Imdalind Ruby Collection One: Kiss of Fire | Eyes of Ember | Scorched Treachery

by Ethington, Rebecca

  “Thanks, Wyn, it’s just—” I hesitated; I had to tell her something. “It’s just that, that… thing… has kind of ruined my life.”

  “Don’t let it anymore, ’kay?”

  I nodded and her face brightened.

  “So, don’t go. I won’t mention it again, and we still have a stupid movie to watch.”

  “Thanks, Wyn, but I do have to go. I actually do have homework to do.” I tried to sound indifferent, but I wasn’t sure it worked.

  “Oh, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  I just nodded in agreement, shutting the door to her apartment behind me.

  Thirteen

  Joclyn

  I stood outside Wyn’s apartment complex for about ten minutes, trying to decide where to go. I needed to talk to my mom. I didn’t know what I would say to her that wouldn’t end in a fight, but I felt so naked and exposed after Wyn’s innocent discovery of my mark.

  I made sure my hair covered the right side of my face before I turned my longboard in the direction of the bus that would take me into the wealthy district of town. There were still about forty-five minutes until dinner would be served in the LaRue’s dining hall, meaning my mom still had about two hours or more of work. Rather than wait at home, alone, for her to get there, I opted to face the hustle of the big kitchen at dinner time. Spending forty minutes alone on the bus was still better than waiting alone for two or more hours.

  The bus stopped and I quickly boarded. The neon lights were already on, illuminating the plastic seats and metal floor with a strange, blue glow. I made my way to the middle and sat with my hood up, backpack sitting on my lap and my head leaning against the glass. As the blue sky deepened around me, it felt like everything inside loosened up, calming down and becoming brighter.

  Wyn had said I had let the mark ruin my life. At first I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. To me, my life seemed to be pretty okay. I had a great best friend, a mother who really cared, and I did well in school. On the other hand, I also hated school because it meant that I had to be around other kids—that I had to hide.

  I didn’t ‘have to’ do anything, though. I didn’t ‘have to’ cover myself up. I didn’t ‘have to’ pretend to be invisible. Maybe Cynthia only saw something off in me because I made her see me that way.

  I had been hiding myself because of the mark, not letting anyone get too close. I wouldn’t let myself make any friends. The only reason I let Ryland in is because he had been persistent. He had held my hand as I got over my insecurities and had promised, from a young age, to always be there. So, without Ry, I was friendless and alone.

  My mother worked upwards of sixty hours a week, my best friend wasn’t really allowed to be my friend, and I was picked on at school.

  My life did suck, and all because I allowed a stupid mark to destroy me.

  I laid my head against the back of the seat and watched as the city lights of old-fashioned neon and new aged fluorescent blended together in a rainbow blur of colors until the city laid far behind and ever-expanding houses laid before me.

  There had been a reason I let the mark control my life, and as much as I rationalized my behavior and my loneliness, the fact still remained that I was broken, that my dad didn’t want me. Mark or no mark, the outcome would be the same.

  Their last fight still haunted me. I would still revisit it in monthly nightmares; the screaming more intense, more audible, more of the blame placed on me. I would wake up covered in sweat, only to turn over and cry into my pillow in the desperate hope that my mom wouldn’t hear. She never did.

  I exited the bus, grateful for the evening air that swirled around me. My longboard clicked loudly as I traveled the last five minutes of alleys and side streets until I arrived at the door to the kitchen.

  The click-click of the longboard ricocheted around my head as the fight replayed again. It still rattled me, it still hurt, but it wasn’t as bad. And through it all, I realized something. My dad left me; he ran away from me. He ran away because of the mark, and I didn’t want anyone else to run, too. So I hid. I just didn’t want to get hurt anymore. All this time, and I hadn’t realized how broken I was inside.

  I arrived in the kitchen of the LaRue’s just as dinner was being served to the family. As I had expected, the kitchen was in a frenzy of activity as the maids and wait staff rushed around with trays of food and decanters of who knows what. My mom was busy rushing around and yelling different instructions to different staff members.

