“I don’t think she’s going to be ok,” Nate said, just as the seatbelt light turned off. She had fallen asleep long before take-off. We had waited for Spyder and Ollie to board the plane, both of them fucking around.
“What the fuck took you so long?” I asked Spyder, my eyes drifting to both him and a guilty looking Ollie. “If you tell me you were hitting on a chick, I swear to God, I will punch you.”
“Aw,” Spyder grinned, winking at me. “You and I both know I hit harder, little cos.”
“Our last fight was when I was five…”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“You make no sense.”
He pretended to think over what I had just said, then slowly smirked. “Exactly.”
I hated him.
I looked back to a nervous Nate. “She’ll be fine. It will take her a while, but she’ll pull through. If anyone can, it’s her.”
Nate squeezed his eyes closed. “I can’t ever see her in that kind of pain ever again, so you’re not allowed to die.”
“Ditto,” I muttered before Spyder’s voice stole my attention.
“We were helping your old man.” He tilted his head up to the ceiling, his eyes looking at me. “He has a lot to clean up after your girl there went firecracker and killed the only Steprum walking this earth.”
“She’s not the only one.” Nate shook his head, his finger running across his upper lip. “Scarlet was right, Katsia was lying. Tillie is her daughter, who is a Steprum, which means my kid is half Steprum.” His eyes closed again, I could see he was battling within himself to come to terms with everything he had just learned over the past few days.
“Well, shit,” Spyder grunted, closing his eyes. “I should have stayed around here, seems like more drama happens.”
“You can stay in New Orleans,” I corrected. My cousin and I were actually close, the banter was just what we always did since we were kids.
“I don’t know.” A slow smirk crept onto his mouth but his eyes stayed closed. “I might have just met a reason to stick around.” Ollie’s attention flew to where Tate was sitting, a smug, knowing look passing over his features.
“Of fucking course,” I snorted.
Brantley sat on the seat in front of us. “She’ll be ok, man. No one is as strong as that girl there.”
“That’s what I’m worried about, though,” Nate said, gesturing to where she was curled up under a blanket toward the back of the plane. “She shouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit. She fucking loved Daemon, man. Like full on fucking loved him. They shared a sibling bond that I had never seen before, and now he’s dead? I don’t know.” Nate shook his head. “I don’t know if she’ll come back from this. She barely came back from her little trip around the world stunt. She’s about to feel real loss, fucking crippling loss. Not the superficial kind, the fucking life shattering, earth moving kind. Not many people can survive it.”
Brantley looked at me. “She survived the shit that went on with my dad. She survived being fucking raped as a young girl, Nate. You’re wrong. That girl wasn’t born capable of dealing with that kind of loss, because she built the wall around herself to handle it, and do you know how she did that?” he asked, his eyes finally settling on Nate, who was watching him back eagerly. “By collecting every fucking brick that was thrown at her from this shitty life.”
Nate gulped. I swallowed, and Spyder’s eyes cracked open. “That’s some rough shit.”
Brantley’s eyes glassed over. “You have no idea.”
We all watched him, and it was like watching someone relive their most horrifying memories in full HD. Brantley was haunted every day by what his dad put them both through, and none of us truly knew the extent of it, but I did know that it was worse than what we knew. He refused to tell us anything else and lived with the shadows of it all every single day.
Ollie cleared his throat. “It was good to be back, I gotta admit, even though the circumstances were fucking shitty.”
“Ollie?” Nate muttered under his breath. “Stop fucking talking.” Those two cousins, on the other hand, flat out hated each other. Wasn’t sure why, Ollie seemed like a down to earth guy. As down to earth as you can get within us all. He lived to surf and had the jaw length blonde locks to go with it. He had the blue eyes and tattoos all over his skin to go with that, too. He looked like he had just fallen out of the set of The OC.
I pushed off the seat and made my way back to Madison, pulling up her blanket and resting her head on my lap. I moved hair off her face, my thumb circling her hard cheekbone. I wanted to know what was happening with my dad and mom, and why they both stayed behind. Actually, all of the elders stayed behind. My thumb halted its movements as I looked around the plane. All of our generation and Spyder’s generation were here, while the rest were back at Perdita. Odd. But whatever their reasoning, I’d hear about it when they came home.
“B? Can we talk?”
My jaw clenched.
“Please?”
I looked down to Madison before slowly getting back to my feet and placing her head on the seat. I led Khales toward the back of the plane, away from any ears just in case no one knew about her and my dad. “What?” I snapped, unable to stop my jaw from clenching.
“I’m sorry about what happened back there. I misjudged Madison, and you, and I guess—” She stopped, her eyes falling to her fingers. “I’m sorry, Bishop. When I first came back, I was so angry and enraged by how you had moved on. I hated her so much.” She took in a deep breath, and I took this time to study her face. I knew Khales inside and out. I knew when she was lying, when she was happy, sad, or both. I knew if she was hiding any emotion from me. She was transparent to me, unlike Madison who was like a closed fucking book.
“I lost my shit for a bit, B, but you know me, you know I’m not vindictive, and I see it now.”
“See—what?” I tilted my head at her.
“I see how you are with her.”
I leaned on the wall. “She doesn’t like you.”
“I know.”
“Which means our friendship will never go back to how it was.”
Her face fell. “I know.”
“Then I wish you and my dad well.” I pushed off the wall and headed back to Madison. Just as I slipped back into my seat, I chuckled. “Oh, and good luck with Mom.”
