by Lee Jacquot
William…
Fuck.
If I don’t think about it, I’ll be fine. I just need to get the fuck ou—
“Hmmm.” I hear her purr behind me.
You got to be fucking kidding me.
I sigh, turning to see her propped against the counter, her little minion of a friend standing next to her.
“Oh, Spencer.” She projects her voice and people within earshot turn to look. She glances down at her red heels, titlting one to the side for a little show. “My shoes seem to be pretty clean. What are you doing here, pup?”
A round of snickers echo through the kitchen. I roll my eyes and twist to leave, scared the lingering rage boiling under my skin will show. “You’re right. I’ll see myself out.”
She knows I’m being curt, and even though she’s done enough to last the rest of my life, it’s clearly not enough. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re jealous of me and your little friend, Spencer.”
I grit my teeth, turning just enough to look at her. “The only thing I’m jealous of is all the people who haven’t met you.”
Lily grins, biting the corner of her lip as if to keep from laughing.
“Maybe if I throw a stick, he’ll leave faster,” Amora chirps, arching an eyebrow.
I ignore her friend completely. “Do you ever get tired of being such a bitch, Lily?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Call me what you want, but you can’t say I’m forgettable.”
Her words curl around my spine, snapping the last piece of me that gave a fuck, sending splinters through my heart. The liquor now rolling through my veins only intensifies the pain as it burrows into the muscle. Each beat pulling the splinter further inside until I’m sure I’ll never get it out.
“I fucking hate you.” My voice doesn’t even sound like mine. It’s raspy, deep...broken.
“Do I look like I give one fuck, Spencer?” she snaps.
Amora giggles, twirling a strand around her finger. “Nope, not one.”
Lily leans against the island, a hand clenched around her necklace. “Exactly. Therefore your comment is irrelevant. Now, unless you’re here to clean someone else’s shoe, you can go. Leave the hot guy though.”
My mouth pops open, but a light tug on my elbow draws my attention. When I look down, I find Remy’s glossy eyes. Her brows are furrowed, and her face is pinched as if she’s in pain. “Let’s go.”
Suddenly there is no one else, the background fades into a blur of muted colors and voiceless music. All that’s left is Remy.
She doesn’t say anything else, leading me out the door and into the cold. I follow behind her obediently, not even realizing when we’re walking through my front door and up to my room. It’s as if she’s switched on my autopilot somehow, and I’m merely going through the motions.
The bed sinks under her weight when she sits, waiting in silence as I turn on the bedside lamp, snapping back to reality.
The curtains are the first thing I notice. They’re open, and the glow from Lily’s room feels like a light to a bug. Before I close them, a shadow passes in front. No, two shadows.
Everything I held in finally crashes over the edge, pouring down my body, leaving it trembling. She kissed him on purpose. She knew he wouldn’t fucking know who she was and she knew it would piss me off.
Fuck her.
My eyes squeeze closed against the burn.
I want to forget her.
Just for one fucking second.
I want to remember what it was like to not be so consumed by her.
To be able to breathe.
“Spence?”
The name pierces through my ears. But it’s not Remy I hear. It’s Liliana. The light, carefree Liliana. My heart thumps against my ribs violently, an ache radiating across the bone.
“Spencer?”
A hand touches my shoulder, forcing my eyes open.
Those eyes. They’re so similar.
I move before I think, grabbing the sides of Remy’s face and pressing my lips to hers. They’re like soft pillows and taste like cotton candy. Everything about her is sweet, innocent. Even her hands lightly wrapped around my wrist are timid but welcoming. I deepen our kiss, groaning when I feel her hands squeeze me tighter.
My mouth moves of its own accord, kissing along her jaw, down her neck. Remy whimpers, her hands finding my chest, and pushing slightly. “Spencer…”
“Remy, please. Just…” I choke out. “I need to forget her. I have to. I can’t…I can’t…”
She grabs my face, pulling me to look at her. There’s a shimmer on her cheeks and it only takes a second for me to realize it’s from my face. I was crying. I am crying.
