by Jacie Lennon
His words send a chill through the air that settles over me. One that not even my large, bulky sweater can ward off.
“Yes, sir.” I nod, meeting his eyes.
“That’s better. Now, eat your breakfast. Your mother wants to plan for the wedding before you return to school.”
I stick a small piece of the croissant in my mouth, chew without tasting, and swallow. It gets stuck in my dry throat, so I pick up my water and chug it.
“Will my bodyguard be going to school with me?”
“You will have a bodyguard there, but it won’t be the same one.”
“I have two bodyguards? How will you make one blend into the school?”
“Yes. And that’s not the intention. I want people to know they can’t mess with you.”
“No one has messed with me before.”
Dad glances up from cutting his eggs. “Do not question my decisions.”
I remain silent through the rest of my breakfast, barely tasting what I manage to eat and avoiding eye contact and discussion with my parents.
My entire world has once again been flipped upside down, and I press up on the balls of my feet and then my tiptoes, focusing on the familiar feeling.
Once breakfast is over, I tell my mom I’m going to take a shower, but I don’t. I head to our indoor studio, slip into my pointe shoes, and find the saddest music I can. I spend an hour gliding and twirling and spinning across the floor, losing myself to the music, all while my new bodyguard stands outside the door, reminding me I’m not free.
21
Bodhi
I stare into the mirror, noting the bags under my eyes from hardly sleeping since Saturday. It’s now Monday morning. Class is in twenty minutes, and I’m stuck in my dorm, not getting ready, but studying the blood-clotted line marring part of my throat and the damage to my hand.
If not for these two reminders, I could imagine that Saturday never happened. That I didn’t have my heart ripped out and stomped on. That I didn’t leave the Northcutts’ and attend another party. That I didn’t lose myself in alcohol and other things I can’t remember. But here I am, facing reality again when I’d prefer to sleep.
So, I decide that’s what I’m going to do.
I walk back into my room from the bathroom and unbutton the three buttons I had done up on my uniform shirt with one hand; it’s not easy. I throw it haphazardly across my desk and glance down to make sure I didn’t put pants on in my haze. I didn’t.
I fall onto my bed, gripping the pillow and pulling the comforter on top of me as I close my eyes. Immediately, I open them again when flashes from her birthday party cross the darkness of the inside of my eyelids. I can’t escape it.
“Fuck it,” I say to myself, stumbling out of bed again and crossing to the closet. I rustle around in the back for a moment before my hand connects with something hard. “Ahhh.” I smile, holding up my pilfered bottle of Dad’s good scotch. I always bring one back to school with me. It’s weird that he never asks where they go.
I don’t bother with a cup, but I open it and pour it directly into my mouth. I love the oak and vanilla taste and the delicious burn as it slides down my throat. The tingles it sends through my body as it settles in my stomach. I take two more long swallows for good measure.
I’ve barely eaten, so the buzz starts up almost immediately. There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me to stop, to get my shit together, to quit self-sabotaging. But I can’t. So, I go on swallowing some more.
Before I know it, a third of the bottle is gone, and my stomach is protesting. I stagger back to bed and fall across it, the sweet silence of sleep claiming me almost immediately. I barely register the sound of glass hitting the ground for the second time in a matter of days.
“Fuck.”
The single word wakes me, and I blink my eyes open. Brock and Corbin are standing above me, arms crossed and frowns on their faces. They look like disapproving parents, and for some reason, the thought strikes me as funny.
I think I chuckle, but I can’t be sure. My throat is so dry that I’m not even sure sound came out.
“This room smells like a bar. You broke the glass, and scotch is everywhere.” Brock is glaring at me.
I sniff the air, but it smells good to me. I roll slightly, my head protesting as I glance down, looking at the puddle of liquor, the edges starting to dry into a sticky mess. But I can’t bring myself to care. I roll back and shrug.
“Have the janitor come clean it,” I say, staring up at the ceiling. “What time is it?”
“Three fifteen. You didn’t come to school,” Corbin states the obvious.
“No. I was busy,” I say. Busy avoiding life and Trixie.
“Getting drunk,” Brock says, and I can hear the anger growing in his tone. He’s always trying to look out for me, even when I don’t need it. Like I don’t need it now.
“I wanted to sleep. Figured it was the easiest way to dull my thoughts.”
They don’t speak for a while, and I think if I looked at them, I would see them exchanging wordless glances. They don’t know what to do with me. Hell, I don’t know what to do with me.
“What the fuck happened to your neck?” Corbin asks.
Brock steps closer. I hear the smack as his foot lands in the scotch puddle.
“Dude, Bodhi, it’s cut.”
I reach up and touch it again as if I didn’t know.
“Seth wanted to have a little chat,” I say tonelessly. Almost as if I were a bored actor, not interested in the role I’d been given.
“Seth did this? With what, a knife?” Brock asks.
“Yes, he thought it would get his … point … across,” I say, pausing for dramatic effect, a smile stretching my cracked lips.
“Not funny,” Corbin says. He still has his arms crossed.
He looks like a stern teacher, reprimanding me. I chuckle again.
“What?”
“You, standing there like that,” I say, pointing at him.
