Sage
It’s just one day. You can handle one day.
I tell myself this knowing I’ve been through harder things than this. I had spent months of my life trapped inside of a psych ward, where I’d been mistreated and abused. I’d lost my twin sister to a gruesome murder, and I had gone through the worst thing imaginable as a young girl.
I had survived all of these traumatic things, and yet, this Spring Luncheon in celebration of my father feels like the last straw for me.
“Sage,” I hear, prepared to settle into another dull conversation with another person who didn’t care about a word I had to say.
It’s the same thing for each new group of people.
How are you?
How is college treating you? What are you majoring in?
Some of them slide in a joke they think is original about how college is the best years of your life. My father would occasionally compliment my academic excellence and talk about how bright my future was going to be.
But I can see in their eyes what they really want to ask me. They don’t care about any of this.
They want to know if I’m mentally stable, how I am with Rosie being gone, how losing my mother had affected me as a woman. I can read them; they’re paper-thin in this light. But instead of actually asking me, they keep quiet, waiting to draw their own conclusions when I leave.
I blink, turning my head to see Conner Godfrey, my school counselor, standing next to me with a smile on his face and a glass of champagne.
“You look miserable, and I thought this might help.”
“Thank you,” I say simply, pressing the edge of the champagne glass to my lips.
Attending this ridiculous event had not been my idea. It had been a stipulation when I’d talked to Cain at the church. I hadn’t found out any new information, and in order to stay in his good graces, I was to show up, wear something pretty, and play the role of the supportive daughter.
“I didn’t know you were friends with my father,” I say, making conversation, not wanting to assume anything about him, but also confused as to why he’s here. From what I know about him, he lives quietly with his wife and two children, having only moved here a few years ago.
“We’ve chatted in passing. Stephen and I went to graduate school together,” he says, smiling charmingly. “He actually got me the job at Hollow Heights. I didn’t necessarily come from a family with this kind of wealth.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that with the last name Godfrey.”
“I hear that more often than you would think.”
Not able to stop myself and not caring either way, I speak my mind.
“Was Stephen always a pompous asshole?” I look over at him, watching as he keeps the smile on his face and chuckles.
“He has always been…” He thinks for a moment. “Driven. But no, there were times, believe it or not, that he would stumble into our shared apartment piss drunk. But his father was very strict with him about taking over the family business. I think over the years he has just done what we all strive to do—make our parents proud.”
He’s right. I don’t believe Stephen is capable of anything other than poise and discipline. However, it would seem he passed that tradition down to his son, turning him into another man fueled by toxic masculinity and entitlement.
“Not all of us strive for that,” I say honestly. “Sometimes it’s the opposite.”
I have no reason to lie or uphold an image. And while I wouldn’t run around screaming my father is involved in a sex trafficking ring and is the reason my sister died, in order to protect Rook, I won’t pretend to like him. Not anymore.
This makes him pause for a second before he nods, accepting my answer and taking it much better than anyone else would.
“We all have something that drives us, and it doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it makes us better people in the end.”
“That’s good advice. Ever thought about being a counselor?” I quirk an eyebrow up at him, smirking, and he grins, showing off his white smile.
I may not know fully who I am or what I want for myself—I don’t think that’s the point anymore, because we are supposed to grow, to change, to heal—but I do know what drives me.
It’s to make sure I never become like them, all those people surrounding me. I refused to become what they want me to be. I’ll never allow anyone to try and mold me into the image they picture ever again.
And that feels far more important than not knowing who I am.
“There you are,” I hear my father say. “My beautiful daughter. I got that dress for you in Paris on your sixteenth birthday, didn’t I?”
I glance down at the Hepburn-style black chiffon dress. It melts against me because it had been custom-made for my body and also from the heat of being outside all day. I knew the long sleeves were going to make me sweat, but I suppose when short sleeves and spaghetti straps are out of the question, you work with what you have.
Plus, I’d worn this dress for a reason.
“Don’t give yourself that kind of credit. Rosemary bought this for me.” I look back up at him with a look so harsh, it could slit his throat.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Conner says before clearing his throat. “Sage, it was lovely talking to you.”
I watch him disappear into the party, leaving me alone with my dad for the first time in over a year.
