Chapter Twenty-One
My mouth dry, I paced back and forth, rummaging through my closet and throwing clothes on the bed. Seven o’clock drew nearer and nearer. I’d already weighed myself three times—one hundred and twenty-one pounds. Crap, somehow I’d gained two pounds today! Dad had watched me while I ate dinner like he was my commanding officer and I was a lowly private, so I didn’t have a choice. I had to eat.
Once dinner was finished and the family room had filled with a handful of Kyle’s video game buddies, I’d gone upstairs to get ready for my date. So far, I’d changed my clothes four times, buttoning and unbuttoning shirts, zipping and unzipping skirts and jeans until a pile of clothes spread across my bed. Shoes littered the floor and my room looked like a messy Goth boutique. The only thing I had on was a pair of black leggings and my makeup. Unfortunately, the leggings were the only thing I was certain about. I tugged a white minidress over my head, something Mom had bought me this week. It was really cute, but was it right for riding a motorcycle? Everything needed to be perfect, although my version of perfect seemed to change depending on my memories.
Blood shows on white, a voice whispered in my head.
I didn’t question it, didn’t even wonder why I’d had that random thought. The dress came off in a flash.
Find something black, the voice said and I obeyed.
That black miniskirt, the one the girls had suggested, slipped on, suddenly looking like it was made for tonight. I’d be able to ride Dylan’s motorcycle, I’d be able to dance, I’d look hot...
And I’d be able to kick.
I practiced in front of the mirror, my right leg swinging up, high over my head, the skirt shifting and stretching while the leggings kept everything covered. If I hadn’t needed a shirt, I would have been ready to go.
Just then a knock sounded on the front door and I started to hyperventilate. Voices came from the foyer downstairs, Dad’s baritone blending with another deep voice, one that I’d recognize anywhere.
Dylan was here.
Crap and double crap.
I didn’t have time for this dressing game, I wanted—no, I needed—to get downstairs before my parents sabotaged my date with their hundred and one questions. I threw on a shirt and jacket, fixed my hair, touched up my makeup, not even realizing that I’d chosen the exact same outfit the girls at school had suggested. I jogged down the stairs and almost ran into Dylan when I rounded the corner from the hallway. Kyle and two of his friends slouched on the family room sectional, faces aimed at the big-screen TV where they played Halo 4, my little brother simultaneously carrying on a convo with Dylan, who was giving Kyle tips. Dylan stood behind my brother, while Dad and Mom were in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner dishes. Apparently Dylan had survived their interrogation. Unless Kyle had secretly been put in charge.
“Hey,” Dylan said when I slammed to a halt, two inches away from him. “You look really nice.”
I wanted to say the same thing; every inch of him looked better than it ever had when we were in school. His dark hair hung in choppy layers, some of it shading his forehead, his pale gray eyes making time stand still when he gazed at me. He wore a black leather jacket, a ripped black shirt, and jeans with a long, studded belt that coiled twice around his hips. Black shadow rimmed his eyes, almost making him look like a rock star.
And a bruise colored his cheekbone.
It wasn’t a black eye, not yet. But it probably would be by tomorrow. Somehow it made him look even hotter.
“What happened?” I asked as we moved away from the sofa.
“Wrestling practice last night. Hudson gave me an elbow in the eye.”
“Ouch.”
“Ask him what the other guy looks like,” Kyle said, glancing back at us and missing a score.
Dylan gave me a half-shrug, and looked away as if he didn’t want to brag. But apparently Kyle had already heard the story—this was what guys did, they shared gruesome tales and laughed, while the girls listening usually winced.
Kyle drew a line across his forehead. “Sixteen stitches.”
“Really,” I said. My blood flowed hot through my veins and I was a little surprised what a turn-on it was to hear that my boyfriend had sent someone to the ER. His eyes met mine and he studied my expression carefully, silently.
“He’s fine,” he told me a moment later, and I knew that this had been part of the original story. My little brother just didn’t think it was the important part. “This kind of stuff happens all the time.”
“Yeah,” I said, not completely convinced. “Boys will be boys, right?”
He grinned and we headed toward the front door. Away from my family and my home and everything familiar, out into the night where darkness waited.
...
His Harley was parked at the curb, in a pocket of shadow, blocked from the streetlight and behind one of the flowering trees Dad had planted earlier this year. Dylan started to hand me a helmet, but stopped, as if there was something else more important.
“There’s something I have to do,” he said.
I thought maybe he needed to give me a few pointers on how to ride a motorcycle, that I should lean into the curves, that I should hold on to him, that I shouldn’t be afraid because he was a great driver.
I was wrong.
He slipped one arm around my waist and pulled me close, so close that I couldn’t have gotten away if I wanted to, while his other hand cupped my jaw, thumb just below my mouth, long fingers brushing against my ear. “I’ve wanted to do this since you got back,” he said, his voice a low, hoarse whisper.
I wanted to say, me, too, but I didn’t get a chance.
His lips found mine in the darkness where we could barely see each other, where the heat of his body melted into mine. There were two short, gentle kisses as if he didn’t believe I would be here very long, that I might disappear at any moment, and then after that came the third kiss—
The third kiss stole my heart.
