by Fox, Logan
My heart stops beating. A cold, dreadful certainty fills me like cement.
“Of us in the woods?” I manage in a too-tight voice.
“The woods?” Addison waves away the suggestion with an annoyed flick of her hand. “You on your knees,” she snaps. Then she lifts her chin, moves in beside me, and urges me forward with an arm around my waist. She snaps a large, pink bubble of gum and then throws a finger to the girls who were giggling behind me.
“Fuck them all,” she states in a loud voice.
In the overwhelming relief flooding me, I let Addy sweep me down the hall. I even manage a sickly smile, purely because the horrifying thought that Briar’s assault had been videotaped and aired to Gen Pop had almost given me a heart attack.
If Briar was pissed about me trying to tell a teacher this morning about what had happened…I can only imagine his fury if it was broadcast to the entire school.
I don’t think I’d survive the fallout.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Addy says.
“Yeah. Let’s.”
* * *
We each grab a plate of roast turkey sandwiches and French fries and take a seat close to the windows. Chuckles and the word virgin puppy follow me, but Addison makes as if she doesn’t notice.
I don’t get it. What makes me so interesting to Briar? I mean, I’m a nobody. He’s obviously a somebody — by the time we get to our seats and I hazard a glance around, I see his Majesty taking a seat in the middle of the goddamn cafeteria.
Two benches have been pushed together to accommodate his subjects, who are all currently transfixed by whatever tall tales he’s lathering them with. Surprisingly, there aren’t any girls at his tables, just a bunch of jocks and wannabes.
Leaning on my elbow, I point at Briar’s table. “Him?”
Addy glances at Briar’s table and then back at me so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Yeah?” she asks warily.
“You’re going to tell me what his story is. Now.”
Addy shifts as if the question makes her uncomfortable, and then gives a half-hearted shrug. “He’s bad news, Indi. Just forget—”
“Bad news how?”
Addy purses her lips around her energy drink’s straw.
“Like, he may look like a fucking god, but he’s the spawn of Satan.” Addy lifts a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Prince Briar destroys everything he touches.”
I lean away from her. “Personal experience?”
Addy sniffs, throws a glare in Briar’s direction, and then turns her back to their bench. “He dated my friend, Jessica.”
I point at her energy drink, and she hesitates before handing it over. I take a sip, grimacing at how sweet it is, as she carries on talking.
“They’d been going out a few months already. Jess said he wanted to get serious, you know — sex? — but she wanted to take it slow.”
My eyes go to Briar. He looks serious as anything, eyebrows drawn together and staring at his cellphone as his subjects make high fives and give each other fist bumps around him.
“Guys do that,” I say dryly, thinking back to every single relationship I’ve ever had. It didn’t matter how many times you said ‘no’, or how creative you got in telling them, they’d keep pushing and pushing and pushing.
I was tempted more than once to lose my virginity just to get it over with. I mean, sex has to be fucking amazing if guys are so hard up about getting laid all the time, right? Obviously I’m missing out. But it was never the right time, the right place, the right guy.
Story of my life.
Damn, but she wasn’t kidding about Briar looking like a God. The day turned out warm, so he’s only wearing his school shirt and a slightly loosened tie. He has his sleeves rolled up to the middle of his lower arms, setting off his dark tan. As I watch, he rakes the fingers of one hand irritably through his long, sandy-blond hair, mussing it up even further.
He should be gloating about the prank he pulled. The one currently circulating through the entire school’s mobiles. Instead, he looks frustrated.
What could possibly piss off someone like Briar? I mean, does he not have enough rooms in his massive house? Because he’s got to be super-wealthy to dare be so fucking arrogant. Maybe there aren’t enough horses in his car’s engine? Or is it because he’s finally realized he’s an asshole and no one will ever love him?
“We were at Briar’s birthday party…”
I look away reluctantly from Briar, fixing my attention back to Addy. From the tone of her voice, she doesn’t want to be having this conversation. She starts fidgeting with the straw wrapper, and I hand her back her can.
“What happened?”
“Everyone was drunk.” Her eyes dart up to mine. “A lot of them were doped up too.” Then she sighs and tugs at her straw. “I left at like one in the morning or something. Only Briar and his crew and a few of the cheerleaders were still around.”
Addy gets a faraway look in her eyes and nods. “Dylan gave me a lift home.”
“And Jess?”
“She stayed. I didn’t want her to, tried to talk her out of it, but she was so drunk she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Addy grows quiet, and it takes everything I have not to press her to continue. After a few seconds and another sip from her can, she goes on in a low, barely audible voice.
“She called me in tears just before noon the next day.”
My breath stalls as my gaze darts back to Briar. He’s not looking at his phone anymore — he’s looking straight at me. My skin flashes ice-cold, but as much as I know I have to look away, I can’t.
“Said something had happened. That I had to come get her.”
Even across the cafeteria, the weight of Briar’s gaze pins me to the spot. I lick my suddenly dry lips, and he tilts his head just a little to the side, as if fascinated by this. He smiles at me, and those words he spoke in our Psych class come back to me like the whisper of a nightmare.
