by Katie May
My emotions are going haywire. It’s impossible for me to untangle one from the next, to understand exactly what I’m feeling at this moment.
So instead of giving voice to any of the tumultuous thoughts warring in my head, I murmur, “You can’t.”
But I don’t know entirely if that’s true or not.
Chapter 34
I feel as if I’ve been flayed raw. I’m bloody and bruised and seconds from falling apart completely.
The next hour passes in a blur. Since I have AP Lit immediately after lunch, I choose to skip it and instead hide away in the locker room. I don’t know who they chose to replace Mrs. Town, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore.
Caring only gets you hurt.
I squeeze myself into a tight ball as I sit in one of the changing rooms and cry. I don’t know what exactly I’m crying about. Or whom I’m crying for. All I know is that my body feels like one of those Capri Sun juice pouches that have been blown full of air and then stepped on. I sag, depleted and spent, as the remainder of my tears dry on my cheeks. I don’t like this…this…pain. Not one bit.
My body feels inside out, my organs on display for everyone to see.
When the girls enter the locker room a few minutes before gym class begins, I finally have myself under control. At least, I’m eighty percent sure I won’t break into tears the second I set eyes upon the Devils.
I already texted Uriel my change in plans, and his response was instantaneous.
Uriel: R u sure?
Of course I’m not sure—I’m not sure about anything anymore—but I know that the longer I remain here with the Devils, the more potent my pain becomes. Thoughts of the Devils threaten to send me slinking into oblivion, but I know I need to remain coherent if I have any chance of escaping.
And that’s what I’m doing—escaping. I’m finally freeing myself of the shackles Lucas Scott, Cassian Jereome, Karsyn Alder, and Elias Briggs put around me, chaining me to them. I don’t know how long it’ll take my brain to completely eradicate the memories, but I’m praying it’s soon. I don’t know how much longer I can last.
I wait until the locker room is silent before creeping out of the stall. I’m going to be late to class, but fortunately, Mr. Builder doesn’t give enough shits to notice. I’ll sneak in through the back door of the gym just long enough to be present for attendance, and then I’ll retreat to the locker room once more to lick my wounds in private.
Or that was my plan.
The second I enter the main portion of the locker room, I see Mariabella sitting on the lone wooden bench in front of our lockers. She nervously twiddles her fingers together as her gaze darts to the entrance of the locker room and then back to her lap. She’s wearing a pair of spandex leggings and a neon green sports bra. It’s completely inappropriate to wear to class, but then again, Mr. Builder gives zero fucks what we do.
“Mari,” I say softly, and she jumps five feet in the air, her blonde hair whipping around her face.
“Peony,” she breathes, slowly rising to her feet. “I thought you left. I’ve been waiting here for you.”
“I was…” I gesture towards the changing stalls, releasing a self-deprecating chuckle. What was the word for having a pity party alone in a changing room?
“I’m—” she begins, twisting the front of her shirt.
“—so sorry,” we both blurt at the same time. We stare at each other for a long moment, before breaking into giggles.
“No, I’m sorry.” Mariabella huffs ruefully. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m just so furious on your behalf, you know?”
“And I’m sorry, too.” I reach forward to take her dainty hands in mine, and this time, the tears that cascade down my cheeks are happy ones. “Please don’t ever fuck off. And please ignore me when I tell you to. Or better yet, slap me silly. You’re a really good friend, Mari.”
She blows out a breath. “Those guys are complete assholes.”
“I know.” There’s no point in denying that, because despite my confusing feelings for all four of them, it’s the truth. They are assholes.
They’re devils.
“But,” she continues on, “I trust your judgement. If you want to be friends with Satan’s little helpers, then go for it.”
“Mariabella, you’re a fucking rock star,” I say sincerely, giving her hands a squeeze. She blushes instantly, attempting to duck her head, but I place a finger under her chin to hold her attention. “I’m being fucking serious. You’re an amazing friend, and I’m so happy to have you in my life.”