And my soul.
I didn’t remember our first date or what we had in common or who was his favorite band, but I remembered this. I remembered a thousand kisses, a hundred nights, a million stars glittering overhead. We leaned into each other, as if we were each drawing an electric charge from the other, as if we’d been unplugged and powerless but now we were stronger, invincible, immortal. The world stopped spinning and we were all that existed; there were no other people, no cities, no countries; there was only this.
His lips pressed against mine, his scent filling the air, his hands touching me.
And then at last, the kiss ended and we stared into each other’s eyes, me remembering, him knowing, both of us breathless.
“I almost lost you,” he said, his words soft as if he couldn’t say them very loud because it would show how strong the emotion was.
“I’m here, I’m safe.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said. “I haven’t always been”—he hesitated—“a very good person. But I’m going to do everything I can to make sure no one ever hurts you again.”
He had a way of enchanting me with his words, maybe it was the poet in him, maybe this was easy for him, but it didn’t matter. I knew he was telling the truth.
I just didn’t know if I wanted to be safe.
...
We drove around for a few hours, going places we used to hang out together, and at first I was a little disappointed since I’d expected something almost violently exciting. But when we ended up on a turnout in the San Gabriel Mountains, staring down at L.A., all lit up, streams of traffic glittering like strands of rubies, his hand found mine and I finally remembered—how he had first asked me out and we had gone to a skateboarding park, how we had sat for hours in a local Starbucks, drinking lattes and talking, just talking about everything.
Neither one of us were the dark creatures we were now. Back then we were just two awkward sixteen-year-old kids, me a wannabe ballet dancer, him a poet/wrestl
er that no one seemed to understand. We both had rough edges hidden beneath our sweet and innocent veneers. We had gone Goth together. We’d lost our virginity together.
And there were other things, secret things that I still couldn’t remember, that we had done together, too. They followed us like revenants wearing ghostly shrouds, huddling together amidst the trees and the rocks, just far enough away that I couldn’t see them clearly.
Whatever the secrets were, he didn’t want to talk about them. From time to time, I’d see a flicker of guilt in his eyes, like he thought he was to blame for every bad thing that had ever happened.
And then finally, when it was about nine thirty and I only had two hours left before I turned into a suburban pumpkin, I asked about the party.
“I heard Brett’s parents are out of town,” I said. We sat side by side, feet hanging over the edge of the mountain. Nothing below us but five thousand feet of yawning black canyon.
He didn’t say anything.
“Lauren said he’s having a party tonight.”
“Yeah.”
A long pause followed before I asked, “Did you want to go?”
He picked up a rock, cupped it in his hand, then tossed it out into the unfathomable darkness. There was no sound. It was almost as if the rock had never existed. I imagined it tumbling through space, falling ever downward, never stopping, always sailing through a dark universe.
“If you want,” he said, although it sounded more like a question than a statement.
“Everyone we know is supposed to be there.”
“Sure. Let’s go. Come on.”
He stood and took me by the hand, lifting me up, a move that felt almost like part of a dance. His hands were around my waist and he pulled me close for another long, amazingly beautiful kiss. Then we climbed on his bike, helmets on, my arms around his waist, my head on his shoulder.
And we flew down the mountain, two birds with wings spread wide.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wind rushed past, a tunnel of cold air that pushed me closer to Dylan, his warmth flowing through me like a sigh. Mountain roads gave way to city streets, which then changed into five-lane freeways, lights flickering around us as we headed back toward Santa Madre. We followed a familiar road that led us through the historic district and then up into the hills. Here, the houses cost ten times as much as the ones in the valley, every curve in the road revealing views that made my part of town look cheap.
I wondered if I had been up here before, if there had been other parties. I still felt like an outsider with this crowd and wished that Molly and all the other kids I hung around with last year would be here.
But I’d given them all up. They didn’t fit in with these people any more than I did.
Brett’s house appeared when we rounded a corner. Not that I recognized it. I knew because the motorcycle slowed down, growling in a deeper pitch as we headed toward the curved driveway. Jammed with cars, it would have been hard to park if we hadn’t been on a bike. As it was, Dylan slipped easily into a spot between a Jaguar and a Kia Soul.
Loud music thumped from the open front door. A balcony stretched out over a ravine and people were out there dancing, talking, drinking, all of them poised over a hungry cliff.
Dylan took my helmet and hung it from the handlebars, next to his.
“You sure you want to go inside?” he asked, maybe responding to the look on my face.
“Yeah,” I said.
He took my hand and together we ambled up the steps that led to a gorgeous, split-level home, part glass, part concrete, part stone. Even from the outside, I could see the floor-to-ceiling canvases that decorated the living room, the brightly colored splashes of color a stark contrast to the gray and taupe furniture. Every inch of this house was exquisite.
And inside, it looked like a frat party.
The dining room table had been turned into a beer pong table, with teams of girls and guys competing, taking turns tossing ping-pong balls, then downing plastic cups filled with beer. Stephanie chugged down a drink when we walked in the door, beer slipping down the sides of her mouth while the rest of the kids chanted something I couldn’t understand. Girls and boys filled the living room, some dancing, some joking around, while others sat in awkward silence on sofas, looking out of place.
