Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5)

by Addison Moore

“What’s nice?” Wes purrs, stroking my hair carful and slow like the fur of an untamed animal.

  “This,” I say, waving my hand around at the landscape before pulling him in. “You. You’re nice, Wes.”

  “I can’t believe she attacked you like that.” He presses out a deflated smile in lieu of an apology.

  It takes everything in me not to drag him into the bushes, have my way with the boy I lost sleep over and fantasized about until the sun came up. I wept rivers thinking about those jade eyes, that mischievous smile. I died every day that Wes was held captive by the reaper.

  Without hesitation I lean up on the balls of my feet and push in a kiss that could seduce a monk out of a vow of celibacy. I missed this. I missed getting lost in the heat of Wesley Parkers mouth more than I did just about anything else. Wes lets out a gut wrenching moan, indulging himself in something deeper and richer before pulling away.

  “Whoa.” His lids stay closed long after he exhales the word. “Laken.” He glances back at the house and gives a depleted sigh. “I’m actually seeing someone.”

  “Kresley?” It sails out from my lips, dumbfounded, even though I know this to be true.

  “Yes.” His eyes enlarge as though this were a reality I should have long since realized.

  “Are you in love with her?” If she thought shopping for engagement rings were a possibility, chances are, yes, he is in fact under her dubious spell. I stare at him in disbelief as he writhes in the moment as if it were too painful to answer. If he says yes, I’ll want to die all over.

  “I don’t know about love.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder as we walk along the crest of a hill. Down below, the dorms lay out like the rectangular pieces from a game board, glinting against the black soulless hills like smoldering tinder. “I like her.”

  My stomach comes to a sharp boil as I glance back at Henderson Hall.

  Kresley’s wild interpretation of what might happen tonight comes back to me.

  “Were you going to ask her to marry you?” I can barely choke out the words.

  “No.” It speeds out of him like only the truth can. “In fact, I need to talk to her about that. I’ve been hearing rumors all week.”

  “She mentioned you were going to give her something.” I try to brush it off. I can’t believe I’m here standing on the same side of the soil as Wesley Parker and we’re discussing his girlfriend of all things—and it isn’t me.

  He digs into his pocket and fishes something out, holds it flat on his palm so I can see. It’s a small earring, just one, a cut diamond enwreathed in platinum.

  “Found it in my room. She thought she lost it.”

  I don’t even want to consider what she might have been doing in his room of all places. In the event Kresley bashing my head in didn’t drive home the point she was truly with Wes, the earring she left rolling around under his bed dealt the final blow.

  “How’s your head?” He touches the pads of his fingers softly over my brow and winces.

  “Hurts like hell.” Worse now that I have an inadvertent visual of what Kresley’s tanned limbs might look like wrapped around my boyfriend’s back.

  His features dim to pitch. “I told your uncle they let you out too soon.”

  “My uncle?”

  “Yes.” He bounces into a soft nod, completely perplexed by my lack of common knowledge.

  “Let me out of where?”

  “The hospital.” He blinks into the sorry state of disrepair my brain has fallen in. “You slipped out of the old tree house. You got all sentimental when he said he was taking it down and flew through the floorboards as soon as you got up there. And evidently,” he whispers, “you’re still struggling with your memory.”

  I study him for a moment. Casper used the word programmed earlier. She said there were people I belonged with and they would find me. I’m beginning to wonder if Wes is one of them. I hate to say it, but programmed sounds like the right word to describe everything about him, right down to his Lacoste sweater, his pale blue tie and dress shirt lurking beneath as if they were ashamed to be there.

  “You don’t remember anything, do you, Wes?” The words fall like tears.

  “Remember what?” He circles me with a look of confusion. There’s a level of concern brewing in his eyes that lets me know Kresley may not be my biggest obstacle, that one of us is wrong about the past and Wes is convinced it’s me.

  “Why did she say your name was Wesley Paxton?” Confusion reverberates in me like an echo, amplifying my pain.

  “Because it is.” He gives a decidedly worried look as if I just confessed to the slaughter of his entire family. “What did you think it was?”