Everyone bows to the prince.
“When I got to the house, she was on the sidewalk. Barely coherent. She insisted I drive her home, and that’s all I could get out of her.”
“So you don’t know what happened?” I ask, my ears starting to buzz the longer Briar stares at me. The guy to his left starts talking to him, but he doesn’t bother breaking eye contact with me.
“There were rumors, of course.” Addy reaches the end of her drink, and the rattle of her straw finally allows me to tear my eyes away from Briar.
“But I mean, you must have asked. Didn’t she say?” I lean a little closer. Addy’s eyes are too bright, as if she’s holding back tears. “Addy?” I lay a hand on her arm, and she flinches before jerking away from my touch. “What is it?”
“All we have are rumors,” she says woodenly, shaking her can as if wondering why it was empty.
When she looks at me, my stomach twists with dread. “Why?” I breathe. “Did she leave town or something?”
Addy shakes her head, her mouth a tight, trembling line. “Jess killed herself.”
* * *
I zone out during Environmental Sciences as I try to piece together Addy’s cryptic conversation.
There was a party.
Everyone got drunk.
Addy left.
The next day — but only at noon — her friend calls her to get her.
She’s hysterical.
That night, she commits suicide.
Round and round my thoughts go. Where they’ll stop, nobody knows.
When the bell rings signaling home time, I notice for the first time that the level of giggling and hushed whispers in the class has grown. I turn to look to the side, and feel something shift in my hair.
I sigh, reach up, and cringe inwardly when I touch a cold spitball lodged in my hair.
One of many, it turns out. I stay behind, picking the offending gobs from my hair, staring at everyone who walks past in an effort to narrow down my suspects.
And
then one of Briar’s friends, dark hair and dark eyes, the one who’d been sitting beside him at lunch, saunters past wearing a big, fake grin.
When I scowl at him, he begins tonguing his cheek in imitation of an obviously squint girl giving a sideways blowjob.
I throw him the finger, but that just makes him and everyone around him burst out laughing. By the time I get all the spitballs from my hair, all I want to do is go home and crash.
I drag myself to my junker and sit for a few moments in the driver’s seat, counting up all my fuck-ups for the day. A sharp rap to my window startles me out of the exhaustive list.
Addy’s standing by my window, head cocked as if impatient for me to roll down the window.
“Hi,” I say sheepishly, giving her a weak smile.
She leans her elbows on the window ledge. “Tomorrow will be better.”
I squint up at her. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Her smile is a touch nostalgic. “Because I was once the new girl. I know how much it sucks. It helps having someone on your side.”
“Jessica?” I venture, my mouth pulling to the side.
Addy nods, and gives me a sad smile. Then she reaches into the car and squeezes my shoulder. “But I also know it gets better.”
When I look up at her, her smile is warm and friendly. “Just take it one day at a time, and you’ll do fine.”
I have an overwhelming urge to tell her about the woods, but I can already feel she wants to change the subject away from Jess. This is the worst time to mention anything about what happened between me and Briar.
Instead of making an ass of myself and getting Addy all worked up, I could try being her friend.
So I smile at her, and I let her think that her words are all the encouragement I need to make it through the day.
I guess she’s right, in a way. I’ll just take it one day at a time. When I close my eyes at night, I’ll be cleaning the slate.
Tomorrow will be a new day, right, Mom?
Chapter Nine
Briar
I pull up to Briar Mansion, Marcus following close behind in his big-ass SUV. We had football practice until five in preparation for a game happening this weekend — the last before we hit finals. I’m physically drained, but mentally my brain feels like it’s fizzing.
Sports always had a way to get me hyped up, especially football. No one cares how aggressive you get out there, long as you don’t cross the line. Surprisingly, it’s easier for me to do that on the field than in real life.
I guess that’s mainly due to Coach Carter. Because fuck knows, that man’s dressed me down until I was shaking with fury.
In real life, it’s so much easier to get away with shit.
No witnesses? No crime.
Marcus jogs up to me, and then falls in line, his backpack over one shoulder, and two six-packs dangling from the fingertips of his other hand.
He’s tall and thin and runs like a fucking Olympic athlete, but he doesn’t have the muscle to take down the bigger guys. We make a good team and coach knows it.
Marcus ruffles his short, dark hair and gives me a sheepish grin. “Gonna fucking feel this tomorrow,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and wincing.
“You say that now, but wait till the only action you get is walking the stairs at Prep.” Marcus loves letting off steam as much as I do, and I saw him on the field today — he was giving as good as he got.
I’m glad he has a healthy outlet for the shit he gets dealt on such a regular basis. My dad’s never here, but that’s a shit-ton better than if he was…and he was roughing me up every other night.
“So you decided if you’re going to MU yet, or what?” I ask as I key in the security code on the mansion’s front door keypad. I could have set up this place to work from my phone or smartwatch by now, but Dad’s super old fashioned when it comes to this shit. I mean, we’ve got cameras and stuff inside, but they don’t even get backed up to the fucking cloud.
Nope. DVD’s all the way.
If Marcus’s dad weren’t such a fucking douche bag, I’d have asked Marcus a long time ago to get us a quote for a new security system.
