Pretty Reckless

by Shen, L. J.

  I smirk. “Are you? You have more on the line.”

  He stops, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes twinkle, but maybe I see what I want to see. I didn’t mean to save him all my firsts. But it happened, and a part of me is glad that it did. Because he was the first boy to give me a gift. The first boy to kiss me. To want to become my friend not because I was popular, but because I was me.

  He was the first boy who noticed the injured animal behind the camouflage of hostility and tried to give it water and shelter.

  “Fuck the line.”

  The first thrust is like a sharp slice of a knife. My lungs squeeze the oxygen inside them. The discomfort subsides with the long, luxurious kisses that Penn rains on my mouth. On my cheeks, neck, and breasts. He stops every now and again, not wanting to come, to suck one of my nipples into his mouth and lick around it. He caresses my face and swipes stray locks of hair from my forehead. He is moving inside me as though he’s done it a thousand times before, but he is also careful and gentle. The leaves beneath me crunch with every thrust as he pushes into me, and they tickle my back.

  He growls, and it stirs something inside me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, squeezing hard, wanting more of him against me, inside me, with me. I wish I could lock us in a bubble and never let go. I wish we didn’t have to go back. That I didn’t have to hate him, and that it wasn’t so wrong to want this.

  His thrusts become quicker and jerkier, and my eyes widen at that. I’m guessing he is going to come. I’ve never seen a guy come. Another first. The space between my thighs is sore, but the pain is lusciously sinful. I’m full of him and desire and want.

  I only realize that I’m crying when he empties inside me. His jaw tightening, he is so beautiful, and I think that’s a part of why the tears stream down my face. As soon as he realizes that I’m crying, his eyes narrow, and he kisses the tears away. He doesn’t take a moment to recompose. He is still inside me when he licks them, one by one, chasing them.

  “That bad, huh? I swear I leave more of an impression when they’re half-drunk.”

  There’s laughter through my tears now, and I swat at his chest.

  I want him to tell me everything. Why he calls me Skull Eyes. Why he has a hole in all his shirts. What Adriana is to him. And for the first time, I think I might have the chance to find out all those things. Because the way he looks at me? He doesn’t hate me. Not right now.

  “Have you been with many girls?”

  He pulls away from me, and it burns a little. We both look down, and there’s a little blood on the condom. He tugs the condom slowly. We both watch in fascination as he knots the open end and tosses it behind the tree trunk.

  “Not many. Less than five, more than three. I was your first?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Say it. The entire sentence.”

  “Huh?”

  “Penn Scully, you were my first.”

  “Penn Scully, you were my first.” I roll my eyes and laugh.

  He rises to his feet, zips up, and offers me his hand. I take it as reality slowly trickles into my brain. I let the Las Juntas football captain screw me in the woods. If anyone finds out, I’m officially dead. A sudden wave of fear washes over me.

  “Tell me you still want to be my friend.” I gnaw at my lower lip.

  “I do. I am. I’ve always been your friend, Skull Eyes. Even four years ago.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He blinks at me, dead serious. “Because if I weren’t your friend, I’d have fucked you over and made sure you paid for what you did.”

  I slip my hand under his black hoodie, over his shirt, searching for the hole I know I’m going to find. It’s there but smaller. His heart is beating so hard against my palm. I know he is feeling this, too.

  I blow out imaginary candles and make a wish.

  “You know what I feel like?” he asks.

  “What?”

  He can barely contain his wolfish, twisted grin. “An apple.”

  On the drive back home, Penn argues that I need to hear my mom out.

  “She’s neurotic as fuck, full of good intentions and bad execution, and she’s shit-scared of you, but she loves you. It’s nauseatingly clear.”

  “I’ll think about it.” And for the first time in a long time, I mean those words.

  I know that Dad and Bailey would be grateful if we play nice with one another. I haven’t felt this hopeful in years.