How fucking pathetic.
“It’s okay, Spencer.” Her small thumb runs along my temples. Her pupils are dilated, flicking back and forth as she tries to find the words.
I shake my head, “It’s not.”
She folds her arms around me, pulling my head to her shoulder. “Maybe not right now, but it will be.”
TWENTY ONE
Nothing could have prepared me for school Monday. Despite the bundle of nerves I’ve been since the party, everything has been relatively quiet. But as soon as I walk through the doors, I feel the energy in the air. It’s electric, clinging to my body like a second skin made of pure static. After striding another five feet, I hear the whispers streaming through the hall. They’re all of the Spencer variety.
When the fuck did he get so hot?
Shoes? Girl, I need him to lick my entire body.
After the pleasure of not seeing my mother the entire weekend, I thought it was a sign of a good week to come.
Instead, it was an omen—the calm before the storm.
That storm is currently dressed in dark, torn jeans, a tight-fitting black shirt, and a pair of Steve Madden combat boots. Spencer’s dark hair is pushed back, but stray brown locks sway on his smooth forehead.
There are no glasses on his face, leaving his caramel eyes fully exposed under the bright fluorescent lighting. He and Remy are leaning against the lockers, both of their heads buried in a physics book. His right dimple sinks in when she points to a page.
Something’s different about them. Their body language is off, perhaps less intimate than before. His shoulders are square, angled away from her, and he’s making sure to keep a couple of feet between them.
A sick sort of satisfaction slides down my spine as I watch them, but Amora pops my happy bubble with her whines. “Girl, I can’t with this damn algebra review packet. It’s Monday, and he really wants to start our week like this? He was fucking passing them out to us in the hall! Teachers shouldn’t be allowed to teach when they aren’t getting any at home.”
I grant her a half laugh, half huff, and nod to Spencer. “Have you seen this?”
She flips gold locks over her shoulder, letting her baby blues flash to him. “Yeah, that’s all anyone is talking about. It’s pretty fucking annoying. It’s like Clark Kent took off his glasses, and everyone’s losing their goddamn mind when just last week they were leaving dog food in his locker.”
My sentiments exactly.
The high of his appearance will likely dwindle as the day goes on, so I decide not to think about it too much for now. Still doesn’t stop my eyes from sliding to him a few times.
“See you at lunch.” I give Amora a small wave and strut to math, making sure my path diverts right in front of him. I let my hips rock a little harder, and my hair sways near his arm when I pass. Even though I don’t look, I can feel the heat of his stare on my back. It warms my core, and the brief sense of gratification boosts my mood to get me through the morning.
At least... I thought it would.
I heard Lindsey is gonna make a move. Ask him on a date.
Why were people such assholes to him? He’s a total cinnamon roll.
Girl, Lauren is going with him to the movies this weekend.
No, I heard he’s going with Tonya to a new restaurant downtown.
By lunch, I’m not sure how much more my bleached roots can take. I can’t breathe without hearing people pine over him, and the comments are getting dirtier by the second.
“He hasn’t been in the lunchroom all week.” Amora flops down across from me, pointing a Barbie pink nail across the table.
I don’t bother looking up and continue twirling my pasta around my fork. It still pisses me off that he was the laughingstock this weekend, and now he’s on everyone’s to-be-fucked list just because he’s wearing something decent. Meanwhile, I had to change everything about myself to be noticed.
The thumping between my temples accelerates, forcing me to try and rub the pain away. “Yeah, I know.”
Amora sucks her teeth, leaning on her elbows. “What’s up?”
I shake my head, averting my gaze. Amora may be a little bit of a lackey, and only speaks sarcasm, but she’s proved to be a good friend. She’s had to talk me off a ledge on too many occasions, yet when it comes to Spencer, I can’t find it in me to tell her. As always, the words die in my throat, and I lean back, letting my fork clatter on the tray.