When Marcus doesn’t answer, I shove the mansion’s massive front door open and block the entrance. “You okay, man?”
Marcus is staring at the ground, his mouth in an unhappy line. “Yeah, it’s just…” He sighs, ruffles his hair again, and makes a face at me. “The old man seems to think I’m obligated to work at his company when I’m done with school.”
“What? Fuck.” I step aside, and Marcus trudges reluctantly inside. “But you told him you wanna be an attorney, right?”
“Man, he doesn’t fucking listen.” Marcus heads straight for the kitchen. I follow him inside, watching as he sets our beers inside the double refrigerator.
Natalie designed this space. A few of the rooms, too. She was a fully qualified architect, and actually fucking good at it. But she seemed to think this house would be brimming with kids. Everything feels two sizes too big — the massive kitchen with its long island, the dining room table that seats twenty guests, the excess of guest bedrooms.
“Dude, you gotta level with him,” I say, taking the can he hands me and cracking it open. “You can’t go do something you don’t—”
“I don’t have a choice.” He turns, staring out the window. “He’s holding my trust fund hostage.”
My eyebrows lift to my hairline. I’m speechless. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I thought at least in adulthood, Marcus’s dad would cut him a fucking break.
“Wow…that’s…”
“Cold,” Marcus mutters. He swings back to me, lifts his can, and takes several long swallows. “Here’s to the fuck-ups that call themselves dads.”
I shake my head, but touch my can to his when he lowers it before taking a sip.
“Hey…that Indi chick look familiar to you?” Marcus asks quietly. My eyes snap to him, my heart suddenly beating harder than before.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying for casual. Fuck knows if I fool him — Marcus is staring off into the distance again.
“I dunno…maybe she’s just got one of those faces, but could of sworn I’ve met her before.”
Thank fuck. I thought he was referring to the fact that Indi definitely seemed to know me.
“I think she’s family of the Davis’s,” I say, coming around the island and leaning against it beside him. I’ve got about half an inch on him, but that’s never seemed to bug him. “Could be she resembles one of them enough.”
When Marcus doesn’t say anything, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s gone all stiff, face leeched of color. “What…What’s wrong?” I say through a chuckle.
“Nothing,” Marcus says hurriedly, pushing away from the island. He grins at me, and I wonder if I was imagining things. The light in this place can be a little too white sometimes. “Thinking of something else.”
Fuck. What is it going to take to get his mind off his prick of a dad?
“Tell you what,” I say, lifting my beer can and pointing at him with a finger. “Let’s plan phase two.”
Marcus’s smile widens into something approaching manic. “Did you see the video today?”
I shake my head, gulping down more of my beer and Marcus rummages in his sweats for his phone. He beckons me with a finger, turning and resting his elbows on the marble counter of the island as a video starts playing on his phone’s massive touchscreen.
The shot jiggles a little, and then steadies.
“What the fuck are those—”
“Lenses, dude. Or filters, or some shit, I dunno. Dylan’s girl is fucking obsessed with the shit.”
I crane closer, a slow smile spreading on my lips.
Cindy must have been quite close to get such a good shot of Indi on her knees. But whatever she did to the video, it introduced a pair of dog ears and a shiny nose to both me and Indi’s faces.
It honestly looks like she’s begging, and I’m stan
ding over her smirking like a fucking king.
I bark out a laugh, and then snatch the phone from Marcus’s hands, replaying the video.
“Fucking genius,” I murmur.
“I’ll send it to you,” Marcus says, retrieving his phone when the video’s done playing.
“Yeah, you do that.” I’m still laughing as I make for the stairs. “Throw your shit in one of the rooms and let’s bang out a few games of pool.”
Marcus grabs his backpack and follows me up the stairs, detouring to his favorite guest bedroom — the one two doors down from my father’s den. Apparently, he has a thing for balcony’s, and that’s the only guest room that has one. It doesn’t have much of a view, but beggars can’t be choosers.
While I’m changing into clean clothes, my phone vibrates on my bed. I go over to it, tugging a shirt over my head as the video comes through. I watch it again, but this time I don’t smile.
This time, I’m trying to see past the ridiculous cutesy fucking dog ears and shit Cindy pasted on Indi.
I want to see her eyes. Those fierce fucking eyes of hers.
Yup, there it is.
She fucking hates me.
“You coming, bro?”
My eyes snap up, and I toss my phone back on my bed. “Sure,” I say gruffly, charging out of my room.
What the fuck’s wrong with me? I should be elated that she hates me; it means my plan’s fucking working.
Instead, I feel hollow inside. I chug the last of my beer before we hit the entertainment center on the ground floor, and immediately head for the bar.
“Shot?” I yell over my shoulder as I slide around the bar and grab a bottle of rum.
“Make it a double,” Marcus says, taking a pool cue from the rack and weighing it in his hand. “Else you’ll never fucking win.”
I bark out a laugh, pour us a double rum and coke, and then add a shot of tequila on the side. I bring him the small shooter glass, and clink it.
“To fucking shit up,” I say.
“Amen, brother.”