Broken: A Bad Boy Romance, page 2
SOPHIA
Theo and I walk in silence. I don't know why he's still following me. I figured that he would give up after a couple of blocks when he figured out that I'm not like the other girls who follow him around town. Maybe he's doing this to make fun of me?
Although, with the money Theo has, I don't know how he could find something like this fun. And I especially don't understand why he is still walking next to me when I'm sure he has tons of other more exciting people he could be with.
"You don't talk much, do you?" Theo asks, breaking the silence.
We are a couple blocks away from my house. Usually, I look forward to these walks to and from Group, but having Theo next to me makes me anxious. I'm all too aware of his presence.
"Isn't this weird to you?" I ask.
Or is this really an example of the world he lives in? A world where he can go up to any girl, walk next to her, not say anything, and get something out of it.
Theo shakes his head and reaches for his back pocket. He pulls out another blunt and lights it. He takes a long drag before blowing out a large cloud of smoke.
"Hey, put that away," I scold.
There's a cop car parked a couple houses down. I can't tell if the officer is in it or not, but regardless of what world Theodore Fitzgerald lives in, marijuana is still not legal here.
Theo bursts out laughing. It sounds throaty. Raw. I like the sound of it, even though I know I shouldn't. There's no point in me liking Theodore Fitzgerald's laugh. Just like nothing is going to come from this walk, nothing would come from that either.
Theo is still laughing as we walk by the cop car, blunt displayed proudly in his hand. He doesn't make any move to hide it, and I cringe as we pass by the car, seeing an officer inside it.
Surprisingly, nothing happens—Theo waves to the cop inside the car, and the cop waves back. Even though blunt is clear as day.
"See, nothing to worry about, Sophia," Theo laughs, taking another long inhale.
The ease with which he says my name makes me uncomfortable. I know how he knows me. There'd be no other way, so the unspoken weight of that hangs between us.
But Theo says my name like he's already feeling comfy with me. Maybe it's because he's already drunk, and it's not even noon. Or maybe this is really just how he lives his life.
"How did you not get arrested? Did the laws change or something?"
Another genuine, deep, throaty, sexy laugh. I hate the way his laugh stirs up my stomach. I hate that I'm not immune to his attractiveness.
Theo has longer, dark black hair. It's messy, but a good kind of messy. Like a rockstar. His face is perfect angles and contours. Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Perfectly clear, pale skin. Long lashes just as black as his hair. Full, pink lips. And gray eyes that remind me of the sky when you know there's going to be a storm later. He's beautiful, and the way he carries himself, it's clear that he knows it and has known it his whole damn life.
"Laws don't matter when your stepfather's in charge of all of them, Sophia."
"How do you know my name?"
Even though I already know the answer, I want him to acknowledge how we know each other. Maybe it will make all of this more real to him, instead of just thinking I'm something fun to do after his bullshit family obligations.
Another long draw. The way Theo's lips purse around the end of the blunt makes them even more appealing.
I've never smoked, but Hunter used to. I remember the first day she tried it, it was at my house. I was freaking out because between our houses, we should have definitely been at hers. At my house, my parents would have been the ones to call the cops. At Hunter's, her dad would have laughed and probably joined in.
Even though I had told her all of this, she hadn't listened to me. She had rolled a sloppy blunt, took a picture to remember it, and lit up. She coughed so hard that my mom came in to check on us, and I had had to spray a bunch of Febreeze faster than I've ever sprayed anything in my life. I told Mom that we had been doing the cinnamon challenge, which she just barely believed. After she closed the door, Hunter and I laughed so hard, and she smoked the rest of it.
That was freshman year. Every year after that, she had gotten better at rolling them and smoking them. Even though I never smoked, I was still her go-to getting high buddy. I never got the chance to ask her why that was. Out of all of her other friends, I was the only one who didn't smoke. I'm grateful she did, though, looking back on it. I'm grateful for all the time I got to spend with her.
"You were mentioned when they were talking about Hunter on TV,"
Theo says, shrugging like it's the most casual thing in the world. As if talking about Hunter is nothing more serious than talking about the weather.
"They put your picture up too. You guys were hugging and holding a chalkboard that said 'First Day of Senior Year.'"
Theo doesn't say it with an ounce of empathy. He says it casually as if he's telling me he saw me on TV for winning the school spelling bee. And he carries on like I should carry on too, but I can't get the way he said her name out of my mind.
It makes my blood boil.
4
THEO
Something on Sophia's face changes. A mixture of anger and sadness. I almost regret what I said as soon as I see it. Which is weird. I'm used to being an asshole, and people are used to me being an asshole. It's an unspoken agreement with the majority of people in my life.
Sophia lurches away from me and turns the other way, walking as fast as she can without running. I catch up to her quickly — her legs are much shorter than mine.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
I don't know why I care. Before today, we've never had a conversation, and because of what I just said, we'll never have another one. But the hurt expression on Sophia's face snapped me right out of my numb funk, and I know that I need to try to make this better.
Feelings.
It's crazy how when you're numb to them for so long that the slightest feel of them is overwhelming. This is why I drink and smoke all day.
"Then how did you mean it?"
How did I mean it? I'm surprised she doesn't know. She must feel it. Maybe it hasn't been long enough for it to sink in yet. Everyone staring at you. Everyone acting like they know something about the person you lost. I'd been used to stares because of being related to James and my tattoos, but it's different when it comes to Eddie.
