War of Hearts

by Nina Levine

  I’m going to do this.

  I’m going to get out of this car and walk into the cinemas.

  I can do this.

  More deep breaths.

  I reach for the door handle.

  My head spins and the car park closes in on me.

  Oh God, I’m going to die.

  Someone is here.

  It’s too much.

  I can’t breathe.

  I need to get out of here.

  I try to turn the key in the ignition but my arm and hand are so jittery I can’t do it. That only heightens my panic, and I completely lose my shit.

  I’m crying.

  I’m screaming.

  I’m fucking drowning.

  And then my phone rings.

  It scares the shit out of me because I wasn’t expecting it. It also floods me with relief; the phone feels like a lifeline and I snatch it up fast.

  “Hello?” It comes out a mess in amongst my tears and fears.

  “Zara? Is that you?”

  Marissa.

  Why is she calling me?

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Are you okay? You don’t sound good.”

  My mind is in chaos, so I can’t be sure I’m reading her right, but she sounds like she genuinely cares to know that I’m okay. Because I can barely breathe, I don’t have it in me to gloss over how I really am, so I give her the God’s honest truth. “No.” It chokes out of me.

  “Shit. Okay, where are you? We’re coming to get you.”

  We’re?

  I don’t bother to ask her any questions; I’m just so damn grateful to have someone, anyone, coming to get me. I tell her where I am, and she lets me know she’ll be here within ten minutes.

  The wait feels like ten hours rather than ten minutes. By the time she arrives, I’m clammy and just want to curl into the foetal position and give up on life.

  “Oh my God, what’s happened?” she asks when I open the door to her. She’s staring down at me with a shocked expression.

  I hardly pay attention to a word she says, and barely register her shock. I also don’t give much attention to the fact Tommy and Puck are with her.

  I don’t care about anything but getting the hell out of here.

  Stumbling out of the car, my knees give way and I fall. Tommy rushes forward and catches me. “Fuck, Zara, what’s going on?” He sounds concerned, too. My brain struggles to connect the concern I’m feeling from both of them with the people I know them to be. But I ignore all of those thoughts and simply cling to him. In the horror story I’m living, Tommy is my safety, and that’s all that matters to me.

  I’m unable to answer either of them. All I’m capable of is wrapping my arms around Tommy and sobbing into his shoulder. I hear them talking about cars and driving and getting me back to someone’s house, but it’s like the voices are distant. It’s like they’re floating all around me but I can’t catch them. Can’t pull them into my consciousness and make sense of them.

  Someone lifts me and puts me in the back seat of a car. It must be Tommy because the next thing I know, he’s sitting with me, his arms around me.

  Then, the steady rhythm of a car moving filters into my awareness.

  I close my eyes and nestle against Tommy’s chest.

  I feel tired.

  Like I could sleep for days.

  I don’t want to do this anymore.

  Time passes. Again, it feels like hours.

  “We’re here,” Tommy says softly. Why does he sound so kind? He’s never been kind to me.

  I lift my head and blink, meeting his gaze. “Where?”

  “Marissa’s place.”

  He helps me out of the car and inside. We’re heading towards her lounge room when she curls her hand around my arm and says, “Zara and I are just gonna take a minute while you get some drinks ready.”

  She whisks me down the long hall to her bedroom. Closing the door behind us, she says, “Babe, you need to use my bathroom and clean up. And tomorrow, we need to buy you some waterproof mascara.”

  I want to ask her what she means, because us doing something together tomorrow makes no sense, but mostly I just want to lock myself in her bathroom and try to get my shit together. A few moments later, when I’m safely in the bathroom, I place both hands to the vanity, drop my head, and take some long deep breaths.

  My heart hasn’t slowed completely, but at least it’s not racing like a crazed motherfucker anymore. The rest of my body is slowly catching up to the news that the threat has passed. Not that there was a bloody threat.