Mariabella smiles coyly at me through her fringe of lashes, but before I can comment on that strange look, she pushes herself onto her tiptoes and kisses me. For a moment, I’m struck speechless, standing there like an imbecile as her soft lips move over mine. She grabs my hands and places them underneath her sports bra until I’m touching the bare flesh of her pert boobs. I can feel her nipples grazing my palms.
For a moment, I consider kissing her back. I’ve never kissed a girl before, and I have to admit that her lips are softer than a male’s. And I’ve never touched any breasts before that weren’t my own. And fuck, I wish I could love her, truly love her in that way. I wish my damn, traitorous heart wasn’t pulling me in four different directions, towards guys I know will irrevocably hurt me.
“Mari,” I say gently, dropping my hands and stepping away. Her eyes are half-mast, glazed with lust, but at my rejection, they snap open and pain blossoms in their dark depths. “I’m so sorry.”
“I thought you were—” She begins to tremble slightly, her bra still bunched at the top of her breasts so I can see her beaded, rosy pink nipples. Feeling slightly awkward, I lean forward and rearrange her bra so everything’s covered. She lets me do it with a dumbfounded expression. “I thought you, maybe, liked me.”
“I fucking love you, Mari,” I admit. “But…”
“But not like that.” She sounds tired, defeated, and her entire body slumps as she drops onto the bench once more. “I just thought…” Another weary sigh escapes her again. “You looked at my boobs.”
“They’re really nice boobs,” I point out lightly, attempting to make her smile. When she continues staring despondently at her hands as if she’s never seen them before, I clear my throat. “Look, Mari, I had no idea you even felt this way. Especially after your recent breakup with Karsyn.”
“It’s not like we were actually dating,” Mariabella sniffs, and her words send a jolt of awareness through my system.
“What do you mean?” I whisper, stunned. I feel like I’m throwing a dart in the dark and praying it doesn’t kill anyone.
Mariabella snuffles again and brushes at her eyes with the back of her hand. I hate that I’m the one who caused her this pain. Fucking hate it.
But I can’t change my feelings.
“Karsyn has been one of my best friends since freshman year. He knew about my crush on Rebecca Dawson after I drunkenly confessed it to him. But he also knew about my parents.”
“Your parents?” I only met her mom that one time, but she seemed really cool.
“They’re super strict and…” She trails off somewhat helplessly, but I can hear what isn’t explicitly stated.
“They wouldn’t approve.” I place a hand on her shoulder before quickly dropping it, unsure if she even wants my touch right now.
“They would fucking disown me,” Mariabella confides. “Especially my dad.” She releases a choked, hollow laugh, finally glancing up from her hands to stare at the ceiling. “Karsyn and I decided to fake date last year. It was easy enough, considering the fact that we already hung out a lot. My parents didn’t ask any questions, and Karsyn wasn’t constantly hounded by girls. It was a win-win. That’s actually what you heard us fighting about. He wanted me to come clean, but I was scared, so he agreed to continue dating me. Well, fake dating me.”
“Until you broke up with him,” I muse softly, feeling a stabbing guilt in the pit of my stomach
. But instead of the blade being sharp, it’s blunt and covered in rust. I’m more likely to die of infection than blood loss, but that only makes the pain more intense. My wounds reopen and ache with the fiery inferno of hell itself.
“I didn’t want to even fake date a guy like that. Especially someone who hurt you.” There’s something near pleading in her cognac brown gaze as she stares at me through her fringe of dark lashes. I know what she wants me to do, wants me to say. But I can’t just kiss her and declare my undying love. Trust me, I wish I could. Everything would be so much easier for me if I could just make myself love someone as simple and kind as Mariabella.
But my stubborn heart conjures up images of four very different men instead.
Mariabella must see the denial in my eyes, for once more, her body deflates like a punctured tire.
“I’m so sorry, Mari,” I whisper, wishing desperately I could change how I felt and whom I was attracted to.
