AGE FIFTEEN
Existence, or the lack thereof, is intriguing.
I remember the first time I picked up Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre from one of Mum’s shelves. It was covered with dust, not having been touched in years.
I remember reading it in one day. I was twelve. I didn’t understand much of it back then, but every time I reread it, I get these bursts of nothingness.
Other people would steer clear from that, but I keep coming back for more. I read about the existentialism theory and followed all of Sartre’s counterparts, and while I’m not a believer in the theory — or in anything in general — I still find myself engrossed in Sartre’s main character in Nausea, Antoine Roquentin.
A lonely man suffering to come to terms with his existence while being horrified by it.
When Mum saw me reading the book, she said she pitied him because he didn’t have anyone to understand him. Antoine is, in her mind, the worst-case scenario for writers who delve too deep.
Mum might be a novelist herself, but she’s into what I call thought-provoking fiction. She writes books about the darkest parts of human nature, psychopaths, serial killers and cults. She writes books where villains are the main characters and she doesn’t try to romanticise them. That’s what makes her plots heart-pounding.
No matter how much I love Mum’s talent and her literary genius, I think she missed the point in Nausea. It’s not that Antoine didn’t understand himself; it’s that maybe he understood too much, which became a burden.
I didn’t tell her that, or she would’ve given me that look. The one where her brow creases and she watches me closely as if looking for signs from her serial killers’ articles cheat sheet.
Then she would’ve booked me an appointment with the therapist so I could talk it out.
It’s been the same endless cycle since my father died. Over the years, I’ve learnt to keep my most unconventional opinions to myself. Whenever Mum says I sound a lot older than I am, it’s usually my prompt to cut back and mimic those surrounding me.
Especially Xander and Ronan; they’re the most normal amongst the four of us — or as normal as they can get.
I’ve been having my suspicions about Ronan. His overall joyful personality sometimes seems to be the camouflage of something.
He’s now grinning like an idiot as we gather in the Meet Up — the cottage Aiden’s late mother left him. We usually come here after games with other team members. Today, however, it’s only the four of us because Ronan said it’s a special occasion.
“Lady and gents – and by the way, the lady is you, King.” He hops on the table, feigning to hold a microphone in hand. “We’re gathered here today to celebrate the holy deflowering of Aiden King. He finally lost his virginity. Let’s hear it for him!”
Xander howls as he jumps on the table and grabs Ronan by the shoulder. He’s one to talk, the hypocrite.
“Shut the fuck up, Astor, and get down,” Aiden says from beside me. He appears bored as usual. His grey eyes are bland and about ready to commit murder to interrupt the vicious, dull cycle.
I know that feeling.
Unless there’s chaos, it’s as if the world is permanently grey and there’s no way to inject colour into it.
For me, it started after the kidnapping. Maybe I had some issues before, but that darkness — that first taste of chaos — sealed the deal for me.
Aiden is the same, although his case is deeper. Xander and I were taken for two days and weren’t harmed. Aiden spent an entire week in chaos and came back with scars.
Is he special? Is that why Chaos kept him for longer?
Since then, he’s been making it his mission to instigate battles and wars. Or rather, it’s become our mission. Me, because I’ll take any chance to meet Chaos again, even if it’s brief. Him, because he loves the challenge. He isn’t labelled Conquest for no reason.
They came up with these names for us at school because of football. Xander is War, which is understandable, considering he’s like a bull striker. Ronan is Death because he kills any attempt at attack from the midfield. I’m Famine. According to them, silent but deadly.
I’d say I’m always hungry for more. More information, more books, more chaos.
“Admit it, Aiden.” Ronan directs his imaginary mic at him. “It’s because of my recommendations.”
“Fuck off.” Aiden doesn’t miss a beat.
“You don’t have to say it out loud. I get it in the small space in my heart.” Ronan grins, running his fingers through his messy brown hair in a smug way. “I was the first to lose my virginity. You’re the last. Guess who wins?”
A slight smirk crosses Aiden’s lips. “How about Knight and Nash?”
“Knight was right after me.” Ronan squeezes Knight’s shoulder. “Was that night with that twin fun or what?”
“Are you sure, though?” Aiden glances at Xander, who flips him off with a dimpled smile.
“Mais bien sûr,” Ronan dismisses Aiden. “Cole was… Hey, wait a second. When was it?”
“Miss Goldman,” I say and focus back on my book.
They don’t need to know the details. Besides, if they find out, Ronan will make a fucking show out of it. He makes it his job not only to start a rumour, but also to spread it until it reaches other schools.
He’s shit with secrets.
“Ooh, right.” Ronan grins, then pouts. “You’re the winner in quality, but I’m the winner in quantity. Aiden is last.”
