THE SMELL OF LILIES AND RAIN drifted into my nose, and I chased it, burying my face into the pillow.
Rika.
Sleep weighed heavy on my eyes, and I put out a hand, smoothing it over the sheets and searching for her next to me in bed.
But she wasn’t there.
I blinked, forcing my eyes open. Alarm set in as I turned over and propped myself up on one elbow, quickly twisting my head around to look for her.
And I immediately found her.
I relaxed, a grin lifting my lips as I watched her in the shower, the one that sat in my bedroom as a feature in my Delcour apartment.
Our apartment.
Within a month after everything had happened at the yacht, I moved her in. She slept here every night anyway, and since Will wanted to be close, we gave her apartment to him.
Kai, on the other hand, opted for distance. He bought an old Victorian on the other side of the city, and I wasn’t sure why. He could’ve had any apartment he wanted here, and I didn’t see the value in the black brick monstrosity he’d purchased that should’ve been condemned.
But for some reason, he wanted to be on his own.
Rika ran a loofah down her arms, soaping up her body, and I turned on my side, propping my head up on my hand as I watched her.
She must’ve sensed me, because she turned her head, smiling at me over her shoulder.
She placed her foot on the edge of the tub and bent over, running the loofah down her leg slowly and playfully, knowing what she was doing to me with her fake, innocent little smiles.
The rainfall shower fell over her body, but her hair wasn’t wet, since she had it tied up in a loose bun. And despite my growing erection under the sheets and the smell of her body wash filling the room, I stayed put, just watching her.
The reward for my patience would come soon enough.
Sometimes, I just had to watch her. I had to keep my eyes on her, because it was still so hard to believe that she was real. That she was here and mine.
I’d asked myself a thousand times how we got here. How we found each other and made it here.
She would say that it was Devil’s Night.
Without the events of that night, I wouldn’t have challenged her. She wouldn’t have learned how to be strong and fight back or how to own who she was and save herself.
We wouldn’t have been locked palm to palm, trying to push the other one down, and we wouldn’t have made each other the people we were now. Everything happens for a reason, she would say.
She would say that I built her. That I created a monster, and that somewhere during the blood, tears, struggle, and pain, we realized that it was love. That all sparks lead to a flame.
But what she failed to remember was…our story started long before that night.
I stand outside my new G-class, leaning back against it with my arms folded over my chest. I have shit to do and places to be, and I don’t have time for this.
Turning over my palm, I look down at my phone and the text from my mom again.
Stuck in the city, and Edward is busy. Pick up Rika from soccer practice, please? 8 p.m.
I roll my eyes and check the time on the phone. Eight-fourteen. Where the hell is she?
Kai, Will, and Damon are already at the party, and I’m late, because why? Oh, yeah. I guess being sixteen and finally getting my fucking license means playing chauffeur to thirteen-year-olds whose mothers can’t get off their drunken asses to pick them up.
Rika walks out of the soccer complex, still dressed in her red and white uniform and leg pads, and stops, seeing me standing there.
Her eyes are red as if she’s been crying, and I can tell by the way she stiffens that she’s uncomfortable.
She’s scared of me.
I hold back my smile. I kind of like how she’s always aware of me even if I would never admit it out loud.
“Why are you picking me up?” she asks softly, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with fly-aways floating around her face.
“Believe me,” I shoot out sarcastically. “I’ve got better things to do. Get in.”
And I turn around to open my door and climb in the car.
I start the engine, shifting it into gear as if I’m not going to wait for her, and I see her walk hurriedly around the front and open the passenger door, climbing in.
She puts on her seatbelt and stares at her lap, remaining silent.
She looks upset, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me.
“Why are you crying?” I demand, trying to act like I don’t care if she answers me or not.
Her chin shakes, and she puts her hand to her neck, touching the fresh scar from the accident that killed her father only a couple of months ago. “The girls were making fun of my scar,” she says quietly.
And then she turns her eyes on me, looking hurt. “Is it really that ugly?”