“It’s not your fault.” Her voice is a soft murmur. “You can’t choose who you’re attracted to or who you love. Fuck!” The harsh explicative takes me by surprise, but she’s not looking at me. “I just made things fucking awkward, didn’t I? You know what they say—once you touch boobies, there’s no going back to dick.”
Her words cause me to break into peals of laughter. It feels good to laugh like this. If there’s one thing being here has taught me, it’s that life’s hourglass never stops trickling. You have to cherish these little moments when you can. You have to hold on tightly to the people you care about and never let them go. “There’s not? Well, damn. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
We giggle softly, and it feels like the Titanic-sized pressure on my chest finally eases.
“Peony,” Mari says suddenly, and I know that the joking mood is over. She pierces me with a stare, the sharp intelligence tempered by her unrelenting kindness. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable—”
“You didn’t,” I cut in adamantly. “Not at all. And I’m sorry that I don’t—”
“No reason to apologize.” This time, it’s Mariabella who cuts me off, waving her hand in the air as if she can dismiss my words physically. “But I need to know… Are we good?”
I throw myself on the bench next to her and place my head on her shoulder.
“Super good. I really do love you, you know that, right?” I ask softly. “You’re my best friend.”
“I better be!” she jokes, before instantly turning somber. “And I promise to get over this stupid crush I have on you. Your friendship is too important to me to lose. But…” Her body tenses. “I still hate those asshole pricks, and I’m going to remind them of that every day. And they can’t even do anything to stop me, because hello. Best friend perks.”
Tears well in my eyes, but I twist my face to hide them from her. “I don’t think you have to worry about them anymore.”
All I can do is pray that I’m strong enough to stay away.
Chapter 35
After practice, I feel significantly lighter. Not necessarily happier, but freer, as if the shackles which have held me captive for far too long have finally cracked enough for me to pull my hands free.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I still have my legs tethered to the ground, making every step forward immensely more difficult.
As I begin the familiar trek towards my house, I can’t help but feel a pang in my chest when I don’t spot either Elias’s Jeep or his motorcycle. The pressure only amplifies the farther away from school I get.
Why do I care if he follows me home? I’m leaving. Nothing he says will get me to stay, though…
Thought after thought collides in my head like a twenty-car pile-up. I bring my fingers to my temples and massage the sensitive skin, attempting to alleviate the pressure forming. I’m going to have a massive headache tonight if I don’t get a handle on my emotions. But trying to do that is like trying to wrangle over fifty wild bulls. They refuse to cooperate with me.
As I turn another corner, I can’t help but wonder what Elias is currently thinking. Does he regret what happened? I know he apologized, and I truly believe he was being sincere, but does he even begin to understand what his torment did to me? Or their torment? I need to dispel all four of them from my life if I ever want a chance at being happy.
So why does that thought make my insides tighten like a nest of angry snakes? Why does it feel as if pure ice is coasting through my veins?
You need to stop thinking about him and the rest of the Devils, Peony. You need to—
“What is a pretty thing like you doing all alone?” an austere voice sneers from behind me. Immediately, it conjures up images of cracked teeth, broken watches, and sinking ships. Stuff that might’ve been normal in any other circumstances but currently makes my muscles tense up as I prepare to fight.
I spin on my heel, hands raised, to see a man sauntering towards me. Black hair grazes his jawline as he tilts his head to the side. His skin appears so white, it’s almost translucent. A pair of sunglasses hide his eyes from view as he steps in front of me.
Immediately, I take a step back, only to stumble into a second man.
I whirl madly, chest heaving, to see two more men cage me in on the remaining two sides. Four in total.
You can handle this, Peony.
“Come with us quietly,” the original speaker says darkly, and any hope that I have a chance to escape these fuckers dissipates when he raises his hand, ice forming on his palm.
Warlocks.