The latter flips him off and he returns it as the door clicks open.
Only six people have access to the Meet Up. Four of them are here and the fifth is Levi, Aiden’s one-year-older cousin, but he disappeared with a girl, which leaves just one option.
My head lifts from the book as she comes inside, holding a grocery bag and juggling her backpack on one shoulder.
Chaos.
My entire body sharpens whenever she’s in my vicinity. It’s been getting more noticeable over the years. Every time she’s there, I have this urge to get up, grab her, and take her…somewhere.
Anywhere.
It doesn’t help that every day, she’s been growing from that kid Barbie doll to this girl with long, toned legs and an hourglass figure that keeps sharpening with time. Her tits are perky, high, and big, straining against her jacket whenever it’s closed — like now.
Her face has this symmetrical quality to it. Her eyes are huge and a clear blue, and when you’re close enough, you can see the grey flecks in them. Like a symphony of colours. The small freckles on her nose have been slowly disappearing over the years and she’s been hiding the traces with makeup. Her lips are full and have a perfect teardrop at the top that I haven’t been able to stop staring at since the day I sucked on it about a year ago.
No. It’s not only her lips that I haven’t been able to stop staring at.
It’s her.
All of her.
And it’s not only because of that kiss or the almost-kiss before that.
It all started that night. It started with chaos and refused to end.
I still don’t like Silver Queens. And not because she acts like a bitch to everyone at school, but because she’s not actually a bitch. She’ll go out of her way to snitch to the principal on anyone who bullies Kimberly, but she won’t talk to her. She’ll even hurt her if she feels her ex-best friend, Kim, might get close to her.
She shuts Summer and Veronica up when they make the other students do shit for them while she sits at parties like she’s a queen, accepting the peasants’ offers at her feet.
The sorry fucks line up to ask her to dance, only for her to tell them she’s not feeling like dancing, but they can sit with her.
She’s plastic. She’s becoming more and more a replica of her mother, and the worst thing is, I don’t think she even realises it.
When her eyes meet mine, she pauses for a fraction of a second before she harrumphs and directs her attention at the others.
Since that day in our guest room, Silver has made it her mission to avoid me and never stay alone with me. Whenever we meet at my house by accident — because I make her think I won’t come back at that time and then show up anyway — she pretends I don’t exist.
Like now.
It’s a game we play. Pretending the other doesn’t exist.
I still pull on her hair every chance I get. She’s lost that awed, surprised look over time, but it’s one of the rarest moments where she’ll stare up at me with wide eyes. They usually morph into glares way too soon, but that brief second is worth it.
Silver still tries to compete with me every chance she gets. She loses most of the time. In the beginning, I used to forfeit to see her eyes widening in a different type of way — with happiness — but lately, she’s been pissing me off with all the fuckboys she sits with at parties, so I make sure to see her lose.
I make sure she falls at my feet.
She stands up every time, though, and swings back even more determined. It’s one of her most admirable qualities. It’s like she can climb a mountain, then destroy it if she puts her mind to it.
I’m that mountain in her life right now. The one she’ll never be able to reach the top of. I won’t let her. I’ll keep her hanging on to me because I need the chaos she brings to the solid exterior. The way she digs her nails in and disrupts the boring cycle.
If I give in to her, if I allow her to have her way, everything will snap back to normal, and I don’t like normal.
“I brought snacks Helen and I made.” She carries the bags to the kitchen area.
“Are there any crisps?” Ronan helps her and she nods.
Xander follows, rubbing his hands. “I get half the crisps.”
“No!” Ronan brings out an imaginary sword. “Fight me for it, peasant.”
Xander brings out his own imaginary sword and they start jumping like monkeys around Silver.
“You mean, Mum made them and you just watched,” I say, feigning to read from my book. I can’t concentrate on words when she’s around. I always have this overflow of energy that starts in my chest and ends in my dick.
“Funny because you weren’t there,” she shoots back.
“I don’t have to be there to know you suck at cooking, Silver.” I don’t use her nickname when anyone else is around. If I do, they’ll pick up on my abnormal attachment to her.
That means weakness.
And I already made a promise to myself that there would never be another moment where I’m weak.
I did it once. Never again.
I don’t lift my head, but I feel her glaring at me from across the room. I like to think her hatred is black hands, and they’re punching me metaphorically when she’s not within physical reach.
She still hits me whenever possible. Sometimes, it’s stomping on my foot or elbowing me in the side when no one is looking. Other times, it’s a straight out punch to the chest, but that’s only when we’re alone. She thinks they hurt, but they’re like a toddler’s caress.