Khales flinched but slowly went back into her seat. I did care about her once upon a time…
I liked riding my bike. I liked riding it even more when it was heading in the opposite direction of my house. I couldn’t stand it. So there I was, on my silk black BMX, equipped with handlebars that had been dipped in chrome, riding toward the other side of town. With my hoodie thrown up over my head, and my jeans hanging off of my hips and my skater chain dangling off my belt loop, I was riding to where I always went when it became too much at home. When the air became tight and the tension would be close to snapping. Most parents loved each other, whereas mine barely tolerated each other. A car honked from the other side of the road and I kicked my feet back to hit the brakes, skidding to a halt. Turning toward the car, my eyes narrowed. I knew that I shouldn’t have stopped. I was young—pretty much still a child. Eight, to be exact. I’m not exactly legally allowed to be riding across town on my own, so without a second glance, I peddled forward and made my way to Newtown Beach. It always took around twenty minutes to get there, and today was no exception. I came to a halt, kicking my bike stand out and looking out to the trailer park.
In a clean layout, there were roughly around twenty metal moveable homes all parked. All with different designs, and obviously, you could see who had the most pride. It ranged from old OCD grandma with florals and cats, to old bins strewn over front yards and rusted swing sets that had seen one too many days in the sun and rain, and not enough being ridden on. My attention went straight to the metal grey trailer I was familiar with. The dents and scratches were clearly visible, even with a brief glance. This trailer was a neglected as the child who resided in it. Not to stereotype trailer parks, because some of them here had blossoming flowers lining their walls and gardens, along with a couple of lazy chairs and tables set up nicely, this one didn’t. There wasn’t a spec of pride that whistled off of this trailer, and like always, I headed straight for it. I was just about to tread across the fake grass that had long faded from its unnatural plastic of green to a dingy shade of yellow, when the metal door swung open, smashing against the side of the beat-up oversized shit-hole as Khales stormed out, her long brown hair sticking to her heart-shaped face.
Her eyes connected with mine. Her frown turned soft. “Bishop?” She scrubbed the tears off of her cheek, sniffed, and then put her nose up. That pride was going to kill her one day. “You shouldn’t have come, Bishop. He’s angry today. Like, extra angry.”
My heart pinched a little for her. I hated my parents, but they’d never do the things Khales’ dad did to her, and I despised the expensive architecture I called home, but it wasn’t a run down, beat up, dingy metal on wheels shit-box that on a good day, stinks like beer, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke. Where on a bad day, it smelled of whiskey, sweat, stale cigarette, and Khales’ tears mixed with her dried blood. I felt my anger drop to its knees inside of me and beg to travel through my veins and rest on the slight tingle at my fingertips.
“What’d he do?” I asked her, pushing my hands into my hoodie pocket to hide the way my nails sunk into the palm of my hands. I wanted to protect her. She was the first friend I had outside of the Kings, and I’d known her since pre-school. I’d had a front row ticket to this same shit-show since we were kids, and I was about ready to punch our ticket and end it once and for all.
“He’s just drunk, Bishop.” A smile, so weak, so placid, came onto her face. “Can we go to your place? Or have you taken the pegs off your bike?”
My anger simmered out a little, and my shoulders slightly rested. “I haven’t. I won’t, not until you don’t need them anymore.” She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and then snapped a fluorescent pink band around it before she gestured to the bike. “Let’s go then.”
“And your dad?” I questioned, watching as she bounced over to my bike and turned to wait for me.
“Screw him.”
“He will hurt you, Lees, and you know it. I don’t want him to hurt you ever again.” I headed toward her, taking the handle bars into the palm of my hands and sitting on the chair. She stood on the pegs, her hands coming to my shoulders. “I can’t stop him, B.”
Maybe she couldn’t stop him, but I could.
And I did a couple years later. He was my first kill. I remember calling my dad, panicking with the gun hanging on the tips of my fingers. Dad, my uncle, and Johan came. I thought I would have been in trouble. I just committed murder at age thirteen, you would think that was a big deal. It wasn’t. It was a part of my initiation process, and I was the only one to ever begin at that age. My dad was proud. The Kings were proud.
I pulled my phone out when Madison’s head was rested back on my lap, and pulled out my ear pods. I pushed play on “Whoring Streets” by Scars on Broadway, and slipped it into our playlist, closing my eyes and reliving, soaking every inch of what I remember of her.
“What are you doing here?” Madison asked, stepping outside cautiously and shutting the door. She was somewhat smart to be cautious around me, that was for sure. I took a seat on one of the marble steps, and looked directly at her, only hers were on my car.
“I told you,” I answered matter-of-factly. “We need to talk.” I didn’t even hide the fact that my eyes were undressing her. She wore cute little shorts and a tight tank that rose up to display her belly. When my eyes fell to her socks, my eyebrow rose in shock. “Is that Banksy’s work?”
“I’m shocked,” she snorted sarcastically, and I had to fight the urge to rip her fucking clothes off and eat her on her parents’ doorstep. My fingers twitched, and just when I was about to throw my ‘talk’ out the fucking window, she fucking insulted me. “You know Banksy?”
“I know his artwork,” I retorted.
I could see her trying her hardest to not meet my gaze, so she flipped the box of chocolates open and gestured them to me. “I can share.”
Her eyes finally came to mine, and I leaned into my shoulder, using it to shield my mouth. My attention stayed on her, studying, trying to crack open every single cage she kept hidden. What the fuck was it with her. I fucking wanted her. “What?”
I shook my head, breaking our eye contact and looking straight ahead. “You’re different.”
“I’ve been told that all my life.” My jaw tensed. I knew that she meant that as an insult, but I didn’t say it as an insult, it was a good thing. A fucking dangerous thing, but a good thing nonetheless.
“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“You and Carter?” I threw her off track.
“Are none of your business.”
“Really?” My lip curled. “Pretty sure you made it my business the second you were screaming my name and clawing up my back.”
I fought the smirk that was possessing my mouth and leaned back farther into my chair. Just thinking about that night was making my dick hard all over again.
My karma may be a bitch, but damn the bitch is beautiful.