I look at it, feeling anger. I could get those girls to shut up.
But I push down my emotions and shrug, acting like her feelings don’t matter.
“It’s big,” I answer, pulling out of the parking lot.
She turns back around, her shoulders slumping in sadness as she drops her head.
So fucking broken.
I mean, yeah, she lost her dad recently, and her mom is caught up in her own misery and selfishness, but every time I see Rika, she looks like a feather that will blow away with the slightest breeze.
Get over it already. Crying’s not going to help.
She continues to sit quietly, so small next to me, since I’m nearly six feet now. And while Rika isn’t short, she looks like something that has melted and is about to disappear altogether.
I shake my head, checking my phone again for the time. Damn, I was late.
But then I hear a horn blow, and I pop my eyes up, seeing taillights race for me. “Shit!” I bellow, slamming on the brakes and jerking the steering wheel to the side.
Rika sucks in a breath and grabs the door as I spot a car stopped in the middle of the country road and another one swerving up ahead of me and then speeding off. I come to a screeching halt off to the side, both of our bodies pushing against our seatbelts with the sudden stop.
“Jesus,” I bark, seeing a woman kneeling in the street. “What the hell?”
The taillights of the other car grow smaller and smaller in the distance, and I look over my shoulder, not seeing any other cars coming.
Opening the door, I step out of the car, hearing Rika do the same behind me.
I walk over to the middle in the road, and as I get closer, I see what the woman is hovering over.
“I can’t believe that asshole just drove off,” she fumes, turning around to look at me.
A dog, barely alive, lies in the road, whimpering as it struggles for short, shallow breaths. There’s blood spilling out of its stomach, and I can see some of its insides.
It’s just a little guy, some kind of Spaniel, and my stomach rolls, hearing its strangled breathing.
It’s suffocating.
The prick that sped off must’ve hit it.
“Shouldn’t the kid go sit in the car?” the woman asks, looking at Rika next to me.
But I don’t spare Rika a glance. Why did everyone try to coddle her? My mother, my father, Trevor…it only weakened her.
The lady’s kids sat in her car, calling for her, and I looked down at the dog, hearing it whimper and seeing it jerk as it struggled.
“You can go ahead and go,” I tell her, gesturing to her kids in the car. “I’ll see if I can find an open vet.”
She peers up at me, looking half uncertain and half thankful. “Are you sure?” she asks, shooting her children a glance.
I nod. “Yeah, get your kids out of here.”
She stands up, gives the little dog a sad look, her eyes watering, and then she turns and gets in the car. “Thank you,” she calls.
I wait for her to leave and turn to Rika. “Go sit in the car.”
“I don’t want to.”
I narrow my eyes on her and snap, “Now.”
Her tear-filled eyes look up at me desperately, but she eventually spins around and rushes for my car.
Kneeling down, I put my hand on top of the little dog’s head, feeling his soft fur between my fingers, and stroke him gently.
His paws shake as he fights for breath, and the gargled sound in his throat is making my eyes blur and my heart pump painfully.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly, a tear spilling down my face.
Helpless. I hate being helpless.
Closing my eyes, I stroke his head and then slowly trail my hand down.
Down the back of its head, down the back of its neck…
And then I curl my fingers around its throat and squeeze as tight as I can.
It jerks, its body shaking just barely as it musters the last of its energy to fight.
But there’s barely anything left.
My body burns, every muscle tight, and I steel my jaw, trying to hold out for one more second.
Just one more second.
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears caught in my throat.
The dog spasms, and then…finally… he goes limp, the life drained out of him.
I let out a shaky breath and pull my hand away.
Fuck.
Acid bile fills my throat, and the pangs of nausea hit the back of my mouth. I heave, but I force deep breaths in and out, pushing it back down.
I slide my hands under the dog and lift him up, ready to carry him to the car, but as soon as I turn around, I stop. Rika is standing a few feet behind me, and I know she saw everything.
She looks at me like I betrayed her.