  Lifting my head, I stare at myself in the mirror. Marissa’s right: I do need to buy some new mascara. My face looks like an abstract painting of mascara streaks and tear stains. Usually I’d give a shit; tonight, I don’t. And holy hell if that isn’t liberating. At the same time, though, it makes me wonder how far gone I am.

  After I wash my face, take a lot more deep breaths, and gather my shit, I exit the bathroom. Marissa is no longer in her bedroom. So much for her “taking a minute” with me. Same old Marissa. Nothing much changes.

  I make the trek down her long hall; Marissa’s parents built the biggest house they could stretch their debt into affording. There’s something like ten bedrooms in this place. Not to mention the pool house. And the tennis court. And the five-car garage. Filled with five cars. The thing is, this house might be filled with all the things, but there’s no soul here. How did I ever think Marissa and her family were the bomb? It turns out money talks, but it doesn’t give a shit about much else.

  “You feeling better?” she asks when I find the three of them in the media room. She’s curled up on Puck’s lap. Of course she is.

  “Can we talk?” I ask.

  She stares at me like that’s the last thing she wants to do, but she moves off Puck’s lap and comes my way, leading me out to the kitchen. “What?”

  “Why did you call me tonight?”

  Her face pulls into the bored look I hate and she shrugs. “No reason. We were talking about you. Thought I’d call.”

  Fucking typical. Marissa never gives anything of substance. I nod. “Okay, then we’re done here. Thanks for coming to get me, but now we’ll just go back to not being friends.” I’ve already spotted my car keys on the kitchen counter, so I swipe them up and turn to leave. I’m going to call Holly and ask her to come get me. It might be the smartest decision I’ve made all day.

  She reaches for me. “Stop.”

  I jerk my arm out of her hold. “Why? There’s nothing here for me.”

  I’m not sure if it’s the cool tone I take with her, or whether it’s the bitter look I’m giving her that does it, but for the first time ever, she appears unsure of herself. And she gives me some real honesty. “I miss you.” She says it so softly I almost miss the emotion behind it.

  I’m stunned at her confession. The thing is, I can’t say it back, because that would be a lie.

  When I don’t say anything, she says, “I’m sorry for the shit I said to you.”

  Her lame-ass apology means nothing to me. “I don’t believe you. And I don’t think you really missed me. I think you missed having someone to bitch to and treat like shit to make yourself feel better.”

  Her lips pull into a flat line. “Look, believe me or not,” she says with some attitude, “it’s true. I shouldn’t have told you you’re a slut. Or said any of that stuff to you. You’re the only friend I ever cared about, and I miss hanging with you. And as much as you think Tommy’s a dick, he’s the one who made me realise what a bitch I’ve been to you.”

  This might be the nicest thing Marissa has ever said to me. And that’s fucking sad. The years I’ve known her flash through my mind, and I’m disappointed in myself that I allowed a person like her to be my friend. That I allowed her to be the person I shared my hopes, dreams, and disappointments with when she didn’t have it in her to take any of that and guard it fiercely and with care.

  And yet, I’m not done with treating myself b
adly because when Tommy joins us, holds out a glass containing God knows what, and says, “This’ll make you feel better, babe,” I desperately want that drink.

  “What is it?”

  “Vodka.”

  He’s right; vodka will make me feel better. The way my hand’s itching to reach out and take the glass from him tells me that. But damn it, I’m trying so hard not to rely on alcohol to make me feel better anymore.

  I shake my head. “No, thanks. I think I’m just gonna go home.”

  He moves close. “Come on, Zara, we’ve all missed you. Stay a while. Have a drink.”

  God, he’s good looking, but all I can see now is ugly. “I don’t want—”

  Bang!

  Bang!

  Bang!

  I throw myself at Tommy as the loud bangs blast through me, shattering any sense of safety I feel. I’ve no idea what the noises are or where they’ve come from, but my mind tells me I should fear them with all my life and seek shelter wherever and however I can.

  Time slows.

  The world blurs.

  My ears ring with the noise of war because that’s what this feels like to me. A goddam war I don’t think I’m ever going to win.