  We pull up to my house, and Penn slams the passenger door and swaggers his way to the entrance. I follow. He stops at the door and turns around, pulling me to him by the waistline of my skirt.

  “FYI, you smell like dirty forest sex.”

  “You smell like a cheap beer,” I murmur as his lips find mine, drugging and perfect.

  “You smell like my new, steady ride.” His lips move against mine.

  “You smell like a lot of really fun nights.” I pretend to sniff his neck, armpits, face. My heart speeds without direction all over my chest. I push Adriana’s memory aside. The other girls in Las Juntas. Blythe.

  “You smell like you might be right.”

  He smacks another wet kiss on my lips and pushes the door open.

  My smile is so big, my cheeks hurt. We saunter in together, but far enough away from each other not to arouse suspicion. Penn stops when we reach the living room, dropping his keys to the floor with a clink.

  I sigh, picking them up and handing them to him.

  “Marx, Penn! You’re so clumsy.” I laugh breathlessly. “You dropped your—”

  “Via?” His voice is thin glass, waiting to be shattered.

  I lift my eyes from his stupid keys to the stupid couch where my stupid family—Mel, Dad, and Bailey—are all sitting in one neat line, hands tucked between their thighs, and between them sits a grown-up version of Sylvia Scully. She’s clad in a conservative black dress that ends at her ankles and wears a polite, robotic smile.

  She stares at me, not Penn.

  “Surprise.”

  You came back to me like a tempest

  Beautiful and dazzling and destructive

  Ripping everything in your wake

  Including, but not limited to, my heart

  Be careful what you wish for.

  For four years, I’ve dreamed of this moment.

  In some of my dreams, I punch her square in the nose and tell her she’s a cunt.

  In others, I hug her close and fall to my knees, begging her to never leave me again.

  In most, I tell her all the things I wanted to share with her while she was away. That Mom became worse after she disappeared, which means that maybe she gave a shit after all. That Rhett got beat up by a bunch of white supremacist drug dealers who tried to get into his territory several times and was hospitalized twice. That he is missing three teeth and half an ear now, adding playfully that his modeling days are over. That I hadn’t lost my virginity to Adriana, like Via said I would, because “Adriana always looks at you like you’re food, and the kind you don’t leave leftovers of.” That I made it as captain. That she was wrong about Kannon, too. He didn’t grow up to be an asshole and is actually surprisingly bearable for a human being.

  But now that she is here, I just stand like an idiot and stare at her as though she took a dump on my football gear. I can’t fucking breathe, and it feels like she is pressing on my sternum with her orthopedic shoes.

  I’m taking inventory, for whatever the fuck reason, to make sure all the organs are still in place. Even sitting down, I can see that she is still a head and a half shorter than me, only we’re both much taller. She is lithe and athletic, but her long blond hair is now braided into an Amish bun, and she doesn’t have any makeup or the nose ring that she had before. Her dress could belong to a nun.

  This is not my Via.

  She rounds the coffee table in small, gentle steps and goes for a hug. Stiffly, I feel her scrawny arms wrap around me. Finally, my brain tells my body to snap out of it, and I pat her back
. I want to crush her with a suffocating hug, but I can’t. She’s a stranger. At least, she looks like one. I glance at Jaime and Mel who are both standing up, their arms behind their backs.

  Via is back.

  They brought my sister back.

  Melody, of course, is the first to cry. I swear, this bitch should’ve been born into a One Tree Hill episode. The drama is always high when she’s in the room.

  “Penn.” Her lower lip wobbles. God, please. Don’t let her film this shit and send it to The Ellen DeGeneres Show. “Via. You have so much to catch up on.”

  I know I’m in shock when my mind goes in a different direction. Instead of, you know, wanting to catch up with my sister and find out where the hell she’s been all these years, I try to figure out why they didn’t tell me before. Why they didn’t give Daria the heads-up.

  Shit, Daria.

