by Rina Kent
But I’ll never stop being here for him.
We’ve got each other’s backs, Marcus and I. Have since we were kids. Every time he got into a scrape, I’d help him out. Just like he’d do for me, no matter how bad the shit was I got myself in.
I owe Marcus Baker my freedom, if not my fucking life.
He saved me, and I’ll never stop trying to repay the favor.
It takes half the bottle of vodka before either of us speak again. We’re sitting on the mansion’s roof terrace, staring up at the stars that peek through a thin layer of cloud. Marcus brought his vape with, and he’s been tugging at it between gulps from the bottle. Thankfully, the weed in his vape slowed down the drinking. Marcus can handle a lot of booze, weed, and drugs — as can I — but with finals coming up, we both need clear heads on us. I know Dad would be beyond disappointed if I didn’t make my grades.
Marcus’s father?
He’d likely put his son in the fucking hospital.
“Can I stay at your place tomorrow?” Marcus asks quietly. He shifts in his chair, wincing briefly before smoothing his face.
I lift my fingers from my knee where I’ve been toying with a fold in my jeans. “Sure, man. But what about tonight? Is he—”
“Doubt he’ll be back so soon. I’ll leave in the morning. Gives me time to pack a bag and shit.” Marcus’s voice fades away, his voice going thick. “Listen, Briar, thanks—”
I wave at him, and he cuts off. “You know what set him off?” It’s none of my fucking business, but if I know Marcus, he’ll be blaming himself for everything come morning.
I see him shrug from the corner of my eye. “He gave me a job to do, and I fucked it up.”
“What, you didn’t get the trash out in time?”
Marcus tips the vodka bottle to his lips in response. Fuck it, I shouldn’t be prying anyway.
“You know what we need?” I sit forward, lacing my fingers together and letting them dangle between my legs. “Something to take our minds off this shit.”
“Like what?” he asks, but with zero enthusiasm. Can’t say I blame him — Lavish isn’t renowned for its distractions.
I sit back again, stumped. “Dunno. But I’ll come up with something.”
Marcus nods a few times as he hands me the bottle. I take a small sip and hand it back.
One of us has to stay sober. It’s a silent deal we’ve made ever since my birthday party ten months ago.
“Wanna know something fucked up?” I ask quietly, tipping my head back to stare up at the stars.
“Sure.”
“I don’t feel weird coming back here.”
Marcus rolls his head to the side, and I do the same. He looks confused for a moment, and then barks out a laugh and looks back up at the stars. “’Cos of that shit with Jess?”
At the sound of her name, my chest constricts. He makes it sound so fucking nonconsequential.
That shit with Jess.
“Figures,” he says, and then takes another sip of vodka. “You blacked out. Not like you actually remember anything, right?”
He rolls his head to glance at me, and I nod, my mouth tightening. “Right,” I murmur, and gesture for the bottle.
For a while, I thought it was a mercy, me blacking out that night. But once the rumors began, I realized it was a very special kind of torture.
Ignorance is the furthest thing from bliss, especially if your entire life is on the line for something you can’t even remember doing.
Chapter Four
Indi
I wake up with stiff muscles, looking like I was involved in some kind of zombie apocalypse.
Luckily, I won.
The shower stings my scratches and makes my bruises ache, but I ignore everything as I attempt to transform myself from a beast into a beauty.
When I’m done drying off, I feel a ton better than I did crawling into bed last night, but I still look like shit. Sleepless nights and a non-existent appetite does that to you.
I run my fingers through my dark, shoulder-length hair to muss it up, and then leave it to dry.
But before I leave the bathroom, my eyes stick for a long moment on the bruises on either side of my hips.
Slowly, I fold my fingers over those marks.
Holy crap. Briar — if that’s even his real name — has got big motherfucking hands.
I smell bacon and toast and coffee, and for a moment I’m whisked back to the past. Mom always made us breakfast on weekends. I’d wake up and smell this same delectable miasma of drool-worthy food and know it was gonna be a good day.
My heart aches with the memory, and I bite the inside of my lip when I imagine her spinning around wearing an apron, a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
Morning, Angel! Thought you’d never wake up.
I swallow hard at the knot in my throat. My swollen heart constricts painfully when I step into the dining room and see a single chafing dish set in the middle of the massive teak table. My grandmother is at the head, and my place is all the way on the other side of the long table again.
“Morning,” I say, giving her a little wave.
Last night, I decided I was going to give this whole situation a good ole’ college try. I mean, heck, my grandma doesn’t deserve this any more than I do, right? Why the hell Mom made her my guardian is something I can’t comprehend…but, then again, she never had anyone else after Dad died.
It’s always just been Summer and Indi, the Virgo Troublemakers.
I take a careful seat, and stare at the dish. It’s almost three feet away from me. For the first time in a week, I’m ravenous. Maybe it was my mad dash through the woods last night, or my brush with death, but I’m suddenly noticing a massive void in my stomach that needs urgent filling.
I open my mouth to ask if I can help myself to some food, but Marigold beats me to it.