  “Parker.” I draw my arms tight around my waist. “I thought it was Wesley Parker.”

  There are some moments you etch into your being, the ones that singe you, leave you emotionally jarred for either good or bad reasons, and for me it’s this one.

  The moon showers over us with its feathery beams. The mist pools around us, threatening to whitewash the landscape, to steal Wes and make this strange new world disappear forever.

  Wesley Parker might be standing here in front of me with God’s own breath in his lungs, but there’s favorable evidence he doesn’t remember a darn thing about who we used to be, Kansas, or the way his lips once covered mine like a habit.

  “You felt something for me in there. I saw it in your eyes.” I don’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it does.

  “Laken.” He petitions me with a sad affection. “I have a girlfriend, and you’re like a sister to me. We practically grew up together. I can’t—” He looks wild-eyed out at the horizon. “I can’t think of you that way.”

  His words jag through me like a knife.

  Tears lie just beneath the surface. One more power blow to my heart, and I’m going to end this nightmare by blubbering like a baby—that, or a knifing will ensue. I’d gladly gut Kresley for the fun of it.

  “I don’t believe you.” It takes everything in me to push out those words.

  Neither of us say anything—neither of us move. I can feel the heat radiating off his person, powerful as a furnace. He feels something, his lips might say no, but his eyes affirm everything I say is true. He sweeps over me and rubs his thumb against my cheek.

  “Well then.” He licks his lips as though I were a meal. “Maybe I’m a liar.”

  5

  The Beach

  In the morning I inspect the foreign landscape outside my bedroom window. Arid white billows swirl along the crimson path. A breeze from the forest shepherds the fog like an army of poltergeists through the sharp, rolling hills. They move lethargically north, rowing their ghostlike arms in some invisible race.

  The world outside seems devoid of any color, with the exception of the emerald lawn that campaigns hard for my attention. It lays flat over the hills, thick as felt and makes me want to run barefoot through the curious carpet just to see if I end up somewhere altogether different.

  The dull brick dormitories sit interspersed like giant chess pieces from a long forgotten game. Its players abandoned the effort, died, or found themselves in Kansas. It all seems probable, inevitable on some level.

  “School is way up there.” Casper comes alongside me and points east.

  “Yesterday, this woman with dark hair. She found me, told me to come to Austen House, said my sister would be here to greet me.”

  “Ms. Paxton—school mistress. She can give a rat’s ass what we do. I think she’s seeing your uncle.”

  “Interesting.”

  Casper motions for me to tie her bathing suit, so I do. Her papery flesh reveals way too many ribs—vertebrae rise like dunes all the way up her back.

  “I guess I’m meeting him this weekend.” I pause at the absurdity of going along with these people. “Wes told me that I fell out of a tree house—that I hit my head.”

  “You hear it long enough, you’ll believe it.” She holds out her arm exposing a purple line that jags from her
shoulder to her elbow. “Fell out the fifth floor window onto a glass platform. The woman posing as my mother swears it happened.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I ran through a glass slider back in Texas where I lived with my real family. I thought it was open, and it shattered. I cut my leg really bad, must’ve bled through.” She pulls a metallic two-piece from out of the drawer and dangles it in the air before tossing it at me. “Kresley gave it to me for my birthday,” she over annunciates the words. “I think it’d look really good on you.” She gives an impish grin. “It’s the perfect F.U.”

  I examine its scant existence, the barely there bottom that would require both physical perfection and getting intimate with the business end of a razor.

  A passive smile pulls on my lips. I think pissing off Kresley is my new favorite pastime.

  Fletcher drives Carter, Grayson, and I through barren country roads as if he were dodging serious traffic at rush hour with the entire robot apocalypse in hot pursuit.

  “Would you slow down?” I tug on my seatbelt to ensure its resilience in the inevitable event of a crash. “And what the hell’s with the swerving?” Fletch never drove so erratic back home. Must be something to do with the brain malfunction he’s operating under. Obviously, the masters of this universe rewired him for vehicular manslaughter charges in the not so distant future.

