to add it up to the vibrant guy next to me—not actually me.
He turned towards me, clasping his hands together in a praying motion, even though this campus gave more of a witch vibe than a come-to-Jesus one.
“So this is the dining hall. Overwhelmed yet?”
I squinted my eyes and smiled sweetly, giving him the perfect pair of salty and sweet in one look. “I’ve been the new kid fourteen times. I’m pro now.”
He snickered, not a full laugh, as he stood in the same place next to the doors that closed behind us. He overlooked the room, scanning it expertly.
“So what’s the deal here? Everyone is stuck up? Rich?”
He waved a finger back and forth into a “no, no” in front of my face. “Here at West End Prep, we are inclusive, offer four scholarships a year, and wear uniforms to create unity.”
I snipped, “I read the brochure, asshole.”
His face immediately melted into a full laugh, slapping his own leg in amusement. “West End is every other cesspool of stereotypes, drama, hookups, and break ups.”
; I scanned the dining hall with the long tables pushed together, drilling in the inclusiveness the school was clearly built on. There was one table sitting horizontally on a pedestal of four steps that looked like an old stage. A group lounging on the steps, like they reigned over the rest of the students, caught all of my attention. I wasn’t doubting the truth in my assessment when my eyes glued themselves to the girl dead center of the group. Austin’s shoulder crashed into my focused body, and I felt my balance immediately absorb the hit, catching myself before I fell over.
“That didn’t take you long. Kate, senior, and she’s queen bitch in these parts.”
I looked at him, trying not to be disgusted, but it wasn’t my first time being met head on with the Miss Popular type. I didn’t have the same flare for dramatics. I held my own when it came to snide remarks, dirty looks, and pretty much pissing those kinds of girls off with just my mere presence.
“Not my first rodeo. Who are the rest? Some kind of cult? Her slaves? Followers?”
His carefree face turned dark, serious even, as his head snapped to me. I stared back at him unsure of what I said that turned our conversation sideways. I wanted to bump into him in the same playful way, but we didn’t have that rapport yet. His serious expression honestly put me on edge—so much on edge that I fell silent, waiting for him to speak. The silence didn’t last long, before he dove in, telling me exactly who each person was on the stairs.
“The one next to Kate is Luna. She’s class president and going to make the perfect mom. Jasper is the one stealing all the attention without trying. Beau and Leo are our resident gay couple—probably the only one this school has ever seen. The twins? Cheyenne and Omari. It’s pretty clear which one you whose bad side you don’t wanna be on. Nix is our man of mystery. I’m surprised we know his name. I can’t keep up with the rumors explaining why he’s so off limits.”