by Nashoda Rose
Seriously, fucked-up.
I walked to the car, yanked open the backdoor and slid in. “So, where we headed?”
Dana turned around, her elbow resting on the back of the seat. “Frat party. It’s going to be wicked.”
Kite groaned. “Crisis, you said a small party. We need to call in Luke.”
Dana fiddled with the radio and turned up the sound when Coldplay came on. “Don’t worry. The guys are pretty cool. It’s mostly the lacrosse team. There won’t be any trouble.”
“I wasn’t worried about the guys,” Kite said in a deep pissed-off tone. “How about we go to a movie?”
Dana laughed. “You sound like my dad.” Kite snorted. “If you really don’t want to go, I guess you could drop us off and then come back later to get us.”
“Oka—” Kite started to say, but I interrupted him. “No, we’re good. Besides, I’m not leaving my hot sister alone with a bunch of frat boys.”
Haven kicked my shin. “Don’t call me that.”
I raised my brows, attempting to pull off my most innocent expression. “What? Hot?”
“No. Sister. Well actually, both.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like it. Ream’s my brother. You’re not.”
“Well, legally maybe, but—”
“Stop.”
“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.” And I was getting fast that I would give her whatever she wanted—for now. “What about wife? Can I call you that?”
I WAS STILL tense about Crisis and Kite coming with us since they were attention magnets. Being Ream’s twin sister had repercussions when my past was screwed-up. I may have been kept locked away for years, but I’d been surrounded by greed and I knew how it worked. A story about me would pay a large sum because it would lead to a story about Ream, and his past would be looked into.
“The dress is too short,” Crisis said as we got out of the car.
I raised my brows. “Are you really going to go there?” It wasn’t too short, not even close. It had long sleeves and there was no cleavage. The dress Kat had given me, not one of Dana’s which revealed more skin than material.
He scowled as he looked at my bare legs then scooted up to my eyes. His disapproving expression slipped away and he shrugged. “Just sayin,’ princess. Gives the wrong idea.” He chin-lifted to the three-story house that blared music and people spilled out onto the front lawn.
“And what idea is that?” I knew what idea, but I wanted to hear him say it. Compared to how I walked out on stage at the club, I was the one wearing the snowsuit tonight.
Kite and Dana were arguing because Kite was trying to convince her that bowling was a better way to spend the night than a drunken party filled with twenty-year-olds. But Dana was twenty-one and younger than us since I started college late.
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Crisis asked.
“Yeah. Please.”
He moved in on me until my back was against the car. I raised my chin and straightened my spine. He leaned forward, arms straddling me as he rested his hands on the roof. “A guy sees a chick in a little black dress, sexy heels and a hot bod like yours, it’s pussy they’re going for. And a party . . . a frat party . . . is filled with guys who can no longer decipher the word ‘no’ because the alcohol has made their brain one big swimming pool of bad decisions. So, yeah . . . dressed like that . . . you’re pussy to take advantage of.”
And all of this should’ve bothered me. It didn’t. Because I was getting Crisis and he wasn’t telling me because he thought I was easy pussy, he was telling me because he didn’t want guys taking advantage of me. And I knew better than anyone what some guys would do to get pussy.
“Oh, shut up, Crisis.” Dana grabbed my hand and pulled me out from under Crisis arm. “You just want to screw her yourself.”
I slipped my hand from Dana’s after a couple steps, but followed her up the path to the house. Why did I agree to this? I hated crowds and shouting, jeering and drunk men. This was exactly what I’d avoided and yet in some way, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this. That my past had no control over me. The two episodes today were like a gauntlet to my confidence and I wanted it back.
I had to get it back.
This was normal, a party with school friends. Make a life for myself and forget what was constantly hammering at my head because there was nothing I could do about it.
It took all of five seconds before people noticed Kite and Crisis, and the whispers behind hands became a hum of excitement. I kept my distance to make certain I didn’t land in any pictures. I had to hand it to Crisis, he was good with people as he grinned and shook hands with strangers. He was completely casual and relaxed about being the center of attention. Everything opposite to me.
