I needed to stay present. I couldn’t fall into panic. Not when everyone was looking at me. I blinked furiously trying to stop the tears from trying to form.
‘I think she’s having a panic attack,’ Martha whispered to Emerson. She waved her hand in front of my face, but she could have just been moving closer towards me. Everything was a blur.
‘Liv…’ Emerson whispered my name.
I couldn’t hear him, not really. My mind was still all over the place. The memories of the trial and that night were background noise to my growing anxiety.
Emerson had just defended me, publicly, once more. How many times was he going to stand up for me?
The friendship I’d been trying to keep hidden, slipping in between lunches and rehearsals, when no one else was around, had slowly been getting more visible but it wasn’t until now that I realised how much I’d let slip. The baseball games. The Halloween party. The bonfire. And now this.
I was kidding myself to believe that Death wasn’t going to catch on. Vampires weren’t totally immune to Death. No one was. It was just harder for vampires to die than it was humans. What awful thing would Death cook up to finally take Emerson away?
The last person to defend me like this had been Christian. And look what had happened there. Look! At every paper on the floor and every whisper on the lips of the high schoolers around us.
I was a selfish asshole for keeping my friendship with Emerson and the AA Team for as long as I had. The vampire excuse ceased to be relevant a month ago. I’d just fooled myself into believing that was good enough to excuse my attempt at being normal.
I wasn’t normal. The girl in that gazette didn’t get to take part in school musicals and go to baseball games and kiss the popular kid by a bonfire. I didn’t do friends not because I didn’t want them, but because I couldn’t have them. Not unless I wanted to ruin their lives. I was done being selfish.
I needed to break it off with Emerson and the AA Team. I needed to protect them. If I couldn’t they’d be dead or they’d be…
Christian’s mug shot stared at me from the gazette taped to my locker and all over the floor.
I dropped my bag, and grabbed Emerson’s car keys he was still holding, speeding out of the school faster than I ever had before.
I didn’t know whether it was because he was surprised, or because I had moved too fast, but Emerson didn’t catch up with me as I jammed the keys into the ignition of his car and squealed out of the lot.
The anxiety and panic wouldn’t leave my system. Whatever adrenaline boost I’d had to get out of the school crashed as I drove. My heart felt like a drum pounding in my chest that would explode.
Even with the windows wound down, I still felt like I was trapped and burning up. I peeled off my gloves and threw them into the passenger seat. I waited until the next traffic light to turn red before I ripped off my coat and jumper.
I was heading south on the I-5, planning on joining the I-90, following the interstate across country all the way to New York. It was where I always escaped to when things went bad. And this was bad. This was every bit of my history that I didn’t want people to know laid out bare. It was what made teachers pay attention to me, guidance councillors request I attend their sessions, foster parents on high alert. I could only imagine what that would mean for the hoverer, Maybelle.
But I would have put up with all of that. I’d done it before – for two years. This was different. I wasn’t running away because of how the high school would deal with my past. I easily could have been. Dealing with the whispers always had the possibility to trigger a panic attack, bringing me right back to that night. But that wasn’t what made me grab Emerson’s keys and flee. I was running because Death wouldn’t be far behind, not if he realised what I did: that I cared about Emerson as much as he cared about me. That I cared about him the same way I did Christian. It just took being in the midst of a panic attack, three timelines playing simultaneously in my mind and Emerson to be able to bring me back to reality for me to realise it.
In New York I would be free from all of that. I’d be far from Emerson, the AA Team – and Death could have me to himself. But it was a three-day drive. I didn’t have any cash on me. I only had the gas currently in the tank, my phone and this need to escape that was more intense than I’d ever felt before.
I did a U-turn the next chance I got, travelling almost double the speed back up North.
I couldn’t run to my old home, not this time. At least not right now. But I could run to the next best thing. To the person who understood what it meant to have lost everything that night; the only one who got why I couldn’t look at a picture of myself without going into a panic I thought I’d never come out of. To remind myself why I needed to leave Emerson and this small town in my rear-view mirror. Because if I didn’t, Emerson would end up exactly like Christian. Only I didn’t think Death would stop there with my vampire friend.
2 years earlier
I flipped off Rayan from the front doorway as he drove away, his cackling laughter drowned out by the purr of his engine.
He’d dropped me off as a favour to Christian since he had detention, then a five-hour shift at the garage. Rayan had spent the entire drive teasing me over finally popping my cherry. I’d eventually snapped at him when he’d pulled up at my foster home and said he was only jealous because he was now the only virgin out of Christian’s mates.
I mentally shook my head at him as I climbed the stairs. If he’d thought I would make a big deal about losing my virginity, as most people did, he wouldn’t have teased me. But Christian had no doubt given him the lowdown. I didn’t believe in “purity” before sex or any of that other BS. Sex was nothing more than just something to pass the time between people who wanted it.
There hadn’t been a big romantic lead up to my first time. Christian had come into my bed that night, like every other, and held me whilst I slept. When I’d woken up in the middle of the night, and found him awake, I’d asked him what was on his mind.