I look at Frank in his dusty-pink blazer and cream slacks, ashamed that I’m even related to this man. It feels wrong to stand by his side, showing my encouragement, while I know who he is underneath.
A murderer. A fraud. A money-hungry swine.
This is one role I don’t want to act out anymore. My family died the day Rosie did, and when this is all said and done, I want to have all ties severed from my Donahue lineage.
“You don’t have to make this so hard, Sage,” he breathes, opening the door to the backyard. “I’m still your dad.”
I look over at him, not able to put away my look of disgust.
“My dad?” I scoff. “A father is a man who would do anything to protect the family he built. You are a cheap, weak man with absolutely no backbone. You are nothing to me except the man who murdered my sister.”
I search his eyes for any form of regret or sadness, but I see nothing. He’d done nothing but given me half his chromosomes and ruin my life. That’s it. And soon, he won’t even be that.
He’ll be a corpse.
“Ah, I see you’ve found her!” Stephen Sinclair makes his appearance, a smile on his face as he comes into my space as if he is allowed and kisses me on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you, it’s been too long. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by to chat on campus. With all the disruptions last semester, I’ve been putting out fires left and right.”
I lift the left side of my mouth in a half-smirk, not missing the implied statement about literal fires that had been started. I’m not sure of Stephen’s involvement in all of this, but I would be naive to think he wasn’t at least aware of what Rook and his friends were up to.
“With great power comes great responsibility,” I say mockingly.
“Quoting Voltaire. I always told Easton you were too smart for your own good. I hate that things couldn’t work out between the two of you. You were so good together.”
Didn’t work out? That’s what he’s going with?
I mean if anyone was thankful for ending the relationship with Easton, it was me, but didn’t work out?
He acts as if he didn’t blacklist me the second I was hauled off to the loony bin. My mental health episode would have been a stain on his family’s reputation, and he couldn’t have that.
“It’s from Spider man, actually.” I tilt my head, taking a sip of my drink. “Mary is much smarter than me. I think they make a much better fit than we did. He is much more docile.”
I knew where the quote originated from, but I’m in the mood to be a smartass. He, along with his family, don’t deserve an ounce of my respect.
Stephen isn’t the only person in this space that can play dirty. If he wants to take digs, he better get a fucking shovel, because I guarantee my hole will be deeper than his at the end. I lost a lot of things this year; my razor-sharp tongue was not one of them.
He laughs, and it actually sounds real. Like me challenging him is the most humorous thing he’s experienced in years.
“Maybe you’re right,” he says, sobering up a bit. “However, I’ve got some business that needs attending to on the East Coast in the next few weeks. I’ve asked your father to join Easton and me. I think you should really think about coming along. It might be a nice little vacation, and maybe you and Easton could rekindle.”
My brain goes to high alert. It’s no longer a game of who can outwit who.
What is he doing with my father?
I cross my arms in front of me suspiciously. “Business?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light as I look between the two of them. “What business? You’re the dean of a college. I thought your business would consist of budgeting tuition and meal planning school lunches.”
He looks at me carefully. “I wasn’t aware you were so interested in the inner workings of what I do, Sage. Plan on taking my job one day?”
“Just keeping my options open.”
I’m onto you, I want to say.
And by the way his body language shifts, just a little, I can tell he knows it.
So help me God, if I find out he was involved in what happened to Rosie, there would be no waiting like we’re doing with my father.
I’ll kill him in front of the police department and handcuff myself.
“If you must know,” he exhales, “it’s a funding opportunity. We’re looking into more scholarship donations so that bright, young students from underprivileged homes can attend without worrying about the financial burden. Like your friend Briar.”
I slit my eyes when he says her name. He is so full of shit it’s starting to leak out of his ears. The Sinclair men are a handful of generational assholes.
“How very humanitarian of you, Stephen,” I say. “This has been nice, catching up, but I’ve got to run to the little girls’ room.” I tip my champagne glass up at both of them before turning on the ball of my foot and heading in the opposite direction.
I walk away from him and towards the French doors, where all the waitstaff are filtering through.
They all look miserable walking around in their white waistcoats and silver trays. I recognize one of them as one of the guys that had trapped me, Briar, and Lyra at the Gauntlet.