  I dodged and weaved my way through the activity to find my usual barstool. It always surprised me that so many people were needed to serve only Ryland and his father. After a few minutes, the staff disappeared, leaving my mother and Mette to clean and prepare for the dessert course.

  “How was your new friend’s house?” Mom asked, setting a large bowl of leftover soup in front of me. She looked at me eagerly, excited I had taken her advice so seriously.

  “Wyn,” I provided. “It was fun. She likes Styx,” I added, causing Mom’s smile to widen.

  “A girl after my own heart,” she said.

  “Yeah, I really like her.”

  Mom smiled and moved away from me, back to her cleaning. “And the movie?” she asked, spooning a strawberry puree into a crystal dish.

  “We didn’t get around to the movie; we mostly just talked.”

  “Girl talk? You?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I know.”

  Mom wiped her soapy hands on her apron and came over, stealing a spoonful of chicken dumpling soup. “Mmmm, I do make a good soup.” She licked her lips in enjoyment.

  “The best,” I agreed.

  The platters began returning, most picked clean either by the family or by the staff on the way back to the kitchen. The trays and dishes clanged as they threw them, one after another, into the sink. My mom rushed back into action, directing the huge number of tasks with ease.

  I remembered when she had first started. She had come home in tears after she had forgotten to prepare an appetizer course, and the roast beef had been served lukewarm. The next morning, we had arrived in the kitchen to a very uncomfortable Edmund who explained what had gone wrong, while also offering his compliments on her pear gelato. He had left after that, leaving behind a small, freckled boy with blazing, blue eyes and an absolute mop of dark, curly hair.

  I had been hiding behind my mother’s legs, and when I saw him staring at me, I buried my face into the back of my mom’s thighs. He had come up to me, tugging on my arm in an attempt to get me to play with him.

  “What’s her name?” he asked my mom in his innocent voice.

  “Joclyn.”

  “Hey, Joclyn.” He tugged again. “Do you want to come play with me? I made a castle in my room; do you want to come see?”

  I had turned my head to look at him. He smiled at me, and I felt more comfortable. I took his hand, my mom still prodding me along to go with him.

  “You have very pretty eyes. They look like diamonds.”

  He was always charming, right from the start.

  I smiled at the memory, the way I had when he had first said the words to me. Somehow, even all these years later, it still made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I had been so uncomfortable about my newly changed eye color, and he had taken all that fear away.

  “You ready?”

  I looked up. My mom was standing by the door of the now empty kitchen, hand perched on the light switch.

  “Come on, honey; it’s time to go home.”

  I stood slowly, my body stiff from sitting in my daydream for so long.

  “Glad you’re still with me,” Mom said. “I thought I lost you for a little bit.”

  “Sorry. I was just thinking, I guess.”

  “Something good and not involving rippling muscles, I hope.”

  I ignored her obvious jab at Ryland before sliding into the old station wagon.

  “No, Mom,” I grumbled and closed the door behind me, shutting us into the small space. “Wyn saw
my scar.” Better get it over with right away; it was what I traveled out of my way to talk to her about, after all.

  The mood in the car changed immediately; stressful energy dripping into the air. I wasn’t sure who was more stressed about my statement, me or my mom.

  “Mmmmhmmmm.” My mom’s noncommittal grunt prompted me to continue.

  “And I think I know why I’m so scared to let people see it.”

  She didn’t respond; she just drove, waiting for me to get all my thoughts out. She was always so good at that, just sitting and listening without interjecting.

  “I’m afraid that people will think I am broken and leave me, just like Dad did.” It felt good to say it aloud, to let my deep rooted fear free for the first time. Somewhere between leaving Wyn’s and entering the bright lights of the city, I had started to let that shy little monster of fear out from where he had been dwelling, hidden inside me for the past twelve years.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I never… I didn’t realize that everything had affected you so much.”

  “Neither did I. I figured it out on the way over,” I sighed. “The way Wyn talked about it, how she asked me not to let it ruin my life anymore… I don’t think I realized that I was doing that until that moment.”