“You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’ll let you run around like a wild thing,” Marigold states. She steeples her fingers in front of her, for all the world like a female version of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. “You will obey my rules, or you will face the consequences.”
“Yes, gra—Marigold.”
“Rule number one.” Marigold holds up a finger. “You will maintain a B-average in all your classes while you’re living with me.”
I give her a thumbs-up. Academics was never an issue for me. Both my parents were smart, and I’m like them squared, so…
I point at the silver chafing dish. “Can I?” I stand, and drag my plate over the table. “You know, while you lay down the law.”
Marigold’s mouth tightens. “Rule two. You will be at school on time every morning. You will be home by latest five in the afternoon, unless you have extra-curricular activities.”
“That all one rule, or are we doing like rule two point one, two point two…?”
When I lift the dish’s lid, heavenly steam hits me in the face. I begin heaping greasy things onto my plate, listening to Marigold’s droning with half an ear.
“Rule three. Your homework will always be completed in time. I don’t own a television, so there will be no excuse.”
I’m gonna make me a sandwich of epic proportions. Two slices of toast — nay, three! — and as many layers of fried egg, bacon, and onion as I can pile on top without it collapsing under its own weight.
“…will be in bed and asleep by nine o’clock—”
“So no one’s told you about my insomnia?” I turn, piled plate held between me and Marigold like a shield.
Her eyes flicker to the plate and back to me as if I’ve somehow managed to offend her with my appetite.
“Insomnia?” Marigold says, voice hushed with disbelief.
“Yeah,” I say, biting into a crispy piece of bacon. “It’s this condition where you can’t go to sleep—”
Marigold’s fist connects with the table, rattling everything on it.
I pause mid-chew and widen my eyes at her.
Holy hell
. I didn’t think my grandma had a line, but I’ve obviously just gone and crossed it.
“Do not ever speak to me with your mouth full of food.” She stands in a rush, spots of color touching her cheeks. “Did your mother not teach you any manners?”
Bacon turns into a nauseating ball of oily gunk inside my mouth. I bring the plate closer, spit out the half-chewed pork, and slowly set my plate down.
“If you’ll excuse me, Marigold, I’ve inexplicably lost my appetite.”
I turn on my heel, feeling her daggerlike eyes piercing the back of my head.
“You think I wanted this?” comes her yell.
I freeze on the spot, my body suddenly stiff with anger. “You?” I grate, turning on rusty legs. “You didn’t want this?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and for a moment — one brief moment — sympathy flashes over her face.
“You think I wanted to lose her, you fucking hag?” I scream. “You think I wanted to be stuck here with you in this stupid town? No friends, no family, nothing?” My voice bounces back to me, but I’m a wild horse that’s got the bit in between its teeth; nothing’s stopping me now.
“I hate being here. I hate this town. I hate you!” My chest rises and falls like when I got back from my run last night.
Marigold’s face is the same color as her beige carpets.
I expect her to punish me for speaking to her like that. Maybe going straight to the phone and calling me a cab.
Instead, she comes around the table, eyes narrowing the closer she gets.
“Well,” she murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear. “Lucky for us, we only have to bear with each other until you graduate.” She lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a little squeeze. Her lips turn up into a fake smile. “Then you’re on your own, young lady.”
Briar
A dull headache forces me out of sleep. I stare at my bedroom’s intricately molded ceiling, and shift my feet into the cool corners of my silk sheets as I try to ignore my morning wood.
I had a good dream last night. The girl in the woods starred in it. This time, she didn’t get away.
I ignore my aching junk and go take a shower. I could jerk off in here, but I refuse to let my body dictate my actions anymore.
We’re all animals. Some of us just hide it better than others.
I used to be able to hide it until Marcus’s party. What’s it been, ten months? Feels like a fucking eternity that I’ve been stuck with my new, shitty reality. What a brave new world; everywhere I go, the whispers follow. All based on rumors and gossip, not a single fact. And as much as they dig, they’ll never find anything concrete.
Marcus made sure of that.
I shut off the angry stream of thoughts, squeezing my eyes shut as I turn off the heat and shove my head under the freezing cold jets.
Briar Manor is silent when I pad to the kitchen on bare feet. I eat a breakfast of dry cereal and coffee as I watch the sun rise over town. The family manor has one of the best views in Lavish, nestled along the side of the Devil’s Spine mountains. Lavish stretches out far below, thousands of perfect little houses clinging to their winding country roads. The manor’s surrounded by Blood Briar woods; our closest neighbor a property that once belonged to the Davis’s. Might still, actually. Maybe the girl in the woods last night is a Davis — some far-flung cousin that came to visit. Only their kin would be brave enough to venture into my woods without a second thought to their own safety.
Those first few months after my mother died, Dad was at home enough that we could have actual conversations. The loving husband and father I’d grown up with changed. He became bitter and spiteful. For months, he’d hold monologues at the dinner table, instructing me on how to protect my things.
My land.
My sense of self.
My heart.
Claim them as yours, son. Claim them and never let anyone else take them from you.
He blames himself for what happened to my mother, Natalie. Not the accident, of course. A patch of black ice and poor driving skills were at fault.