‘What sort of sophomore takes on four seniors?’ Christian asked me. His hand brushed over my bare stomach under the duvet. He was lightly skimming the fresh bruising there, but I knew what he would mostly feel was the raised scar tissue from the shooting a year ago.
‘Urgh,’ I said, rather than answer his stupid rhetorical question. I rolled my eyes, burying myself into the crook of his arm.
‘It’s old news, get over it,’ I mumbled, my voice muffled by his skin and the covers that wrapped us up.
Christian jab-tickled me in the ribs. I kicked his leg and told him to quit-it. The fight had taken place a couple days ago and my ribs were still sore from the one hit I’d taken.
‘I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,’ Christian whispered in my ear.
I turned so he was spooning me. His hand rested protectively over my stomach; he wished he could go back and stop any of the damage there: the shooting, the stabbings, the fight he would have rather taken on himself.
The seniors Christian referred to were some random jocks who’d been talking smack about him. “Suicidal gang banger” had been the phrase they used. They had been on about the scars on Christian’s wrists that he didn’t bother to hide. Only me, Jennings and Rayan knew that he hadn’t inflicted them himself. His mom had when she’d been tweaking badly. She’d been hallucinating and hadn’t known what she was doing – or at least Christian liked to think she hadn’t – when she cut open her son’s arm trying to get the “sickness” his dad had put in there. That’s how Christian had ended up in the system.
I knew Christian could hold his own, but he hadn’t been there, and I couldn’t stand the way they looked down on him; the shit they said.
I’d run once the guys were down on the floor – and they hadn’t admitted to the teacher that it had been a girl a few years younger than them who’d gotten the better of them. Christian knew, though. And he’d not been pleased. He’d gone after them the next day.
‘It
was hardly a battle. They barely even touched me.’
‘But they did touch you,’ Christian said. Which had been why he’d gone after them.
Christian didn’t hold back when it came to a fight. He’d hospitalised one of them. He only ever stopped if someone pulled him off. Sometimes when we smoked a blunt at some random frat party or other, he’d admit to me that he hated the anger inside him because he knew it was something he got from his dad. Shitty genetics that gave him a short fuse and an anger that wouldn’t die down unless he actively worked it out of his system. Christian fought himself as much as he fought everyone else. It’s why he was always busy under the hood of a car; keeping his hands and mind busy and away from people.
‘Barely even felt it,’ I lied.
‘I don’t need protecting, sweetheart,’ Christian reminded me.
‘Sure you do.’
‘From a little thing like you?’ he teased, his breath tickling my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
‘Eff off.’
I fought almost as good as Christian. It was only his size and natural male strength, along with the three years he had on me that would give him an edge if we ever fought each other. But my speed and skill matched me up fairly equally.
Christian’s breathing didn’t even off; I knew he was still awake. I gave him a few more minutes to see if he eventually drifted off, when he didn’t I sighed.
‘I thought you were exhausted?’ I asked him, turning around so we faced each other, my hip sinking into the ancient mattress. I could feel the springs, but I ignored it. I’d not had a comfortable bed since my grandma’s house.
‘Head’s too wired,’ he told me.
‘What are you thinking about – besides me getting into fights.’
‘You in general.’
‘Yeah, what about me?’ I teased, rubbing my legs against his.
He chuckled low in his throat. ‘How you took the blame for Jennings today.’
I pulled away. ‘Oh.’
‘You didn’t think he’d tell me?’
I half shrugged. ‘I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. He was on a final warning. If he was caught with a knife he’d be expelled and wouldn’t graduate with you guys. You know I don’t care about any of that stuff.’
‘You’re selfless.’
I laughed at that. I wasn’t, not really. And Jennings wouldn’t have let me take the fall if he wasn’t so jazzed about finally graduating in a few months. It was a big deal to him – the first one in his family not to drop out or be kicked out. And he’d looked out for me when Christian couldn’t, so it was more like I was repaying a favour.
Christian’s fingers trailed from my stomach, up to my breasts, and collarbone. ‘And so freakin’ caring I don’t know what to do with you.’
I smiled at the ridiculousness of his words. I stopped his wandering hand and put it on my ass, grabbing his hips so our bodies were flush against each other. It wasn’t exactly a subtle hint, but it certainly gave him an idea of what he should do with me.
His hand tightened on my ass, and I ground up against him. My fingers skimmed over his stubble, to his soft buzzed hair. I kissed him and he melted into my touch, the tension and restless energy that had been keeping him awake finally put to purpose.
‘You should be spoilt every day of the week. For a thousand years,’ Christian said against my mouth. I shut him up with another kiss. Eventually, he broke free.
I could tell he was going to say more. ‘I’m not selfless,’ I laughed, cutting him off before he said some other stupid shit.
Christian moved his kisses to my neck, his tongue teasing at my neck. My whole body broke out in goose bumps.
‘You are,’ he said into my skin, trailing kisses as he moved across my body. ‘You won’t let anyone see it but me, but I know you, sweetheart. You’re perfect. And pure.’
My body stilled at that last, stupid word. I’d always thought that his nickname for me was ridiculous. I wasn’t sweet. I was a thundercloud, that poured bad luck and misery everywhere I went. I was darkness incarnate. Death wouldn’t befriend me otherwise.