I avert my eyes, hardening myself, and walk around her, putting the dog in the back of the G-Class.
Who the fuck is she to judge me? I did what I had to do.
I grab a towel from my duffel bag, having just gotten done with basketball practice before picking up Rika, and laid the dog on it. Taking out another towel, I wipe up the small amount of blood on my hands and then lay that on top of him as well, shutting the back hatch.
Climbing back in the car, I start the engine as Rika opens up the passenger door and plops down, not saying a word to me.
I speed off, gripping the steering wheel, and her silence is as loud as my father’s insults and berating.
I did what was right. Screw you. I don’t fucking care what you think.
I breathe hard, getting angrier by the second.
“You think that the vet who put your cat to sleep a year ago is any better?” I charge, shooting her glares as I watch the road. “Huh?”
Her lips tighten, and I can see the tears pooling again. “You did it with your hands,” she cries, turning to me and yelling. “You killed him yourself, and I could never have done that!”
“And that’s why you’ll always be weak,” I throw back. “You know why most people in the world are unhappy, Rika? Because they don’t have the courage to do the one thing that will change their lives. That animal was in misery, and you were in misery watching it. Now he’s not suffering anymore.”
“I’m not weak,” she argues, but her chin trembles anyway. “And what you did didn’t make me happy. It didn’t make me feel any better.”
I smile nastily. “You think I’m bad? You think less of me? Well, guess what? I don’t give a fuck what you think! You’re a thirteen-year-old piece of baggage my family has to look after that’s going to turn into nothing but an eighteen-year-old copy of your drunk mother!”
Her eyes flood, and she looks about ready to break.
“Only you probably won’t be able to land a rich husband with that scar,” I growl.
She sucks in a breath, looking stunned. Her face cracks, and her body racks with sobs. She grabs the door handle and begins yanking and pulling it, trying to get out of the car.
“Rika!” I yell.
I’m going sixty-fucking-miles an hour!
I dart my hand over, grabbing her wrists and swerving the car off to the side, screeching to a halt.
She fumbles, unlocking the door, and jumps out, running away into the trees.
I put the car in neutral and set the parking brake, pushing open the door and jumping out.
“Get back in the car!” I yell, slamming the door shut.
She swings around. “No!”
I run after her. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? I got shit to do! I don’t have time for this!”
“I’m going to see my dad,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ll walk home.”
“Like hell you will. Get in the damn car and stop pissing me off.”
“Leave me alone!”
I stop, fuming. The cemetery is right over the hill, but it’s pitch black outside.
I shake my head, backing away. “Fine!” I bark. “Go visit your dad, then!”
Spinning around, I storm for my car and climb in, leaving her out there.
Turning on the engine, I hesitate for a moment. It’s dark. And she’s alone.
Fuck it. If she wants to be a brat, then it isn’t my fault.
I put it into gear and speed down the road, heading straight to my house.
Leaving the car running, I hop out and walk to the garden shed, digging out a shovel and going back to my car.
My ears turn cold from the October chill, but the rest of my body is still on fire from the fight.
She looked at me just like my father always did. As if everything I do is wrong.
I bottle up what’s inside me—the anger and this need I can’t explain. Something inside of me wants to self-destruct, wants to make messes, and wants to do the things others won’t do.
I don’t want to hurt people, but the more time that passes, the more it feels like I’m trying to crawl out of my head.
I want chaos.
And I’m tired of being powerless. I’m tired of him keeping me down.
I tried to do the hard thing today. The thing no one else would do but had to be done.
And she’d looked at me just like him. Like there was something wrong with me.
Tossing the shovel in the car, I race down the driveway and make my way to the only place I can think of.
St. Killian’s.
Pulling up outside the old cathedral, I keep the headlights on and walk around to the side, starting to dig the hole. The dog hadn’t had a collar, and it can’t stay exposed long enough for me to find its owner, so I have to bury it.
And this is the one place I like, so it makes sense to do it here.