Kite was a little more standoffish, although he half-smiled and appeared as if he was comfortable, and he probably was in that he was confident, but he didn’t take to the attention like Crisis. Kite was like a jaguar cichlid fish swimming amongst the minnows, casually watching them before he devoured them with one swallow.
Dana pulled me through the kitchen farther away from Kite and Crisis, who were completely surrounded by fans. “Look for Dillon. He’s tall, spikey brown hair and has a really cute smile.”
“You just described half the guys here.”
She laughed. “Yeah, but Dillon’s smile is breathtaking.”
“Don’t you like Kite?”
She shrugged. “Hell yeah. But I’m not stupid. He’s Kite from Tear Asunder. That isn’t happening.”
We found Dillon out in the backyard with a group of guys, some of who Dana knew. She introduced me to them and I hovered, spoke when I needed to and sipped on a beer Dana passed me.
There was nothing I liked about being surrounded by strangers, and strangers who were getting drunk, even less.
I finally managed to sneak away to a dark corner of the patio, sipping my beer that had too much foam at the top and smelled like skunk. I never drank . . . never had a beer before.
I leaned against the brick wall, the rough notches digging into my upper back. There was a group of girls giggling and squealing like hyenas down by the edge of the patio and I didn’t have to guess why they were acting as if they were four-year olds excited to see Spiderman. It was pitiful, really.
“Here.” Startled at the voice coming up beside me, some of my beer spilled over my hand.
A guy I recognized from one of my classes, although I couldn’t remember his name, held out a white plastic cup with another beer.
“No foam. Fresh keg.”
“Thanks. But I’m not a fan of beer.”
He laughed. “Certainly not that one. Skunk, right?” I nodded. “I swear this one will taste much better. They changed the keg. Yours is all foam and probably tastes like sewer water with whip cream on top.”
I half-smiled and so did he. He was kind of cute, with dark eyes that drooped in the corners giving him that puppy-dog look.
I took the cup from him and he dumped my old one into the planter a few feet in front of us. He raised his cup. “Cheers. I’m Kevin. You’re in my Sociology 101 class, with the guy your friend is talking to, Dillon.”
I didn’t raise my cup to his or tell him my name, but instead, took a sip. He was right. This one tasted better and was colder. He leaned against the wall beside me so our shoulders touched. I shifted an inch away and took another long sip of my beer. I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. I’d been forced to be around plenty of men since I was sixteen, but coming up with meaningless conversation wasn’t my thing. The men at the club paid to fuck me, not to have a conversation.
But Crisis had sent me many meaningless texts. Some of the conversations he started were ridiculous like the one about the cucumbers and, once, he went on for a dozen texts about no longer getting the tiny packages of peanuts handed out on flights.
“You hear about the Tear Asunder guys showing up?”
I didn’t say anything. I had no intention of tellin
g some guy about my association with the band.
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped as he pushed away from the wall so he could face me. “You serious? You don’t know Tear Asunder? The rock band?” Obviously, he took my silence for I’d never heard of the band. I stayed quiet, no need to burst his bubble. “Sculpt is the lead singer and used to be an illegal underground fighter and Ream is the lead guitarist and had some melt down last year, but that was squashed. Probably paid off the reporters. Can’t figure out why the drummer and bass guitarist are crashing our party.”
I shrugged and sipped my beer. Neither did I.
He nodded to the crowd where Crisis was. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” Well, he might be right about that. “He treats chicks like trash. What an asshole.”
I stiffened and the tiny invisible hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. “You ever think the chicks are using him?” Where was my silence? But I was pissed-off and pissed-off trumped silence. “That he’s the one being treated like trash? Because from what I’ve seen all over the internet, it’s the chicks bragging about having slept with Crisis, not the other way around.” Probably, a lot were false reports but, either way, those chicks he slept with . . . that was their choice. They sure as hell weren’t tied down and forced to spread their legs.