“What’s wrong with how I’m standing?”
“I feel like you are about to spank me. Am I a bad little boy, Corb? Do I deserve a spanking?” I wiggle my eyebrows, and his eyes narrow at me. “I know; I know. Not funny.” I wave him off, but Brock is still standing over me, trying to look at my neck. “I’m fucking fine. Get out of my space,” I snap and sit up, causing him to take a step back.
“Don’t be a dick, Bodhi. We know you are hurting—”
“You don’t know anything about how I feel. Or what I feel.” I’m being childish, I know, but I want this time to wallow. I deserve it. “Leave me alone.” I smack my pillow and then push it together, plumping it up.
“Nope. You didn’t leave me the fuck alone when I was wallowing.” Brock steps closer again.
“And you two bastards sure as hell didn’t leave me alone,” Corbin points out.
“I didn’t know how fucking annoying I was being. You have my sincerest apologies.” My words are muffled by the pillow I’m now lying facedown in.
I feel two hands at my shoulders, pulling me up, but I don’t support myself, and they quickly release the dead weight I am. I smash back into the bed, face-first. It feels wonderful. I’d like to run my face into a concrete wall. That might wake me up.
“Come on. We’ve got to discuss this nice, new neck ornament of yours and what to do about it. We are going to the attic,” Brocks says.
I turn my head, peeking one eye open. “Sounds serious.”
“It fucking is. Someone held a knife to your throat, Bodhi.”
“Not someone. Seth,” I mumble.
“Exactly. Seth Hastings doesn’t get to do that and get away with it.”
“Yes, he does,” I mumble again. My heart starts to race when I remember the threat he made. I can’t interfere, or he will hurt Trixie. Sadistic son of a bitch.
“No, he doesn’t,” Brock says, pulling me up again.
I swat at his hands. “Get off of me. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m no
t going anywhere unless it’s to the store for more liquor,” I say and then cut myself off, realizing I was yelling. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” I reach up, rubbing one eye and shifting to my side.
“Want to go to Slice ’n’ Dice?” Brock uses a tone I’m not sure I’ve heard from him before. It’s nice and cajoling, and I feel like a child he’s trying to bribe.
Pizza does sound delicious. My stomach grumbles in agreement as I think about the cheesy goodness.
I growl.
Corbin uncrosses his arms.
Brock shifts his feet.
“Fine.” I give a curt nod. I stumble to my feet, slipping slightly in the puddle of liquor I created. I steady myself and look at the guys.
“You are a mess.”
“Thank you,” I reply dryly and brush past them, stumbling a little as I head to our bathroom. I’m stripping out of my briefs as I walk.
“Shit, man, no one wants to see that,” Corbin says, so I wiggle my ass a little more for added effect.
I’m a damn conundrum right now. Part playful and part the world is ending mentality.
Something hits one of my ass cheeks, and I yelp, running into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me.
We are seated in our usual corner booth, three steaming pizzas in front of us. My mouth is salivating. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten that my body is starting to get pissed at me.
I grab a slice of pepperoni pizza—my favorite—and plop it on the plate in front of me. Picking off a pepperoni, I pop it into my mouth while waiting for the rest of it to cool.
“Okay, you’ve had food. Now, spill,” Brock says, grabbing his own bite.
“I’ve had one single pepperoni,” I point out.
He cocks an eyebrow. “It’s food.”
“There’s nothing to tell you,” I say with a shrug. I can’t have them going after Seth. I refuse to be the reason Seth hurts Trixie. I have to stay away from both of them.
“Then, why did he feel the need to press a knife to your throat?” Corbin asks.
“He has a small dick,” I say, picking up my food and taking a bite.
It’s fucking amazing.
I take two more bites, stuffing my mouth, and then I think maybe if I continue to do this, I won’t be able to talk. I glance around to Brock and Corbin, who both look disgusted at my caveman way of eating right now.
“You know how some killers stab their victims as a sexual thing because they can’t get it up or some shit? That’s probably what he was doing.” I try to play off my emotions with humor, but no one is laughing.
“Tell us the truth.” Brock is calmly eating, looking completely unaffected by the wild fear and excitement thrumming through my veins. “Look where keeping secrets got me. You’re better off, being straight with us.” He’s referring to when he kept the somewhat tiny—just kidding—huge fucking secret that he was being hunted by the Loredo Lions MC.
“Ugh. Fine,” I groan, sounding like a petulant child. “He wants me to stay away from Trixie.”
“That’s it?” Brock crosses his arms over his chest.
“That’s the gist of it. Just threatening me. Jeez, don’t you two have girlfriends to harass instead of me?”
“We are fucking worried about you. What exactly did he threaten you with?” Corbin asks, reaching for another slice.
“Harm. But it doesn’t matter. It won’t be a fucking hardship to stay away from Trixie Northcutt.” There’s not as much conviction behind my words as I would like. I watch Corbin and Brock glance at each other, and fury shoots through me. I’m a myriad of emotions right now. “Quit doing that. I’m not some puzzle to figure out.”