  It’s not until Tommy says, “Fuck, Zara, it was just Jimmy’s car backfiring,” that I realise I’m screaming.

  I unwrap myself from him and take a step back, completely bewildered by every-fucking-thing that has happened tonight. When he shoves the drink at me again, I don’t hesitate; I take it and guzzle that vodka down.

  If it’s the last thing I do tonight, I’ll bend my mind to my will. Fuck it for thinking it can run my life.

  15

  Fury

  * * *

  I’m dreaming of my father when my phone drags me from my sleep.

  The same dream as usual.

  His fist.

  Mum’s face.

  Bones breaking.

  It takes a while for my brain to associate the ringing with the fact I have a call coming in. That’s because, for the first time in weeks, I’ve actually fallen into a deep sleep. Exhaustion has finally caught up with me. Between the hours I’ve been pulling for King and the insomnia I’m a slave to, I could do with a few weeks straight of nothing but sleep.

  Sitting, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and reach for the phone. Placing it to my ear without checking caller ID, I growl, “What?” I’m pissed at whoever the fuck it is; King gave me the night off and told me he wouldn’t call, so whoever’s on the other end is about to cop my anger.

  “Fury. I’m sorry for calling so late, but I think I need a favour.”

  “Holly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What favour?” I eye the bedside clock. Midnight.

  “I can’t find Zara. And she’s not answering her phone.”

  The worry I hear in her voice snaps me to attention. Or maybe it’s simply the mention of Zara that does that. Fuck knows anymore where my brain’s at with her; the only thing for sure is it’s in a motherfucking mess.

  “She went out?”

  “Yeah, to the movies. She should have been home within the last hour. I took a drive to the cinema and couldn’t see her car anywhere. I’ve also been over to her friend’s house and she’s not there.” She pauses briefly. “I’m worried about her, Fury. Her head’s not in a good place. But I have no idea where else to look for her.”

  I push up off the bed, my thoughts already turning to finding Zara. “Text me her number and any of her friends’ numbers and addresses you have.”

  “I only have Marissa’s number and address. Mum would have more, but I’m not sure about worrying her with this while she’s—”

  Throwing on a shirt, I say, “No, don’t bother, Lily. Not yet. Just send me the info.”

  “Okay…. Keep me updated. And I’m sorry to call you with this; I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  I rest my phone between my ear and my shoulder while I pull my jeans on. “I’ll let you know when I find her.”

  I end the call, grab my keys, and head downstairs to my ute. By the time I’ve got the key in the ignition, Holly’s text comes through. I immediately try calling Zara, but it goes to voicemail. I try her friend, but get the same response. I then shoot them both a text asking for their location. Not expecting a reply, I then pull up Axe’s number.

  “Since it’s nearly midnight, I’m taking it this is important,” he says when he answers.

  “Yeah. Zara’s gone missing. I need you to track her phone.”

  “Any ideas where she might be? And I’m guessing King doesn’t know about this if he’s not the one calling me.” Axe is the calm one out of the two of them, that’s for sure. I’m always impressed with his level of cool when shit goes down.

  “I don’t want to bother him until I know there’s a reason to do that.” God fucking forbid that happens.

  “Good call. I’ll let you know when I have something.”

  The line goes dead and I reverse out of the driveway and head over to the address Holly sent me for Zara’s friend. Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing outside Marissa’s house. The place is a fucking mansion, lit up like there’s a party going on inside, but there’s no one home.

  I call Zara again.

  Again, it goes to voicemail.

  I leave another message, hoping like fuck she’ll check her phone soon.

  Where the fuck are you, Zara?

  I decide to check out the cinema even though Holly’s already been there. I’ll check the surrounding streets and widen the search more than I suspect she probably did.

  I’m halfway there when Axe calls.

  “Tell me you have something for me,” I answer the call.

  “I do. I’ve just texted you through the address.”

  The text arrives and I check it out. “I’m about five minutes from there. Thanks, man.”

  “I hope she’s okay.”