“Thanks, Ice.”
Crisis strolled toward us having obviously heard my speech. He didn’t bother introducing himself to Kevin; instead, he moved past him, kissed the top of my head then looped his arm around my waist. “I’m flattered you’d stick up for me.”
“I wasn’t sticking up for you.”
Kevin’s eyes were on Crisis’ arm around my waist. “You know one another?”
“Sort of,” I said at the same time as Crisis said with a definite, “Yes.”
Crisis tugged me closer. “I’m her favorite trash.” I choked on my beer and had to put my hand over my mouth to stop it from spraying Kevin.
Kevin looked like he swallowed a bottle of hot sauce as his eyes widened and mouth gaped looking from me to Crisis.
“You’re dating him?”
“God, no,” I said.
Crisis leaned into me, bowing his head so that his breath swept across my cheek. “Cupcake, really? You embarrassed to admit you’re going out with a smokin’ hot rock star?”
I smacked him in the chest and he grinned.
Kevin looked at us, his face with blotches of red. “Umm, well. I’ll see you in class. I better go . . .” He raised his half-full cup. “Need another.”
“Later,” Crisis said, all the while grinning.
“Can you let go of me now?” His fingers slid from my waist to trickle across my lower back then finally fell away. I expected relief, but I was discovering that when Crisis touched me, I didn’t get that anxious feeling like spiders were crawling all over me.
It was comforting. And despite his man-whore reputation and his crude mouth, I didn’t feel like an object. Shit, I had words scored into my wrist to remind me of the fact.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Crisis said and linked his fingers with mine. “Where did your friend go?”
“She’s with Dillon.” I tugged on my hand, trying to free it from his. He merely tightened his hold and chuckled. I obviously didn’t find it funny. “Crisis. I don’t want to be seen with you.” He certainly didn’t like that as he scowled something fierce. And I didn’t like it when he scowled.
“First time a chick has ever said that to me. Why not, Ice?”
“Because . . .” And that was all I had at the moment. His grip was firm, his hand a little rough as he had callouses on the tips of his fingers. But the inner part of his palm was warm and soft like velvet.
We stared at one another for a moment and I got shivers . . . good shivers. Ones that made my heart race.
He was first to break away. “Well, I want to be seen with you. But I’ll let you have that . . . for now.” He let my hand go, but he kept close, within arm’s reach, as we made our way into the house and through the crowd.
The music was loud and thumping inside, as were the shouts. My step faltered as my mind tried to play dirty with me again.
I am not running.
I came here tonight to prove that I could do this. That I could fight the memories just like I fought my way through years of hell.
My body bumped and separated from Crisis. A hand rubbed against my ass and I spun around only to be shoved to the side and have another hand latch onto my arm as I lost my balance. I yanked away and circled around, staggering back as I tried to find my way through the crowd. From the hands pulling at me. Touching me.
Too many hands touching me. Sweaty and cold, clammy and warm.
Be a mannequin.
Be a mannequin.
I closed my eyes and pretended to be somewhere else. Anywhere else but here, like I’d done at the club night after night.
Something cold and hard pressed up against me and I froze. Unable to get away. The music blared in the background, accompanied by shouts and leers. Touching. Prodding.
Oh, God, my hands were tied. I couldn’t move.
I was jostled to the side and someone grabbed my forearm to steady me. I swung around and knocked the guy’s hand off me.
I fell back into someone else, lost my balance and went over on my ankle then crashed to my knees.
I was naked on the bed, except for a jewelled belt around my waist that had a thin chain down my ass and back up again between my legs. It was tight and hurt, but the men stuck their money in it when I danced.
Oh God, I hated it. I hated it so much.
The monsters were all around me and I had no escape. I couldn’t get away. One shadow strode toward the bed, licking his lips as his eyes trailed the length of my body. I knew the handcuffs wouldn’t give, but I pulled on them anyway.