After digging the hole about two feet deep, I return to my car and open the back door, hearing notifications from my cell phone up on the front seat.
The guys are probably wondering where the hell I am.
I was supposed to go home and collect our stock of toilet paper, spray paint, and nails for some Devil’s Night pranks. The same boring shit we always do before we go get drunk at the warehouse.
I cradle the dog in my arms, leaving him wrapped in the blankets, and carry him to the hole, kneeling down and gently placing him in.
The blood had soaked through the towel, and my hand is stained red. I wipe it off on my jeans and then take the shovel again, filling in the hole.
When I’m done, I stand there, leaning on the long wooden handle of the shovel as I stare at the mound of fresh dirt.
You’re weak.
Nothing.
Stop pissing me off.
I’d said the same things to her that my father says to me. How could I do that?
She isn’t weak. She’s a kid.
I’m angry at my father, and I’m angry that she pulls at me as much as she does. Ever since we were little.
And I’m angry that I grew up so pissed off about everything. There’s not much that makes me feel good.
But I shouldn’t have hurt her. How could I have said those things? I wasn’t him.
I let out a breath, seeing the cold steam expel from my mouth. It’s freezing out here, and the chill finally seeps into my bones, reminding me that I’d left her. Alone. In the dark. In the cold.
I charge up to the car, throwing the shovel in the back and grabbing my phone, checking the time.
An hour.
I left her an hour ago.
Climbing in, I start the car and put it in reverse, backing up and turning around. Slamming into first, I peel out of the clearing, down the old dirt road, seeing the cathedral disappear in the darkness in my rearview mirror.
I speed down the highway and through the community gate, turning into Grove Park Lane and racing to the end, where St. Peter’s Cemetery sat.
Rika had dived into the woods, coming into the cemetery through the back, but I just drive in, knowing right where to go.
Her father’s headstone sits not far from my family’s tomb. He could’ve afforded something that grandiose, too, but Schrader Fane wasn’t a pretentious asshole like the men in my family. A simple marker was enough and all he deemed appropriate according to his will.
I drive down the dark, narrow lane, nothing but trees and a sea of gray, black, and white stones to my left and right.
Stopping at the top of a small hill, I park and turn off the car, already spotting what I think is a pair of legs lying on the grass a ways down.
Jesus.
Racing down the grass in between headstones, I see Rika lying over her father’s grave, curled up and tucking her hands into her chest.
I stop and gaze down at her sleeping, for a moment seeing that baby from so long ago.
Kneeling down on one knee, I slide my hands underneath her body and lift her up, so small and light.
She squirms in my arms. “Michael?” she says.
“Shhh,” I soothe. “I’ve got you.”
“I don’t want to go home,” she protests, reaching up to hook a hand over my shoulder with her eyes still closed.
“Neither do I.”
I spot a stone bench a few yards back up the hill and carry her, guilt racking through me over how cold her skin is.
I shouldn’t have left her.
Sitting down on the bench, I keep her in my lap as she lays her head against my chest, and I hold her close, trying to warm her or do anything to make her feel better.
“I shouldn’t have said those things to you,” I admit in a raspy voice. “Your scar isn’t ugly.”
She slides her arms around my waist and presses close, shivering. “You never apologize,” she states. “To anybody.”
“I’m not apologizing.” I shoot back, kind of joking.
I am apologizing, actually. I feel bad, but I have a hard time ever admitting I did anything wrong. Probably because my father never fails to let me know anyway.
But she’s right. I never apologize. People take the shit I dole out, but not her. She ran away from me. In the dark. Into a cemetery.
“You got a lot of guts,” I tell her. “I don’t. I’m just a coward that picks on kids.”
“That’s not true,” she replies, and I can tell there’s a smile in there somewhere.
But she doesn’t see what I see. She’s not in my head. I’m a coward, and I’m mean, and I feel so fucking aggravated all the time.