  Her juices are still on my pubes. I take a step back from my sister, who doesn’t feel like my sister anymore, and twist my head to where I left Daria. She is still there, rooted to the floor, gaping at Via in disbelief. Via meets her gaze and swallows. I’m waiting for my twin to talk so I can figure out who I’m dealing with. Because right now, she looks like a cardboard version. The blueprint before they poured personality, a soul, and character into her.

  “Where in the good fuck have you been?” I curl my lips in revulsion.

  Okay. Not the reaction everyone was expecting by the way Via flinched and Melody choked on her breath. But screw that. They weren’t the ones deserted.

  You made me the fucking tin man, sis.

  Via looks down at her untrendy tennis shoes, shined to perfection. She is twiddling her thumbs.

  Who in the hell is this girl?

  “With Dad…” Her voice is barely a whisper. It’s so delicate and brittle, it breaks around the last letter. “And Grandma.”

  “I thought they were traveling around the country with their cult? Making the Midwest even more redneck.”

  The asshole who decided at some point in my childhood that my mother wasn’t worth the trouble and we were in his way to achieving greatness. He, therefore, decided to be an itinerant preacher of some sort. Last I heard, he lived in a trailer from the eighties with my Southern grandmamma. Real fucking catch.

  “They were.” She is still looking down. “Are. After I ran away, I managed to find them in Mississippi. I called and called until he picked up, then I hitchhiked there.”

  “To Mississippi?”

  She nods.

  She is timid, shy, and doesn’t look me in the eye. My real twin sister from four years ago would eat her for breakfast.

  “Why don’t we talk about it over a cup of tea?” Melody claps her hands, channeling her inner Queen Elizabeth. I don’t want tea. I want to know everything. And I want to know why Via didn’t pick up the phone to call me in four years.

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “Father said I couldn’t.” Father.

  “You could have written. You knew my address.”

  “He said he’d throw me out if I made any attempt to reach out to you. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t go back to living with Rhett. I couldn’t risk you writing me back. Please, Penn.” She touches my arm, and I pull back instinctively. Bailey stands up from behind her and hugs my sister’s shoulder. My sister turns around and sinks into Bailey’s embrace. I’m so focused on what’s happening, I barely register Melody yelping Daria’s name and running after her up the stairs.

  Daria bailed.

  I don’t even blame her.

  I would probably kill my mom if she had pulled shit like that.

  Lucky for me, she’s already dead.

  FUCK. TEA.

  I put a hole in Mel’s perfect wall, and now I’m dragging my twin sister by the arm. I fling her into my bedroom and slam the door. She’s hysterical, shaking all over, and her eyes as wide as saucers. I don’t care. I feel too much and nothing all at the same time. Everything I turned off four years ago is back in full swing, and I’m dealing with a grave issue—believing Via was dead was heartbreaking but comforting. Knowing she was alive and ignoring my existence, however, is pure hell.

  “So you lived in their trailer?” I ask, no mingling to warm up the conversation.

  She nods.

  “Where’d y’all sleep?”

  “Father took the mini bedroom. Grandmamma and I shared a mattress in the back room.”

  I see he is still a selfish asshole. At least one person in my family hasn’t changed.

  “School?” I jerk my chin toward her. She shakes her head.

  “Technically, I was homeschooled, but…” She worries her lip, clearing her throat. “I have a lot to catch up on.”

  “We’ll give you all the tutoring you need!” Melody cries from behind my door. Motherfucker.

  “Ma’am!” I punch the door with my fist. “A fucking moment and some chill would be nice right about now.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m leaving now…oh, and no cussing!” she barks, and I hear murmuring between her and Jaime. Jaime, who looked pissed off on the couch, didn’t even have time to register what Daria and I looked like when we entered the living room.

  “I missed y—” Via starts, but I cut her off.

  “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “Mel is giving me the room next to the studio in the basement. It’s already furnished as a guest room.”

  “Nice.”