  We sat silently, street lights flashing in the dark, the sound of the over worked engine buzzing in my ears.

  “Not everyone left you because of the mark, you know,” my mom said, her hand patting my knee in a comforting way.

  “Just Dad.”

  “Yes, just Dad. He left because he couldn’t handle it.”

  “And because he was paranoid.” I knew I was being a little too honest; I just hoped Mom didn’t read too much into it.

  “Maybe a little of that, too.” She smiled, but it was a sad smile, as if she knew the truth, but didn’t want to admit it.

  “But not everyone left, Joclyn. I didn’t leave; Grandma and Grandpa Despain didn’t leave and Grandma Hillary didn’t leave. Ryland didn’t leave.”

  “That’s not fair, Mom. Ryland doesn’t even know about the mark.”

  “True, but if you were broken, he wouldn’t have stuck around so long.”

  “I guess that’s right.” I knew it was; from the beginning it was. Even when he had found me crying in the bushes behind the kitchen when I was eight, he just smiled, handed me a rose and dragged me back to his room to play video games.

  “So tell me…” Mom’s voice cut through my memory. “Did Wyn run away?”

  “No.”

  “Did she scream in fright?”

  “No.”

  “What did she do then?” I had seen the trap from the beginning and had to smile at my mom’s obvious attempt to make a point.

  “She thought it was cool, and told me I shouldn’t let it ruin my life anymore.”

  “I like this Wyn more and more. Maybe she will help me to get you out of those hoodies.”

  “Don’t start, Mom,” I pleaded.

  “Well, I’ve got to try. We do have that shopping date on Saturday. You would look so nice in that brand new, red shirt.”

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” An idea had come to me out of nowhere, although I knew it might not work, it was worth a try.

  “Now, I am worried.”

  “I won’t wear a hoodie all day on Saturday if you let me hang out with Ry that night and watch a movie.”

  “Joclyn, we talked about this.” She was stern.

  Stupid Ryland, having to take off his shirt! I don’t think my mom would have ever started to take this stance if he had kept his shirt on. Oh, and if he hadn’t tried to kiss me in the kitchen… I stifled a sigh at the memory before rebutting.

  “I know we did, but I can’t just walk away from him, Mom. He’s my best friend, and he’s leaving for Oxford in a few months and then he won’t be my friend anymore, anyway. He will have other friends, and girlfriends, and a fiancée, and run a huge company. He won’t just be Ry anymore. He will be Ryland LaRue, heir to a fortune.” I spoke very fast. Even though it hurt to say it, I knew it was true. No matter how many fantasies had entered my mind, none of them could ever happen.

  “He already is that.”

  “I know,” I whispered. It took me a moment to find my voice again. My heart thudded around my chest in a desperate plea not to make this compromise with my mom. “Mom, can I just have him as a friend for a little while longer? Then I will leave him alone forever. I’ll have no other choice.”

  “It’s not just that, Joclyn.” She sighed again, frustrated.

  “Then, what is it?” I held my own though, my eyes digging into hers.

  “Okay,” she conceded, “you know how Timothy is always warning me to keep you two apart?”

  “Yeah.” I was hesitant; I didn’t like where this was going.

  “Well, it used to be a half-hearted warning. Now, it feels almost… dangerous.” She looked away from me, the subject making her uncomfortable.

  “Dangerous? Like ‘Keep her away from him or else’?”

  “It’s more than that. Timothy made mention of your safety and how dangerous ovens are. I don’t know. It just made me uncomfortable.”

  Edmund had said something similar in the hall a few days ago. Threatening my life was such an odd thing for him to say that I had dismissed it, but hearing it again from my mom was weird. Forget corporate drama, this bordered on super villain.

  “Anyway, I’ve started looking for a new job.”

  “What?” Panic, sheer panic, gripped me. I felt my chest get tight and uncomfortable. Not only was change not good for me, she was ripping my best friend away from me. “Mom! You can’t.”

  “I have to, Joclyn. I have to keep you safe. You are my number one priority.”