I tighten my hold on her, trying to keep her warm. “Can I tell you something, kid?” I ask, a lump swelling in my throat. “I’m always afraid. I do what he tells me to do. I stand and speak, or I stay silent, and I never say no to anything he wants. I never stand up for myself.”
I told her she was weak. But it was me. I’m weak. I hate who I am. Everything gets in my head, and I have no control.
“People don’t see me, Rika,” I confide. “I only exist except as a reflection of him.”
She tilts her head up a little, her eyes still closed.
“That’s not true,” she mumbles sleepily. “You’re always the first person I notice in a room.”
My eyebrows pinch together in sadness, and I turn my head away, afraid she can hear my heavy breathing.
“Do you remember when your mom made you and your friends take Trevor and me hiking with you last summer?” she asks. “You let us do everything. You let us get close to the edge of the cliff. Climb boulders. You let Trevor swear…” Her fingers curl into my back, clutching my T-shirt. “But you wouldn’t let us go too far. You said we needed to save our energy for the return trip. That’s how you are.”
“What do you mean?”
She inhales a deep breath and then exhales. “Well, it’s like you’re saving your energy for something. Holding back,” she says, nestling into me and getting comfortable. “But it doesn’t make any sense. Life is one-way, and there is no return trip. What are you waiting for?”
My chest shakes for a moment, and I stare down at her, her words hitting me like a truck.
What am I waiting for?
The rules, the restraints, the expectations, and what was considered acceptable were things that held me back, but they were all things of other people’s design. Other people’s restraints. Other people’s rules and expectations.
And they were all an illusion. They only exist when I let them.
She’s absolutely right.
What is my father going to do to me, and do I care?
I want that.
You can’t have it.
Well, what happens if I take it anyway?
I want to do that.
You can’t.
Who’s going to stop me?
Jesus, she’s right. What the fuck am I waiting for? What can he do?
I want a little havoc, a little trouble, a little fun, a chance to go where my heart takes me…who the hell’s going to stop me?
Every tense muscle in my body begins to slowly relax, and the knots in my stomach start to uncoil. My skin buzzes, and I feel my insides flip, forcing me to hold back a smile.
And I inhale a deep, cool breath, filling my lungs with air that tastes like water in a desert.
Yes.
Keeping her in my arms, I stand up, holding her tight as I carry her back to the car.
I don’t bother taking her home. I don’t want her to be alone.
I carry her inside my house, the foyer dark since it’s almost ten. My father is no doubt in the city for the night, and my mother is probably on her way to bed. But as I climb the stairs, I pass her in the hallway, Rika passed out in my arms.
“Is she okay?” My mom rushes up to us, already dressed in a nightgown with book in her hand.
“She’s fine,” I reply, stepping into my room.
Walking over to my bed, I lay her down on top of the comforter and pull the blanket kept down at the bottom over her.
“Why don’t you put her in a guest room?” my mother suggests.
But I shake my head. “I’ll sleep in one tonight. Let her have my room. She needs to feel safe.”
And then I look at my mother. “She should have her own room here, though.”
She sleeps over a lot since her father’s death, and given her mother’s behavior, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Let her have a space here that feels like a home.
My mom nods. “That’s a good idea.”
I walk past my mother, grabbing a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of my closet. “Poor thing.” My mother strokes her hair. “So fragile.”
“No, she isn’t,” I correct. “Don’t coddle her.”
I snatch my black hoodie off the chair by the door and head into the bathroom to change, since the dog’s blood is all over my jeans.
After I’m in fresh clothes, I dial Kai, hearing loud music and lots of voices in the background.
“Do you still have those masks we used for paintball last weekend?” I ask, stuffing my wallet in my new jeans and running my fingers through my hair.
“Yeah, they’re in the trunk of my car,” he answers.
“Good. Get the guys, and meet me at Sticks.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Whatever we want,” I reply.
And then I hang up, walk back into my bedroom, and take one last look at Rika as she sleeps on my bed.
The corners of my mouth lift, and I can’t wait for tonight.
She corrupted me.