Silver has an outside image and an inside one. They never overlap and she’s becoming an expert at juggling her two lives. One is Daddy’s little girl, her mother’s perfect daughter, and the top student, piano player, and classical music lover. The other is everything else. Like listening to rock music and eating Snickers bars in secret. The punches, too. That’s why I did everything to bring them out.
I’m the only one who brings them out.
“You’ve been on the same page for ten minutes,” Aiden says from beside me, his voice low enough so that only I can hear him.
Silver is trying to pacify Ronan and Xander’s fake fight. A pacifier — that’s what she is deep down. However, she’s been slowly but surely trying to get rid of that part.
I flip the page. “I’m engraving the words to memory.”
“Lie. You have a photographic memory, so you engrave pages after a minute, or is it seconds?” He pauses. “Maybe you’re distracted.”
I lift my head from the book. Aiden is watching me with a sadistic smirk on his lips. Was I not careful enough? Did I somehow raise his suspicions?
“What are you talking about?” I play the nonchalance card I’m so good at.
“Silver Queens, huh? I should’ve seen it coming with the amount of time she spends with Helen.”
“She only comes over for Mum.”
“Sure, did I say anything?” He pretends to push his black hair from his forehead. “In that case, is it okay if I fuck her?”
My hold tightens around the book, but I try to keep my expression the same. It’s a tool I’ve found works in most situations. If you stay calm, it’ll eventually go away.
If I tell Aiden no, he’ll figure out my fixation and use it against me every chance he gets.
But I know something… Silver can’t stand Aiden. She thinks we’re both wankers and doesn’t miss a single chance to tell us that. She wouldn’t touch him with a stick.
Besides, I have a way to make her hate him even more.
“Sure, if you’re into bimbos.” I smile.
“You and I both know she’s a not a bimbo.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You think I won’t be able to do it.” His smirk widens. “I love it when you underestimate me, Nash. I really, really do.”
“Be my guest.” I focus on the other two. “Hey, Ronan. Why don’t you tell Silver what we’re celebrating?”
“Oh, right.” Ronan pauses his fight with Xander and clears his throat. “Aiden lost his virginity to his father’s secretary yesterday. He’s finally a man.”
“I didn’t need to know that.” She makes a disgusted face as she opens the container on the counter.
Bingo. I just made Aiden lose before he started to play. That’s how it’s done.
“You fucked up, Nash,” Aiden murmurs to me. “Now, I’m taking this to the next level.”
I can’t resist the smug look that pulls at my lips. “Best of luck.”
“Hey, Ronan,” Aiden speaks in a neutral tone. “Why don’t you tell her the order of how we all lost our virginities?”
“Mais bien sûr.” Ronan points at himself. “I’m number one, of course — no need for applause — then Xan, and then Cole with the bombshell Miss Goldman, and the loser Aiden is last.”
Silver pauses opening a container, her fingers freezing on the handle.
Fuck.
The change in her demeanour is short, but it’s there. Her eyes are cast downwards, so I can’t see the look in them. However, she purses her lips for the briefest second before she goes back to normal, and by normal, I mean the mask she wears every time she gets up in the morning.
Silver Queens is the most popular girl at school.
A piano prodigy.
The school’s queen B.
And fake.
She’s so fake, I can taste the bitterness of it on my tongue.
“You guys are pigs,” she says with her haughty attitude, but there’s a slight tremble in her voice at the end.
“You insult me.” Ronan grabs her by the shoulder, speaking in a dramatic voice. “Pigs don’t have my package, love.”
“Thank God for that.” She slips from underneath his hold. “I’m going home. Papa’s waiting.”
“And we can have all the crisps?” Xander asks.
She waves a dismissive hand at him as she strolls into our area to pick up her backpack.
Aiden stands, giving me a sideways smirk. “Can your driver drop me off?”
No, thanks. She’ll say, no, thanks. That’s what she tells Aiden every fucking time.
“Sure.” She grabs her backpack with stiff fingers.
“Drop me off, too.” I stand.
For some reason, I feel that if she walks out with him through that door, everything will be screwed up, and it won’t be the chaos I love so much.
It’ll be chaos I can’t control, like when I was a kid, standing at the edge of the pool.
She snaps her head, finally looking at me. I wish she hadn’t. I’ve never seen that look in her eyes — malice mixed with hurt and disappointment and something else I can’t put my finger on.
Something so deep and raw, it’s almost like the time she pinned me to the bench and soaked my cheeks with her glitter tears because she couldn’t hold them in.
She’s not crying now, though, and that’s way fucking worse.
“You can go to hell,” she tells me as Aiden steps to her side.
She leans in to whisper, “You don’t know what I’m feeling right now, but I’m going to make you regret it.”
I reach out a hand for her, but all it finds is air.
The moment the door closes behind her and Aiden, something inside me slams shut too.