  Like a puppy kicked in the ribs, she curls on the edge of my bed with her hands on her lap. I’m guessing the past four years were very sheltered for her. I put my hands on my waist, and the scent of Daria is everywhere. On my skin and clothes and fingers and inside my mouth.

  “You still cut holes in your shirts?” A small, sad smile that tells me she is not sure who I am, either, tugs at her lips.

  I hitch one shoulder up. She knows the score. Knows when the hole will finally close.

  “There’s not one thing about you that I recognize,” I tell her frankly.

  “I’m still the same Via.”

  “My Via wouldn’t leave me.”

  “Your Via didn’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always a fucking choice.” I smash my fist against the wall. Again.

  Via jumps back. She knows this conversation is going in ways she doesn’t want it to go, so she stands up and plasters her hands over my chest.

  “I’m here now. I know I’ve been the worst sister the past few years, but the beauty of our situation is that we don’t have a choice. We have to be there for one another because neither of us has anyone else. Mom’s dead. Dad and Grandmamma will never accept me again. Not with you, anyway. They think Mama and Rhett ruined you. And maybe not at all. So you have to forgive me.”

  Shaking my head, I start pacing the room, knowing damn well that my burning knuckles need some ice on them before the skin breaks and everything hurts like a thousand bitches. Since I still can’t figure out how to approach her, I move on to practicalities.

  “So you’re going to stay here with us?”

  Like the Followhills and I are a unit or some shit.

  She shrugs. “Mrs. Followhill thinks it’s in everyone’s best interest.”

  Other than her daughter’s.

  “Gonna go to school?” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I leave early every morning to Las Juntas for strength training, so your 2.0 version better be an early riser.”

  “I…” She looks around the empty room, biting on her lower lip. “I’m actually going to attend All Saints High. It’s closer than Las Juntas, and they have an extensive tutoring program.”

  “Daria goes to ASH,” I deadpan. In my mind, this is the end of the discussion. They can’t go to the same school. I doubt they’ll survive living under the same roof for longer than three hours.

  Via picks imaginary lint from her nun dress. “Mrs. Followhill said Daria can give me a ride. I won’t be in her way.” Her
tone is soft, coy. “I just want to graduate. I’m probably at junior level, if that. I’ll have to talk to their counselor and take a bunch of tests.”

  I look away, breathing through my nostrils. Finally, something I can understand and decode. Pain for my sister, for the screwed-up situation she’s in.

  “No one can know that I’m here,” I warn her. “Coach Higgins still thinks that I live with Rhett. I can’t move school districts and stay with the football team.”

  She nods. “I would never tell on you, Penn. You can trust me.”

  I snort. First of all, I can’t. And second of all, she sounds twelve.

  I walk to the door, throwing it open and cocking my head. I can’t see her face right now. There’s too much going on inside my head and chest.

  “Out.”

  Her steps are slow and cautious as she marches out, stopping at the threshold.

  “Look, I just want my brother back. I swear. I’m not here to cause any trouble. Can you try? Please?” She presses her palms together in front of her.

  “Are you serious about this?”

  “God, Penn.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life anymore. Yes.”

  I walk over to my desk, open a drawer, and produce a Swiss Army knife. I drag it along my open palm, thumb to little finger, then hold my bloodied hand up in invitation.

  She hesitates only for a second before opening her small palm.

  “Cut yourself.” I throw her the knife. Via has always been scared shitless of blood and needles and fucking everything. I mean, she was scared of flies. But blood makes her woozy.

  She swallows, gawking at my hand, the knife, then my hand again.

  “Bleed for me,” I hiss.

  Like I bled for you. Every sleepless night. Each excruciating day.

  I watch her body rocking with silent sobs as she pierces the skin of her palm and cuts herself open. Our blood is dripping between us on the lush cream carpet of the Followhills’ mansion as we shake on the promise that we’d never betray each other again.

  “I’ll take you living here to my grave,” she chokes out.