“You went through some shit. We are trying to be here for you and see if we can help in any way,” Corbin says, and I know he means it. “But don’t sit here and lie to us, telling us you are over her. We know how long you’ve held on to the possibility of a relationship. We know all your drinking and partying and girls was a cry for help, but we let you do it, hoping you’d get over her. But fuck, man, she’s engaged. You have to let her go.”
“I am. I have. Done. Done-zo.” Images of me between her thighs flash through my mind. I take a gulp of my water. “Can we drop this?”
“No. I think you are spiraling. You didn’t attend classes today. Instead, you got drunk and passed out in your room.” Brock points his pizza at me.
“I needed to recover from the weekend.”
“When you were drunk and doing God knows what else,” he retorts.
The weekend is a blur. I don’t remember much after leaving Trixie’s house.
“This feels a lot like an interrogation and not much of an intervention. What do you two wise men propose I do now? You’ve got your girls; both of you are happy fucking couples. But that doesn’t mean you need to fix poor, broken Bodhi. I’m fine,” I say, hooking a thumb at myself, and then I point a finger at both of them. “Worry about yourselves.”
“We know it’s going to be hard to see her, but we only have a month and a half left. Don’t blow off classes and ruin what grades you’ve managed to achieve,” Corbin says, his obsession with going to class evident in his words.
“It won’t be hard to see her. Do you not hear what I’ve been saying? Trixie doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. She proved that Saturday night. We will pretend like we don’t know each other, and everything will be fine.”
I have a plan, but they don’t need to know that. They don’t need to know that she’s in danger if I fuck up. And they don’t need to know I plan to make her hate me. It’ll be much more believable if they have real reactions. I have to work up the courage to put my plan in place. That’s what today was about—liquid courage and sleep to prepare. Or so I choose to believe.
“Whatever you want to tell yourself, man,” Brock says, letting out a long breath.
I’ve finally worn him down, so maybe he will drop this and let me eat in peace. We don’t talk about much else as we finish devouring the pizza, leaving only four slices between the three pizzas as leftovers. I think I ate an entire one myself.
I lean back, patting my stomach, and lay my head on the top edge of the booth.
This next month and a half is going to fucking suck.
22
Trixie
There he is, sitting on his throne with Brock and Corbin, their arms wrapped around their girlfriends—my friends—and I’m the outsider. I can’t walk over there. My legs won’t let me. I stand frozen, food in hand, as I watch them. Bodhi throws his head back, laughing at something, and I realize that I’m smiling in tandem. I can’t help that I react to everything he does, everything that he is.
His eyes catch mine across the courtyard, and instantly, he stills. The smile drops off his face. Darkness flashes in his eyes. Then, he blinks, and it’s gone. Replaced by a dead gaze, like he’s looking right through me. I think I might have imagined the pure, unfiltered anger rushing through him.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t sit with them, but I don’t have any other friends here. My small circle isn’t mine anymore, and I’m devastated. A large shadow falls over my shoulder, and I’m reminded of his presence. My bodyguard. Not the same one from the house, whose name I never got. Phillip is older, probably late thirties or early forties. Bulky and mean-looking, and I know I stand out like a sore thumb with him at my side.
Bodhi’s eyes flick to the guy and then back to me before dismissing us altogether. I feel barren inside. After wedding planning with my mother all day Sunday and then not seeing him yesterday, it’s a punch in the gut to see him looking so happy and carefree with his friends, but the shield drops in place with me.
I didn’t expect anything else, but it’s one thing to know something will happen and another thing when it does happen. I decide to move from the outskirts and find a table to sit at, so I can eat my food in peace and then get back to class.
Footsteps catch my attention, and I glance back to see Bodhi stalking toward me.
Do not cower
. Stand tall.
He stops in front of me, legs open and arms crossed as he stares down his nose at me. For a moment, his expression is unreadable until I see something in his gaze harden, and he opens his mouth.
“Trixie Northcutt. Look at you, having the gall to show your face here,” he says loudly, catching the attention of the tables closest to us.
I glance around nervously.
“I go to school here,” I state the obvious.
“And yet, you are getting into bed with the enemy. Interesting. To date him is one thing, but oh no, you are going to marry him. Marriage with Heywood.”
“I’m not marrying Heywood,” I say, frowning. “He happens to go there.” I don’t know why we are discussing this right here. It’s all things everyone around us knows now.
“A fucking traitor is what you are,” he says, lowering his voice, menacing and dark. “You have stomped all over the sacred name of Almadale, hasn’t she?” He looks around at our fellow classmates, who are watching with rapt interest.
A few boos and calls from around the courtyard sound out. Phillip steps up, more even with me, but I put one hand out to stop him from doing anything. Bodhi is acting out of anger, and he has a right to. I should let him get it out.
“I don’t think you should be allowed to eat with the rest of us,” he says. A slow, harrowing smirk slips over his mouth, distorting his beautiful face. “Get the fuck out of here, Beatrice.”
My name sounds like dirt, dripping from his mouth, and I take a small step backward, wide-eyed and confused.
Is he kicking me out of the courtyard?
“What the hell are you waiting for, Traitor Trixie? Go.” He leans forward, spitting at my feet, and I look down at the foaming spot of wet between us.