Amora leans in, lowering her voice where I have to strain to hear her. “Is it about her?”
She means my mother. After she found out everything in the hall, she started checking in on me a lot. I’ve had to stop her from waiting after school to prevent any possible ‘run-ins.’ But really, I’m happy she knows.
“I know you’re eighteen, but we can still call CPS, can’t we?”
Child Protective Services. There was only one time I thought about calling them. It was the first time my mom hit me hard enough to consider it—about three weeks after Dad left and two hours after her first drink. When I told her I was going to tell someone, she told me they would take me away from her and the boy in the backyard.
When she said that, my world stopped spinning. I would have done anything not to be separated from Spencer, and so I did. Endured years of the on again off again abuse only to find out the boy I did it for didn’t even like me. Not to mention if I called CPS, I risk having the police involved. The last thing I need is to draw attention to the school’s custodian getting arrested.
Shaking my head again, I inspect my nude tips.
“Girl, give me something. I can’t just sit here and watch you shrivel up like this. It’s pathetic.” She waves a hand when she sees the anger flash across my face. “Which is something you’re not. Now, put your fucking crown on and talk to me. What do I need to do?”
My eyebrows stay furrowed, but I clamp my mouth shut. Nothing I do works, so what’s the point? This won’t matter in a few months, anyway—regionals in March, Prom in April, Graduation first week of May.
Then I’m out of here.
Spencer will be just a bad memory, along with the rest of this screwed-up city.
I shift in my seat at the ache blooming in my chest. It doesn’t matter that no one will miss me. That he won’t miss me.
“Look at those freaking sluts.” Amora’s voice snaps me away from my wayward thoughts. “Flocking to him like vultures to roadkill. If only they knew what a freak he is.”
“A freak?” Against my better judgment, I steal a glance at him. My heart stutters when our eyes meet, forcing a gasp from my mouth. One side of his lips draws up before he looks back at Stacy, whose leaning over his table, tits pressed to her chin.
“You did have him handcuffed to your fucking bed, Lil.”
My core clenches involuntarily as the unwelcome image of a naked Spencer flits through my mind. Hooded eyes, sweaty brow, throbbing erection. A heaviness settles between my thighs, and I let my gaze flash to him one more time.
More cheerleaders have found their way to his table, fake laughter bouncing off the walls like we’re in an amphitheater, and they’re competing for his attention. Trepidation wiggles through my nerve endings, and the bitter taste of metallic hits my mouth when I realize I’ve bitten through my cheek.
Why do I care?
It doesn’t matter why. I just do. And that notion alone is enough to formulate the idea. “I’m going to print the screenshot from the video.”
Amora lifts a thin brow. “I mean, I can see the appeal, but his dick is big as fuck. Won’t that just make the situation...less ideal?”
I appreciate her not pointing out the obvious. “Nothing a little Photoshop can’t fix.”
She shrugs and stabs her salad. “Send it to me, and I’ll take care of it.”
This afternoon’s practice is probably the longest I’ve had in my life. Every muscle in my back is tense, straining against each move, threatening to tear at any second. Nothing I’ve done today has been able to get my mind off my plan for Spencer.
I’ve made my point—multiple times, and yet, I can’t seem to satiate my desire for petty revenge.
It almost seems like more trouble than it’s worth now. I’ll let this be the last thing. After that, we’ll be wrapping up the project, and I can finish the senior year strong. I need to refocus on the real prize. Kentucky.
Leaving the girls to run a few laps, I head into the locker room and gather my stuff for a shower. Right as my fingertips press the locker shut, my phone vibrates violently against the metal. I bite the inside of my lip, annoyance prickling behind my eyes, but I decide to see who it is.
Unknown.
It’s been quite some time since the last call, and a prodding voice in the back of my head tells me to answer it.
“Hello?”