But Christian saw me differently to everyone else. He was convinced he could see the real me that hid behind all the snarky sarcasm. Beyond the loner girl with the shittiest history and friendship with Death was some innocent kid who’d dealt with more than anyone should. Someone who kept going, still tried, still hoped.
‘I don’t care about being pure,’ I said.
He called me pure because even after being shot, stabbed, and being orphaned, I never actually hated anyone. My “perfect pure” heart could never be corrupted. Right now, it just felt like a stupid dig at me being some innocent flower. Someone who shouldn’t fight and should sit back and let the man do the work.
‘Make me impure,’ I said.
Christian pulled back. ‘Do you mean…?’
I nodded and kissed him as an answer.
I kicked open the door to my room, intent on stripping off the clothes I’d worn today and changing into something fresh and warmer to hang out with Christian tonight. But that plan was hindered when I saw that Darren, my foster dad, was sat on my bed.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘It’s my home,’ he said. ‘I can be where I like.’
I ignored him, dumping my bag in the corner of my room. I’d forsake changing and just grab my shit and get out of here, then.
Darren continued. ‘I thought me and you should have a chat about what’s been going on under my roof.’
‘You mean the asbestos in the attic? You should really check that out. Health hazards and all that won’t be good if a social worker stops by.’
I grabbed another sweater from my closet and swapped it with the one I’d been wearing all day. My hands were frozen solid. Christian always complained and told me to buy gloves, but I couldn’t. My silver rings were my protection. I wasn’t going to compromise that – whether it was an illusion of safety or not – just for a bit of extra warmth. Though I really wished I could since it’d take me a solid half-hour for my hands to get back to normal enough to play my guitar.
‘That smart mouth’s going to get you in a lot of trouble, girl.’
I turned around to face him. I didn’t like the curl of his lip; the sadistic hint to his smile. Deep in my bowels, I knew that something bad was going on. Darren had never turned up in my room before, but it was that expression that really told me I should get away.
I didn’t want to be alone in the house with him. Christian would be gone for hours, Audrey (the kid who’d been living here when I’d moved in) had been moved to another foster home and the two boys who had moved in several months ago only ever came back to change their clothes.
‘You know, I really would love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a packed schedule. I’m heading to Joe’s,’ I said. ‘I’m just gonna grab my guitar and-’
My guitar wasn’t there. I always kept it next to my closet. My old acoustic was long gone; I’d sold it for cash to give to Christian after he’d bought me a new guitar for my birthday. The one Christian had bought me was second hand, but had been much newer and in better condition than my old acoustic. It was also my only prized possession. I had books. A few mementoes here and there, but that guitar was the only thing I really cared about.
‘Like I said, we should talk.’
‘Where’s my guitar?’ My anger seeped through every word.
Christian was wrong. I did hate. It was just a low simmer that didn’t explode like his. I’d never hit a foster parent. Even the ones who had hit me when I was younger, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to.
‘Forget about the guitar.’
I couldn’t forget about it. I took it with me every time I visited Christian at Joe’s and played whilst he worked under a car. If I didn’t have it with me when I turned up there, Christian would ask why and what would I tell him? But I knew Darren wasn’t going to answer me. And short of tearing through the house, the quickest way I
had to getting it back would be to go along with whatever shit he was trying to lay at my feet.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ I asked through gritted teeth. My hands were clenched into tight fists, the bite of my silver rings keeping me in check. I would not hit a foster parent.
‘I know that King has been sneaking into your room at night.’ I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. ‘And I know what you two have been up to.’
‘So?’
Darren smiled. It was a smarmy grin that made me feel sick just seeing it. ‘I don’t think you quite know the position you’re in, Olivia.’
Darren stood up from my bed. He didn’t take a step forward for, which I was thankful for as I had nowhere to back up to.
‘As your parent-’
‘Foster parent,’ I interrupted.
Darren’s eyes flashed. ‘Foster parent,’ he emphasised with a hint of malice. ‘It’s my duty to make sure that my ward is protected. Should I ever find any evidence to the contrary I need to report it.’
‘I don’t get what this has to do with Christian.’
‘You’re fifteen. Christian is eighteen, and the age of consent in Washington is sixteen.’
I spluttered, realising what he was hinting at. ‘I’m – I’m sixteen in two months,’ I said. ‘And he’s only three years older than me!’
‘The law’s the law,’ Darren shrugged. ‘It would be irresponsible of me to not only allow something so damaging to a child to continue, but it would make me complacent in the abuse.’
‘Abuse-? You can’t-! Why would you do that?’ I asked.
In the year that I’d lived under his roof, he’d not once shown the slightest interest in my wellbeing. He certainly never cared that I hung out with Christian, when we came home late, or when the school called to say that we’d skipped.
The “concerned parent” voice fell through like a plywood board covering a large well. The panic in my voice confirmed that he had me exactly where he wanted me. ‘Because there’s a difference between having a cock tease under my roof, to having a slut.’
‘I’m not a slut or a cock tease.’ I dug my nails into my palms. If this was anyone other than Darren, I would have knocked them out for how he spoke to me.
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