He laughed.
“Fuck. Haven. Baby. Open your eyes. Look at me.”
That voice. It was as if a blanket of heat wrapped around me and I was no longer cold and naked and alone fighting for my sanity. “Crisis?”
“Yeah. Open your eyes, honey.”
I opened my eyes. Voices were all around me, but it was Crisis’ I heard as he crouched in front of me. He gently cupped my chin as if to make certain I didn’t lose focus on his eyes. They were calm and steady like his voice. I fed off his composed energy and took several deep breaths.
After a minute, he took my hand and squeezed. “You good to stand?”
I nodded and he helped me to my feet.
A crowd had circled around us, staring and murmuring words like crazy and drunk. I saw Kite grab a phone out of a guy’s hand who had just snapped a picture of me. He tossed it on the floor and crushed it with his foot.
I should’ve known this would happen. I hated crowds, hated the feeling of being trapped. It was like my body was in wet cement, heavy and unable to get free.
“Haven?” Dana pushed through the hordes of people. “What happened? You okay?” Her words slurred and she had a glassy look in her eyes.
“She just tripped,” Crisis said then looped his arm around my waist, his fingers solid on my hip. “Let’s go.”
I’d never heard his tone so hard and abrupt before.
I caught a glimpse of Kite snagging another phone out of someone’s hand—Kevin’s. “No pictures. Jesus. Have some respect.” Kite leaned into the bathroom near the front door and I heard a splash as the phone hit water. Kevin started swearing and ran into the bathroom muttering “assholes.”
Kite didn’t even glance at Kevin or seem to care that he’d just ruined two phones. He went ahead of us and started the car. Dana jumped in the front with Kite, and as soon as her door shut, Crisis started talking.
Crisis didn’t open the door; instead, he gently leaned me against it and ran his hand over my head until he cupped the back of my neck. “Shield back in place I see,” he said as he watched me for a second. “You okay?”
I nodded.
“Good
. Cause now I’m telling you that this shit fucking with your head is serious.”
He had no idea. No one did. I’d found a way to live and now I was finding a way to survive the memories. I just needed ordinary. If I had that, everything else would eventually disappear. It had to.
“Don’t look at me like I’m spurting bullshit.”
“You don’t know anything, Crisis.” I pulled out of this grip on my neck.
“Yeah, because you won’t talk to me. You won’t talk to anyone.” He argued back. “Ream’s tried to help. Emily. Kat. You refuse to see a therapist. I get that. But damn it, you need someone to trust or the shit that just went down is going to get worse.”
“I don’t need anyone.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the bubble of anger was cracking in my chest.
He shook his head and sighed. Before I could stop him, he reached out and caressed the side of my face. “Yeah, you do, Haven. I’ve been trying for months to get you to see that.” His finger came under my chin and his thumb stroked back and forth softly. “I like you. I care about you.”
I tensed but kept my voice soft as I said, “I won’t have sex with you, Crisis.” If that’s where he was going with the liking me, I needed him to know that sleeping with him wasn’t an option for me.
His arm dropped to his side. “Don’t want to fuck a girl so damaged she can’t breathe without hurting.” He lowered his voice and it went all husky. “What I want is to help her learn to laugh again. And I want her trust.” He leaned to the side and opened the car door.
Why? Why would he want to help me? Crisis was all about attention. His music. His goal in life was having something about him go viral on Twitter.
But that was the Crisis everyone saw. After texting with him for months, I knew that there was far more to him. I knew he was really proud of a song he wrote for the band and he wanted to do more of that. I knew he had a list of things he wanted to do before he died. I hadn’t seen it, but he told me two of them: learn to make his mom’s spaghetti meat sauce and that led into another one which was ‘so he could teach his kid one day.’
And maybe that was when I truly knew that Crisis was way more than he let on, and as he looked at me, I saw the concern in his eyes. I heard it in his voice. I felt it in his arms.