That’s where I should have been. Sitting with the geeks who didn’t really belong.
Instead, there was a welcoming cry as soon as we walked through the door. Brett shouted and came over to slap Dylan a high five and Lauren let out an excited whoop, nearly stumbling in her three-inch stilettos when she tried to get to me before anyone else. Before I knew it, we were both surrounded. We stood at the core of a widening circle with all the kids we hung out with at lunch. On the outer edges were other teens who seemed to stare at Dylan and me with admiration, as if they wished they could be part of the inner circle. Brett handed us both a beer and Dylan glanced down at me, maybe wondering if my dad would have a fit if I came home drunk.
“Just one. I promise,” I said with a grin, then I took a long sip.
He smiled back hesitantly, then set his cup aside. “Not tonight. Not for me anyway.”
I was surprised. I’d always imagined him to be the life of the party. He must have been holding back. Meanwhile, Lauren and the other girls hugged me and squealed, and pointed out a group of older guys who had crashed the party.
“They go to UCLA. I think the blond guy is friends with Brett’s older brother. Isn’t the tall one hot?” Lauren said. She flashed him a grin and licked her lips when she got his attention.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “She’s got a thing for older guys lately. Nobody from high school is good enough for her anymore.”
“Did you guys see the Skittles bowl in the living room?” Zoe asked. “The college crowd just dropped a handful of Ecstasy and Forget-Me-Pills in it.”
“Ecstasy? Where?” Lauren asked, turning to look back toward the living room.
Dylan overheard what we were saying and he grabbed Brett by the arm. “You said you weren’t having a pharm party. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”
Brett laughed, a deep, booming sound that always made you want to join in—except now. Right now it gave me the chills. “Hey, dude. Drink a beer and relax.”
“I’m not gonna relax. Last time two guys ODed and ended up in the ER. I told you no more drug parties—”
“We got a new rule this time. One pill per person.”
“And who’s enforcing that? You?”
Brett pointed toward the cluster of outcasts, who perched nervously on the sofas that lined the room. “The Misfits. I told ’em it was the entrance fee to the gig.”
Dylan shook his head, obviously mad. He picked up the beer he had refused a minute ago and slugged it down, all of it.
“That’s my boy!” Brett said, clapping him on the back.
Dylan shrugged his hand off. “Remember who you’re talking to. I’m not your boy.”
Brett looked away, a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a low voice.
“Ooooh! Way to put the captain of the football team in his place,” Lauren said with a laugh. Both Dylan and Brett shot her dark looks, then the two of them wandered off, their voices raising and lowering, then raising again.
“Are they going to fight?” I asked, an unexpected shiver of fear snaking into my chest. Up until now, I’d thought the dark side of Dylan was exciting. But as he walked off with Brett, both of them evenly matched in size and strength and athletic abilities, it didn’t feel right. A thick tension filled the room, mixing with cigarette smoke, the stench of spilled beer and sweat from people dancing. I started to push my way through the crowd, wanting to follow Dylan. I had some crazy idea that I could somehow give him backup—if he needed it. Not that I could take Brett down, not in a zillion years. That guy was ripped and then some. I began to wonder if he was on steroids. I’d seen how he dominated the football team, how he led our school to stat
e finals, and knew that he had a scholarship to Notre Dame waiting for him.
But I didn’t get far because Lauren and Stephanie and Zoe grabbed me by the arms, dragging me back into the living room.
“Let them go,” Stephanie warned.
“Yeah, you don’t wanna get between the two of them when they’re mad,” Zoe said, her hazel eyes wide.
“There’s a lot of stuff you don’t remember, Rach. Maybe you’ll never remember it,” Lauren said, her tone condescending. Almost like she enjoyed me being in the dark because it gave her more power. “The guys, they’ve got their own way of dealing with things. They’re not like us.”
I could still see the two of them, silhouettes out on the balcony, arms gesturing as they talked. Things must have gotten even more heated since they got outside, because Brett pushed Dylan, hands against his chest, shoving him several feet away until he collided with the guard rail. I gasped, unable to move because the girls still hung onto me. I started to twist away from them, tempted to land a few kicks and jabs of my own to break free.
“Stop it,” Lauren whispered in my ear. “Dylan wouldn’t like it if you went out there now. Trust me.”
I didn’t want to trust her, though. Not if Dylan could get hurt.
Just then, Dylan grabbed Brett and took him down, flipping him on his back and pinning him to the ground. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to see over the crowd that had formed around them, irritated that everyone had started chanting, fight, fight, fight, their voices raising, louder and louder.
“I won’t do anything, but I have to make sure he’s okay,” I said as I wrenched my way free, hoping I hadn’t hurt one of the girls in the process. One of them yelped, but I couldn’t tell if it was Stephanie or Zoe. I ran then, shoving people out of my way, elbows jamming into ribs and making kids wince and cry out as I passed, my mouth open, sweat streaming down between my shoulder blades. I was ready to leap on top of Brett and kick him in the face if I had to—it didn’t matter that he was my friend. Not now. Not if Dylan was in trouble—
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