The fact that she was in her car is what he blames himself for. From all the little snippets he’s told me over the years, I’ve pieced together the fact that Dad and Mom had an on-again, off-again relationship for about a decade before she settled down and became my full-time mother. That was several years after I was born, but my father never went into detail about why she wasn’t around all the time. I don’t ever expect him too — he’s a private man by nature, and it’s a miracle I know anything about the shit him and Mom went through.
I shake my head, draining the last of my coffee.
That girl shouldn’t have been where she was last night. Everyone in Lavish knows about the wild animal that roams those woods.
Now she does too.
After breakfast, I try contacting my father again. I don’t ever feel the need to ask his permission for Marcus to stay over, but it’s a chance — an excuse — to speak to him. If he ever answered, of course.
His phone, unsurprisingly, goes to voice mail.
I don’t bother leaving a message. He never listens to them anyway.
I stare out at the woods pressing up against Briar Manor’s ornate fencing. Times like this, it feels like I’m the only person in the world.
A feeling I used to loathe. A feeling I now embrace.
Indi
The fuck is this?
I stare at the clothes hanging from the door handle of my closet.
“Gran—” I cut off with a grimace. “Marigold?”
My hands fist at my sides as Marigold opens my door.
“What is that?” I point at the clothes.
“That’s your uniform, young lady.”
Cold-hearted bitch — she’s smiling, isn’t she?
“No.”
“What makes you think you have a choice?” The door closes behind me.
A school uniform? What the hell, am I five?
I glare at a black and gold school skirt while it taunts me with its perkiness. I strip down to my underwear and reluctantly step into the skirt. I sneer at my reflection. The thing barely reaches mid-thigh. Did Marigold get my measurements wrong or something?
Next is the white button-up shirt, then the tie. It’s black with a fancy family-shield kind of emblem on the bottom in gold. There’s a black, sleek-looking blazer hanging on the other door handle.
Blegh.
I rake fingers through my hair, consider then dismiss the possibility of trying to run a brush through the tangles, but even the thought feels like too much effort. Instead, I do my best to tame it into a bun.
My doctor said I could expect bouts of depression, anger…you know, all seven of those ugly fucking dwarves of mourning? Guess I’m back in the depression phase. Last night? Anger, of course.
Hang on, Indi — there’s a long, bleak stretch coming up.
Marigold left a key fob and a printed map with directions to Lavish Prep on my dresser. The fact that she knows how to use Google Maps and a printer, but doesn’t own a television confounds me. My grandmother is nowhere in sight when I thump downstairs, and I don’t bother going into the kitchen to find food to take with to school. I’ve still got a little cash on me. It’s all I’ve got until Mom’s life insurance policy pays out. On Friday, when I’d phoned the insurance company to find out how far the process was, they told me the claim was with their investigation department. Because, apparently, being brutally murdered and raped gives them a reason to delay the payout to make sure there’s no foul play.
I reverse out of the garage and start down the road. The key fob opens the old, creaking gates leading out of the property. Lavish is as pretty as it was last night. The sun’s barely out, but everything gleams.
In fact, it’s almost a little too shiny. Like how fake gold has to shine that much brighter to make up for the fact that it’s as real as unicorn poop.
Yeah, I’m in a screwed up headspace this morning. I blame Marigold, of cou
rse. And then I spend a few minutes blaming Mom. Then I pull over and thump my hands against the steering wheel until the urge to burst into tears subsides.
I have no one to blame but myself.
I reach Lavish Prep a few minutes later and park as far away from the front of the school as I can without looking like a weirdo. I check to see if anyone’s in sight before I slip out of the car. A breeze slides over my bare legs, and I shiver a little. In my old school, we could wear whatever we wanted. I would sometimes wear a dress or a skirt, but nothing this revealing. Mom made sure I never looked like a whore when I left the house.
Her words, not mine.
I always wondered why she was so conservative, but after meeting Marigold, it all makes sense.
Right, now to get in without attracting attention. I guess, in that respect, the uniform helps a fuck load. I can just blend in with all the other kids.
I’m a ghost.
Just another shadow on the—
“You new here?”
I close my eyes, take a breath, and turn.
A girl with sleek blond hair fanning down her chest stands a yard or so away from me. Her backpack matches her neon-pink acrylic nails, and the tiny diamonds in her ears seem to have been chosen to accentuate the rhinestones glittering on her nail tips.
She sashays over and sticks out said glittering hand, jaw bunching as she chews on a piece of gum. “Addy.”
I stare at her hand, and then back up at her. “Indi.”
She turns with me and together we head for the school. It’s all one big building with multiple floors. Despite the fluted pillars out front and the rigorously trimmed hedges, it looks more like a white-collar prison than a school.
I guess that’s exactly what it is, and I’m just as guilty of being young and stupid as everyone else in this place.
“Where you from, Indi?”
“Not here,” I mutter. Gees, what the hell do I have to do to get this girl to leave me alone? No way I’m walking into school unnoticed with her next to me. I bet the International Space Station can see her glittery nails from up there.