  “Then, you have to let me go on Saturday, if you are going to take him away from me anyway,” I pleaded with her, trying to ignore the earth-shattering pain that centralized in my chest.

  “I don’t know, Joclyn. A movie?”

  “We’ve watched plenty of movies before.” I was begging; I had to go now.

  “Yeah, but alone, in his room.”

  “Done that, too.” We had even watched a movie with the lights off, but it still wasn’t as much of a scandal as my mom made it out to be.

  “Yeah, but never with overactive, crazed, teenage hormones trying to stick you two together like magnets.”

  I paused. She had a point.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. Nothing will happen. I can’t let it. I just want to enjoy the last little bit of time I have left with my friend.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay, but just remember, if I can’t go to the movie, I am wearing the biggest hoodie I own. If you let me go, I will leave the hoodie at home, and I might even wear the skirt. Well, not the skirt; I’d look like a moron.”

  Fourteen

  Joclyn

  I tiptoed through the house on Wednesday morning, trying not to wake my mom. Wednesdays were the only day in the week my mom got to sleep in, having to go in for dinner service and the late night weekly board meeting that night. Of course, letting her sleep in meant that I had to leave for school about twenty minutes before usual. That, coupled with the fact that I had slept in, meant that I was running far later than I was comfortable with. The problem with living in such a small apartment was that trying to be quiet was impossible when you were in a hurry.

  I brushed my teeth in a rush, attempting to run a comb through my hair at the same time. The dark circles under my eyes had taken on a whole new shade of ugly, so I rubbed some of my seldom used concealer on them, vowing to eat a piece of fruit for breakfast. I brushed my hair, letting the sleek black strands hang low down my back.

  I rushed out of the bathroom and into my small bedroom, throwing on one of my two, unripped, pairs of jeans and a fluorescent green tank top. Everything fit my small frame snuggly, something that would be hidden when I put on my hoodie. Of course, if my mom agreed to my compromise, I would have to spend all day Saturda
y like this. Not that that would be a bad thing, my arms and face could do with a little sun. I sighed, trying to figure out if I was ready to throw the hoodie aside, even for a day.

  Although I could feel myself changing, I didn’t think I was ready to change that much.

  I grabbed a dark green hoodie as I walked out the door, locking it behind me. After my father had left, my mother had moved us as close to her new job as she could, which landed us in a tiny, overpriced apartment in a very upper middle class neighborhood.

  Most of our neighbors made six figures and tended to look down on those that lived in the complexes. Some of them were nice and tolerable, but every once in a while, you ran into someone who thought that we shouldn’t be allowed to socialize with them.

  It was amazing how much I dealt with financial stereotypes every day. My mom was a personal chef to a gazillionaire and I went to school with kids who got new Lexus’s for their birthday.

  I hopped on the school bus that stopped right outside my apartment complex with a few other kids and made my way to the middle, finding a bench to take up all on my own. We arrived at school about five minutes to the first bell, pulling up to the bus stop in front of the large, red brick building.

  The school grounds were bathed in patches of sun from the rays that broke through the white, puffy clouds lining the sky. An unnaturally warm breeze wrapped itself around me as I stepped off the bus, the wind pulled my hair in odd directions. I pulled my hood up, the steady gusts causing me to hold it in place.

  The large expanse of grass in front of the school filled up with last-minute stragglers as the morning bell prepared to ring. I walked toward the main entrance, wanting to get out of the wind as fast as possible. I had gotten about halfway when a tall figure distracted me, causing my feet to stop in shock.

  The same, tall, blonde man stood just off to the side of the front entrance to the school. He leaned against the building with his arms folded across his chest. He wore a tight fitting, light blue, button-up shirt and another pair of strategically ripped designer jeans. Even with the wind whipping against his clothes, he stayed still. His head was bowed and I could just make out closed eyes amid the masses of his blonde hair blowing in the breeze. I knew he wasn’t looking at me, but I couldn’t shake that tormented feeling. Like I was being watched, or as I had put it earlier, stalked.