  “Relax.” He dives in front of a white truck in the opposite lane before maneuvering back. “You gotta live a little. Have some fun.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d like to live a little longer.” An ironic statement, in and of itself. But still, I can’t help but feel like every windshield has it out for me, and Fletcher isn’t exactly helping the situation.

  It takes over an hour to arrive at a beach called Kettles.

  We get out and stretch our limbs, nimble as kittens. The fog has eaten away most of the shore, and the salty breeze licks at my bare skin. I take off my shoes and let my feet sink into the sand, soft as baby powder.

  I have never been to the beach—sure, a lake, a stream, a river but I’ve never seen the ocean. I’ve spent months of my life in a swimming pool, but have never witnessed something so expansive, so majestic that pulls out forever in a span of royal blue. I marvel with an open sense of wonder at how regal it looks, how miraculous it is that the hard cobalt horizon is allowed to kiss the sky so brazenly.

  I don’t dare confess I’ve never set my eyes on this magnificence. That I’ve never tasted salted air, thick as brine.

  “Where you sitting?” Carter asks, following Fletch like an enamored puppy, which I think is really lame since she’s in a committed relationship. She mentioned her boyfriend, Jackson, couldn’t make it, but she didn’t seem too broken up about it. She openly flirted with Fletch in the car, which added to the nausea inspired from my brother’s rollercoaster driving skills. But despite all of Carter’s efforts, it was Grayson who held his attention. It was Grayson who blew up his ego the size of her implants with a steady stream of ill-conceived compliments. Honest to God, after a while, it was starting to sound like some strange demonic chant, oh, Fletch, you’re so good at, fill in the blank, quickly followed up by something to do with her modeling career. Come to think of it, it was totally more of a satirical observation. But still, poor Carter doesn’t have a cheating leg to stand on.

  Fletcher hasn’t changed. He’s still the same fun loving moron he’s always been, in a cold distant way. It’s strange to think of him as gone, and now he’s here, or rather, I am. Death held him in a better light as far as my opinion of him went. For sure, now that I’m reminded of the fact he can so easily portray himself as an ass, solidifies the fact he’s merely my brother—not the superhero I let him morph into after he died. Besides, I like Fletch alive and slightly moronic rather than dead and spectacularly perfect.

  A string of pelicans fly in a low V formation, ditching down toward the water before spiking back up into the pale butter sky. They look ancient—their anatomy so prehistoric, I’m not certain modern man was ever supposed to witness them in flight.

  It makes me think of the sparrows in springtime. Small ebony darts, spearing through an unblemished country sky.

  God—I miss home. I miss miles of golden fields, the small tattered house that holds the scent of refried oil—sweet Lacey’s million-dollar smile. I miss her tiny, plump hand embedded in mine. I wish I could bring her here, show her the God-inspired miracle of something so spectacular as the sea. But in this world there is no Lacey, and no Mom, and no real Jen. Wes and Fletch have whet my appetite to linger, but I know where I truly belong. The fact I haven’t called an airline—hell, Mom, just proves I’m far too willing to falter in this fictitious universe of my own creation. I just need one more moment with Wes, one last kiss before this entire counterfeit world unravels.

  I watch the waves crash and melt into a creamy milkshake as they race up the sand.

  In the distance, Wes emerges from the water like Poseidon rising from his throne. I pull forward like a magnet, forgetting to romanticize the cool sand between my toes, the baptism of the Atlantic spraying over my body in a perfect gentle mist. Instead, I zero in on the rush of foam pooling around his legs as if the mighty ocean were bowing to his feet.

  Wes spots me and heads over in a sprint.

  “You made it in one piece.” He shags out his hair, sprinkling me with the residue. “The way your brother drives, I thought for sure I’d have to backtrack and look for the wreckage.” Water beads over his perfect body, long and lean with muscles in all the right places. Dear God. Wesley Parker is heaven.

  “Glad I survived,” I say, throwing my towel on the sand and dropping to my knees before him.