  Me too.

  Me fucking too.

  Christ, I’m wound tight over this. And it has nothing to do with the fact my president’s daughter is missing, and everything to do with the fact I care about my president’s daughter enough to fear bad shit happening to her.

  My level of care for most people sits low, so I’m unsure how the fuck Zara has crept up that scale. But she has. Once I’ve found her, I need to figure out how to move her back the fuck down that scale. I have better things to worry about than King making my life a living hell because I have a hard-on for his daughter.

  When I arrive at the address Axe sent me, I realise it’s the same damn place I found her the night I met Devil here to take care of Ricardo. It’s like déjà vu with the loud music and wasted teenagers everywhere. The fact Zara’s got everyone fucking worried while she’s out getting drunk at a party angers me. That anger floods my veins more with each fucking teen I have to push my way past in order to find her.

  God fucking help her when I get to her.

  “Dude!” a teen says to me as I force him aside. “Why you in such a damn hurry? Careful where you’re putting those hands.”

  I turn back and grip his shirt. Pulling him to me, I growl, “Have you seen Zara or Marissa?”

  His eyes widen at my demand. “Yeah. They’re out the back with Tommy and the boys.”

  Tommy.

  Fucking hell.

  Hearing that name torpedoes my anger to a whole new level.

  What the fuck is she doing back with that little asshole?

  I will wring her fucking neck myself when I find her.

  Shoving my way through a mass of bodies, I finally lay eyes on Zara.

  Fuck.

  Fucking hell.

  Zara is sitting on Tommy’s lap. His hands and mouth are all over her. The fact half her body is on display, tells me she’s so out of it she isn’t even aware of what’s happening. Zara always does a good job of covering her body; I can’t see her allowing this shit to happen in public.

  “Get your fucking hands off her!” I yell as I char
ge towards them.

  When Tommy pulls his mouth from her and hits me with a smug-as-fuck look, I know my gut reaction is right.

  I reach the couch at the same time he pushes her off and stands to meet me. He opens his mouth to say something, but I punch him before he gets anything out. As his friends utter protests, and he scrambles to get up from the floor where he landed, I reach down, grip his shirt and pull him the fuck up. I then punch him again.

  By the fucking time I’m finished with him, he won’t go near Zara again, let alone think about her again.

  “Fury?” Zara’s voice cuts through all the shit in my head and stops me dead in my tracks, mid-punch to Tommy. Glancing her way, I find her slowly sitting up from where he left her on the couch. Confusion is written all over her face.

  As I take my attention off Tommy, a kid comes from my side and lands a punch on my left cheek. It’s a piss-poor effort, though, barely registering in my mind. Reaching out, I grab him by the throat and back him up against the wall. “You wanna take a shot, asshole?” I roar, my body filled with the need for violence. It’s a dangerous fucking place for me to be—for these kids to be—so I try like fuck to force that need away.

  His face turns red as I squeeze his throat. He claws at my fingers in an effort to loosen my grip, but he has no chance of that. Not when I’m keyed up like I am.

  “Zara,” a girl’s voice sounds behind me. “You need to tell your friend to get the fuck out. This isn’t cool. Gary’s gonna kick us all out if he keeps this shit up.”

  “She’s fucking wasted, Marissa”—another girl’s voice—“Like she can even understand what you’re saying.”

  “Fury? What…”

  I turn in time to see Zara trying to stand. She falls to the ground while those two bitches just watch her.

  She needs some pointers in choosing friends, that’s for fucking sure.

  I let go of the little dickhead and scoop Zara into my arms. Without finishing up what I want to with the shitheads she calls friends, I stalk out of the party, carrying her to the car.

  Bundling her in, I do my best to ignore her dishevelled state, but I can’t ignore it. From her tangled, knotty hair, to the make-up residue dirtying her face, to her crumpled dress, she looks like she’s had a rough night. My anger at discovering her here still sits close to the surface, and as soon as she’s sobered up, we’re going to get into this, because this shit has to stop.