It’s not a rare occurrence for people from West Trinity Falls to work for the people in Ponderosa Springs. To them, they’re just our servants, the people who pick up after our messes. It’s strange that I had never noticed that before, just how many of them worked for the rich, trying to provide a life for themselves.
I can only imagine what they think of us. I bet they sit around and talk about how lucky we are, how easy we have it, and to some degree, they’re probably right.
But tragedy does not discriminate against the poor and the rich. It comes for everyone, and it does not care if you live in a mansion or a roach-filled apartment. It eats at us all.
With no rush to return to the party, I wander around the halls. I know this house like it’s my own, having spent more time here growing up than I would have liked.
I walk into the study, my fingers gliding across the dusty books before I walk onto the terrace. I stand still, looking down from my place on the second floor at all the guests mingling around on the back lawn. A clear representation of everything I despised about my upbringing.
I can smell the fresh floral arrangements in the breeze, bouquets of hydrangeas, violets, and orchids. All of them are placed elegantly around the spacious, green lawn, the setting sun reflecting the color on their petals.
Large white canopies are strategically set up to shield guests while they eat. The circular dining tables were decorated flawlessly by some designer that would never actually get the credit for it. All the women in their oversized hats and men in their suit jackets add to the aesthetic like perfectly arranged ornaments.
Everything is in order. There are no children running around gleefully soaking in the sun or laughter that rings too loud.
It’s all orchestrated to sound and look like wealth.
All of these familiar faces that I grew up around yet had never had one single genuine conversation with any of them. I see Lizzy standing next to her mother and father and wonder if the night before he’d stumbled in drunk and smelling of another woman’s perfume. I’m curious if she’s still hiding who she really is beneath that tailored white dress.
Every influential name in Ponderosa Springs is in attendance today, all here to celebrate my father’s re-election.
One that he’d secured with pity and blood-soaked money.
As I stare at them with their jewelry and designer clothes, it feels like the first time I’m seeing them for what they all are. One big mirage of success and happiness. From a distance, you might see a life people would dream of, but in reality, when you get close, the picture becomes clearer.
It’s all an act.
A show they put on while they’re busy digging holes six feet deep to bury their secrets inside of. Shoving all of their skeletons, crooked ways, and nasty scandals into the grave, leaving the ground to soak up all that wickedness.
I don’t believe in ghosts or hauntings.
But if any town is cursed by the wrongdoings of its civilians, it’s Ponderosa Springs. It forces the soil to absorb their evil, enriching the ground with sinister fertilizer. It’s now so apparent to me that I can feel it as I walk around.
“I kissed you for the first time right there.”
Repulsion hits me like a bus.
“You threatened to cut my hair with scissors if I didn’t,” I say as I turn around to look at Easton. He’s wearing a starched button-down and navy slacks, his blond hair combed back neatly, achieving an effortless kind of handsome, one that I would be able to acknowledge if I didn’t already know how awful of a human he was.
“We remember things differently, it seems,” he quips, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
“We remember a lot of things differently.”
There’s so much history between the two of us, matched for a relationship before we even knew what that meant. When we were young, he was different. We got along as friends. He was funny and smart, always coming up with something to do. Climbing trees, riding bikes, getting ice cream.
We grew up together.
And I’m not sure when he changed, when he became what he is now.
We’d gone from friends since birth to standing here as enemies.
Maybe things would have gone differently had I been able to love him. Maybe I wouldn’t have fought this life as hard as I did. Maybe I would have given in and become what he needed, but even as a young teenager, I knew I didn’t want that for myself.
I take a sip of my bubbly drink. “What happened to your face?”
A gaudy bandage is attached to the left side of his face, protecting some type of wound from infection.
He grinds his teeth, reaching up to touch the gauze and sucking his teeth. “I thought you were done playing dumb, Sage?”
I furrow my eyebrows, not having a clue what he is talking about.
“You really don’t know?” he asks, scoffing a little. “Rook, your psychotic fuck buddy, burnt half my face off. It took two skin grafts to fix, and even still, I’ll be walking around like a freak.”
“Why do I get the feeling you did something to deserve it?”