With a casualness belying the intensity of his voice, he takes another step towards me, removing his sunglasses. “Don’t put up a fight. We don’t want anyone to get…hurt.” The last word is said with noticeable amusement.
For the first time since I’ve been cornered, I finally get a good look at their eyes.
To a human, the change might not have been evident, but for a witch trained in the art of protection, I can tell right away that they’re something other. A rim of bright red surrounds their irises, the color screaming at me to run. Run fast and run far and never look back. It’s the color associated with one subset of witches and warlocks, one group parents warn their kids to steer clear of.
Bloods.
A practicing one, if their eyes are any indication. Only witches and warlocks who actively use dark blood magic have red eyes. That explains why the triplets have hazel eyes while these men have red ones. All Bloods, regardless of whether they use their powers or not, are required to drink blood to survive. If they don’t, they’ll wither away and turn to dust and bone.
Immediately, I break into a run, pushing through two of the men. One of them reaches for my blonde hair and tugs sharply, sending pinpricks of pain racing through my scalp. I release a startled cry, tears forming in my eyes, as he yanks my head back. He grabs at my backpack for purchase, and I hear the telltale sign of a rip.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, showcasing a row of yellowing teeth.
I begin to fight with wild abandon, kicking and jabbing and punching at any bare skin I can reach. I relish in every grunt of pain, every hissed curse word, every degrading word hurled my way. I know I’m not winning—I’m not even fucking close—but I’ll be damned if I go down without fighting tooth and nail.
I shoot a fireball at the dark-haired man, and he jumps to the side, just narrowly avoiding the blazing inferno. With newfound confidence, I allow flames to heat my hand and direct it at a second Blood’s face. He screams in agony, releasing my arm, and falls to the ground with his hands over his eyes.
“You’ll pay for that,” a blond-haired Blood bellows as he lunges towards me. In his hand, water begins to harden and transform into a sharp, deadly icicle. I know that if he spears me with that, there’ll be no walking away. No more fighting. I doubt I’ll even survive long enough for them to perform a blood ritual on me.
I try to run, but one of the other men holds me in place, stilling my erratic, jerky movements. I scream at the top
of my lungs as the blond man gets nearer…
Suddenly, a blur of movement darts in front of me and tackles my attacker to the side, the icicle sliding from his hand. I take advantage of the Bloods’ moment of confusion to rear my head back into the face of the man holding me, smiling in satisfaction when I hear the subsequent crunch of his nose. He releases me, and I don’t waste any time spinning around and kneeing him in the dick.
Two down.
Before I can even focus on my savior, the third Blood races towards me, wind whipping around his body and stirring his garnet hair. Instead of fire or even water, I use earth—the hardest element to control. I focus on the tree hanging above our heads, its branches long and spindly, and slowly uncoil them. Just before the man can reach me, I sweep my hand out and one of the branches lowers, then rears back and smacks him, sending him tumbling down. When he staggers back to his feet, I use two more branches to ensnare his wrists and yank him into the trunk of the tree, the force knocking him unconscious.
“We need to go!” Elias screams, reaching for my hand. Crimson blood paints his knuckles, and when I turn to the side, I see the fourth and final Blood lying unconscious on the asphalt, his face a mottled and gruesome display of bruises. “Peony!”
I don’t have to be told twice. I swing my leg over his motorcycle and wrap my arms around his waist, squeezing as tight as I can. Behind me, I can hear one of the Bloods staggering to his feet, shouting insults and threats, but his words soon become lost over the roar of the engine and the air whipping around my face. Elias takes off like a shooting star in the night, and I allow myself to sag against him, resting my cheek against the leather covering of his back, as all of the hurt and tension drains from my body like water coming out of a faucet.
We don’t talk until we pull in front of a rickety, dilapidated building I’ve never noticed before. The roof curves downwards ever so slightly, in a way that leads me to believe is not intentional but perhaps a product of weather or vandalism. Only two windows line either side of the door, a fine layer of grit and dirt covering both. Maybe some residual ash as well.