A shrill scream nearly blows my phone’s speakers. “Sobrina. Ay, dios mio. I have been trying to get a hold of you for weeks! My damn phone had some damage, and anytime I tried to call you, it went to voicemail.”
This voice. It’s older, more panicked, but familiar. I haven’t heard it in nearly ten years. Holy shit. “Aunt Mina?”
“Si! Who else would it be! Querida, please, tell me where you are. I have been looking for you.”
Confusion and anger slither up my spine, working its way into my already tense neck. I haven’t heard from my mom’s sister in a long time, not since right after my mother’s affair.
Before that, though, she was the best thing in my world, always checking in on me and FaceTiming every week. She lived halfway across the country, but she always made time to chat—about school, my parents, the boy in my backyard, everything. She was more of a mother to me than my biological one.
But when my life started falling apart, and I needed her the most, she followed up with my family’s signature disappearing act. I figured she was just another person who forgot I existed.
Somehow I find my voice. “What do you mean you’ve been looking for me?”
“Pequena, I have been looking for you for thirteen years! Oh, we have so much to talk about. I will explain everything when I get there.”
Thirteen years?
My parents and I moved to Washington when I was five, right after my grandmother died. I didn’t know her since Mom never took me to see her, but I remember how worked up she was. It was the first time I saw my parents fight, and not two weeks later, we were on a flight to Emerald Falls.
Did my mother not tell Mina where we went?
Thankfully the lockers are near to hold me up as my knees nearly collapse. I scrub a hand down my face, my mind reeling, trying to put the pieces of an incomplete puzzle together.
“I’m in Emerald Falls. W-Washington.” My voice cracks, and she sniffles in the receiver.
“I’m coming, Sobrina. Ay, dios mio, baby. I am on my fucking way. Text me your address.” Muffles in the background indicate her rush. My mouth opens to respond, but the slam of a door and jiggling of keys gives me pause.
She’s really coming?
“I love you, Liliana. See you soon.”
The phone clicks and my screen dims. A sudden stream of tears breaks free and tumbles down my cheeks. Hearing her voice… those words break open a chasm in my chest, letting eve
rything buried underneath bubble to the surface.
There’s one emotion, in particular, I shouldn’t be feeling, but it takes over all the rest. It blooms in my mind like a sunflower in a garden. Despite what may be around it, it’s the only thing you notice.
Hope.
It’s digging in deep, spreading its roots to the tips of my toes. I hope she comes. I hope she—
Muffled chatter echoes through the outside of the locker room, signaling the girls are coming. Using my discarded sweater, I wipe my face just as they walk inside. I slip into the shower hall before they notice and enter the last stall, sliding to the floor. My shoulders shake as silent sobs wrack through my body, coming from the depths of my shredded heart.
I grab the small charm on my neck and pull it back and forth, breathing through the swell of emotions.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m not alone, and I’m not completely forgotten.
TWENTY TWO
A small bell rings from my pocket, filling the tiny room with its soft tone. While I used to cringe at the sound, I haven’t had to lately. Just last week, I was the laughingstock, the dirt beneath everyone’s shoes. The stand-in joke when someone needed a good laugh.
Now?
Now I have three dates in one day, four on the next, and I plan to go on every single one.
Back in Idaho, when William pushed me on the dating train, it was a nuisance at first. Meaningless dates with knock-off Liliana’s to fill the void she left. But after a while, I started appreciating them. They gave me the release I needed after studying day in and day out. They let me forget for a few hours that my mother was in the next room, literally forgetting me.
It forced me to stop thinking about the one person I couldn’t have and the fifty others I could.
Maybe these new dates can provide some of the same therapy they did then. At least I can hope.
The metal doorknob rattles before Lily appears. Despite the weather, she’s wearing a long sleeve off the shoulders sweater and a heathered pencil skirt. Soft blonde curls tumble around her, and my eyes find themselves attached to the silver necklace lying on her collarbone. The little charm is hidden beneath her top, but I vaguely try to make out the shape.