I start to walk away when I feel Easton’s hand grab my forearm, hauling me in close into his space. My balance is thrown slightly, making me lean onto his chest.
There are flashes of our past relationship that hit me like whiplash, and on instinct, I want to break his fingers for touching me.
He has no right.
He never did, and I’m ashamed that at one point I thought he did.
His mouth dips close to my ear, making me sick to my stomach. “We used to be good together. We were happy. You can still have that, Sage. The lifestyle you’ve always wanted, the attention, the notoriety. You can still have all of that. All you have to do is come back to me.”
There’s nothing to come back to because there was never anything I’d left. Everything I was with Easton was a fake. A fraud. A person I had to be in order to get through the pressure of living in this town.
“Let go of me, Easton.” I grind out.
For a second, there is a brief moment where I see the boy I used to know. The one I used to be friends with. Before he woke up one day a different person, a man who thought I was property, one who only cared for how he was perceived.
“There was a time when you begged me to touch you, Sage Donahue. A time before Rook, before all of this. You know me, you grew up with me. I know that we could be happy, if you’d just let me in. Let me show you.”
Panic hits me as he moves closer, my arm trying to jerk away from his hold, but his grip only tightens.
“You better take your hands off her, Sinclair.” I know that voice. “Before you get the other side of your face melted off.”
Rook.
His presence is a dark cloud on this warm day, and I’m surprised how badly I missed the shade. The way he leans against the entryway, arms crossed, defying my expectations of just how far he is willing to go in order to cause chaos.
While Rook’s father is in attendance as he is for most of these gatherings, his son had never once shown his face amongst this kind of crowd. He doesn’t conform to this society they all live in. The one I had lived in.
I jerk my arm away from Easton, stepping away from him.
“Heard about your accident, Toasty. Gotta learn to be more careful around bikes—they get hot.” Rook smirks, only pouring fuel on the already roaring flames.
My heart jumps a little as I look at him.
His silver chain necklace catches the sunlight, my attention directed to his exposed chest, where a few buttons of his shirt are undone. The ink adorning his skin is partially visible, enough to make me lick my lips, enough to make me want more.
He arches one dark eyebrow, letting me know he is very aware I’m eye fucking him.
The dark purple dress shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the black slacks to match straining against the toned muscles in his thighs—it’s not something I’m accustomed to him wearing. But it’s starting to become something I could get used to.
“Aw,” Easton pouts. “Still jealous I fucked her first, or are you still upset that she’s here where she belongs instead of playing pretend with you?”
Rook pushes himself off the doorframe, moving into the space, filling up the room with his presence. I don’t miss the way Easton backs up as he does.
“That’s where you’re misunderstanding, Sinclair,” he says. “She’s never had to pretend to enjoy anything with me.”
His rebellion makes me ache.
He’d gone his entire life being told he was the devil. It was a role he’d accepted, one that could shield him from his pain and the rest of the world. He would always be that; that would never change.
And I had learned to accept the demons inside of him.
However, it doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of more.
Easton turns to me. “Is that the life you want? Slumming it? Being an outcast? I know you don’t want that for yourself, Sage. Pick me, you know I’m right. You choose me and all your problems disappear, but if you go with him, I can’t guarantee you won’t be caught in the crossfire.”
I’ve been told since I came back about how I’d fallen from grace. How I’d become someone completely different than who I used to be. But I think that’s because I’m becoming the person I was always meant to be.
And I want to do that, standing next to the person I was always meant to be with.
This moment is my eternal damnation origin story. Instead of hiding it, I acknowledge for the first time publicly what it is I want. I show him exactly what it is I want for myself.
I walk quietly past Easton, knowing my actions will be enough to give him his answer. I feel his judgmental eyes smite me as I’m cast out of their self-righteous heaven once again.
But they could not throw me from a place I descended from willingly. Not this time.
I stand next to Rook, unsure of what my place beside him means but knowing I want to be there either way.
I look over at him, hellfire eyes blazing, knowing that if he were to tumble from the heavens again, falling like lightning from the sky, I would be the thunder that chased after him. I would stay there with him, in eternal flames as long as it was his fire that licked my body.
He is my Lucifer, and it’s time for me to show him I could be his Lilith.