  “Are you still here?” A voice comes from the other side as a clothing-deficient Kresley scowls back at me. She sports a complicated bathing suit that neither qualifies as a two-piece nor a one-piece since there’s an entire network of floss that connects the scant upper and lower portions—the bottom consists of a precariously small triangle with what looks like a G-string in the back.

  “Yup, still here. Present and accounted for.” I try to sound chipper like she didn’t just piss me off. I predict she’ll have an eyeful of sand in less than ten seconds. The situation practically warrants an accidental spraying.

  “I got a callback for that part,” she says it directly to Wes in an effort to cut me out of the conversation.

  “Perfect.” He lands on the other side of me and smooths my towel out with a long stroke of his hand. There’s something sensual in the way he does it, and it makes my skin crave for him to replicate the effort. “That’s what you wanted.” He squints into the horizon, disinterested.

  “That is what I wanted.” There’s a note of defeat in her voice as she looks over my body at him. “I always get what I want.” She needles me with her hatred—hotter and more lethal than anything the ball of fire spinning overhead could ever manufacture.

  I don’t break away from her gaze. There’s no way I’m backing down to a power bitch like Kresley. I may not always get what I want, but for damn sure I’m getting Wes because he was mine to begin with.

  “What about you, Laken?” She annunciates my name with unnecessary roughness. “You ever think of getting into acting?” It comes out forced, full of sarcasm as if to cast a spotlight on her own achievement rather than promote any hidden talent I might have.

  “No,” I’m quick to initiate. “I don’t have time for rehab.”

  “Be nice.” Wes rumbles a dry laugh.

  He falls back on his elbows exposing tan skin stretched over rocks of rippling muscle, and I openly gawk at the perfection he’s become.

  Wesley Parker has turned his body into a bona fide work of freaking art. I don’t remember the curves and crevices enunciated over his abdomen, the girth of his arms—legs as thick as tree trunks.

  I peel off my sweater with knit holes the size of dimes and toss it to the side. I’ve gained a few curves myself while we’ve been apart
. I pull back my shoulders hoping Wes will sit up and take notice in the most literal graphic manner.

  His Adam’s apple rises and falls. His neck twitches as if he wants to look away but can’t afford the effort. Instead, Wes lingers. He drags his eyes across my flesh like he’s pulling lead weights.

  “So was it painful?” Kresley leans into me with her lips parted, ready for war.

  “I’ll bite.” I turn my face to the water. “What?”

  “You know, the sex change.”

  I dart a look to Wes. Swear to God, if that’s what this warped fantasy has concocted for me, I’m diving into that septic tank of algae and not coming up for air.

  “Leave her alone,” Wes says it low as if she were a gnat he were tired of swatting. “You’re a beautiful girl, Laken.” He shakes out his T-shirt. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Kresley’s eyes widen, first with horror, then with the intent to carry out a felony.

  I bask in the moment. Based on the not-so-veiled death threat contorting her features, I’ll be paying for Wesley’s proclamation of my beauty later. But no matter what she dishes out, it was worth every syllable.

  “Hey!” Casper, my newfound roommate, bounces over and sinks into the sand. She bites down a laugh, relishing the fact Wes is overtly giving me a body-scan. “It’s two o’clock,” she says, knocking her foot into Kresley. “We need to go. Jen’s got a cooler in the back of her car.” She offers me a short-lived smile. “Kitchen duty follows us everywhere.”

  “Shit.” Kresley stands and slips on a thin voile robe that dusts over her bottom. It leaves the rounded W of her flesh hanging out the back, and it looks more than slightly obscene. She stabs her feet into a pair of flip-flops, flicking sand in my direction as they trot toward the parking lot.

  “Remind me to never get kitchen duty,” I say, dusting off my limbs from the peppered assault.

  Wes presses out a devious smile. He licks his lips like he were mapping out what part of me he’d like a bite of first. I want to accuse him of seducing me, tell him that I don’t mind, that I want it, but my vocal cords are paralyzed by the sheer volume of his biceps.