"Just that this town isn't big. Everyone talks. Everyone knows when big stuff like that happens."
"So you're just going to act like you know me like everyone else? And how dare you say her name like that. Like you knew her."
The way her eyes pierce me makes me feel more. Underneath all of the alcohol, the high, and the general apathy I have towards people and life, I feel bad. It's like her anger has snapped me back to earth. Which is weird because I use most of my habits to actively make me not aware of my surroundings.
Her anger reminds me of the way I react when people try to talk to me about Eddie. Last summer, people I'd never met before came up to me, claiming to be friends of Eddie's, telling me they were sorry and that they hoped I was doing okay. The first couple of people who did it got off easy, but as more and more people acted as if they knew me and knew my brother, I gave less and less of a fuck. Even under all of the substances and detachment, I'm surprised I've done the same thing to Sophia.
"Leave me the fuck alone," Sophia snarls, storming past me.
I watch her go. Instead of her slow, easy-going walk from before, it seems like she stomps each step. I smush the rest of my blunt under my boot and watch Sophia until she turns at the end of the block. Her anger and the way she looked at me got me the most sober I've been in a couple months.
"Ready to head home yet?" an annoyingly familiar smug voice asks near my ear.
I turn to see Gunther's ugly face. Even after all these years, I'm still surprised James picked him as one of his assistants. Gunther's look doesn't fit in with the perfect image James has spent over a decade cultivating and maintaining.
Gunther is covered in tattoos. Every inch below his neck is covered in dark ink, and he has a couple pieces on his face.
Crow is equally ugly, but his body is plain compared to Gunther's. His blonde hair is a short buzz cut. He's the taller, meatier one out of the two of them. He's ruthless. When I was a kid, he was always the one who would beat the shit out of Eddie and me whenever James wasn't up for it.
"You guys have fulfilled your duties for the day. Why don't you just fuck off? I'll be home when I get home," I snap, turning on my heel.
I don't even know where I am headed, but I hear the slow crawl of the Mercedes behind me.
They trail me the rest of the way back to the library parking lot. I can hear them laughing about something stupid as I swing my leg over my bike and make it roar to life underneath me. I kick off roughly and speed past them, nearly hitting a car backing up from their spot. The car makes it impossible for Gunther and Crow to follow me. I race away from the library, winding down side streets until I know I have lost them.
I know that they will follow me later after I stop at James' house, but I enjoy the freedom for now.
A year ago, it wasn't like this. Gunther and Crow have been working for James for a long time, but they weren't ordered to follow me until Eddie died.
Since then, James has been on high alert to keep his public appearance how he likes. So he ordered Gunther and Crow to keep tabs on me. To make sure I don't end up like my big brother did a year ago. Or do anything else to ruin James' image.
Today has already been a day, and it's not even noon. I've only been up for a couple of hours, and I already want to go back to sleep. I'll probably head home for a little bit, spend some time with Mom, take a nap, and then go out with the boys tonight. That's what I've been doing pretty much every day for the past year. So why does today feel different?
Sophia's angry eyes popping up in the back of my head answer for me.
5
SOPHIA
"Fucking asshole," I curse, stomping up my driveway.
My blood is still boiling from Theodore Fitzgerald, and my legs feel wobbly with how much I shake in anger. I haven't been this angry in a long time. They say that anger is one of the main stages of grieving, but I haven't done much "being angry" since Hunter died. Even before that, nothing really riled me up. I've always been a calm, collected person, but there's something about Theo that just got so far under my skin.
The cold indifference on his face when he said Hunter's name. The casual manner he used when talking about her and her death in general. All of it makes me want to smash his stupid face in.
The cocky demeanor walking by the cop car. Reminding me multiple times whose stepfather owns the city. As if that's supposed to mean anything to me.
I guess my assessments from what I've seen of him on TV are right. He's a spoiled, entitled asshole. He thinks the rules don't apply to him. He has no regard for other people's feelings. I don't know why I'm not able to just write it off. Many people came up to me when Hunter passed. They acted like they knew her and, because of that, know me and what I'm going through.
People always love to run their mouths, so why am I so shaken up at Theo running his?
"What are you doing outside, Sophia?" Mom calls from behind the screen door.
Seeing her confused face douses some of my anger. It's a reflex by now that any intense feelings I have are automatically put out by my parents being around. I've always been like that, but it's been perfected ever since Hunter. My parents have always been sweep-it-under-the-rug type of people, and Hunter's death and how I should cope with it are no different.
"Just got lost in my thoughts."
Yea, that's the nicest way I could describe the hateful thoughts I have about Theo.
"Well, come on in. It says that your future roommate is online. You should talk with her."
I sigh. I've asked Mom at least five times to stop going on my computer, but of course, like most other things in my life, she hasn't listened. More anger bubbles up at her lack of boundaries.
"Mom, I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. Especially not my future roommate."
Her expression clouds, and even though I'm in an awful mood, it makes me nervous. Hunter never understood why I followed everything my parents said. She was always a wild child, and I was always the complete opposite.
I don't really know why I do it either. Maybe it's some traumatic memory I've repressed from childhood that has always kept me in line and a people-pleaser. Whatever it is, I've always held my tongue about my true feelings when it comes to my parents.
"Sophia Phoebe Vincent," Mom scolds. "You are going to be leaving for college in a couple of months. Do you want to get there and have no friends while everyone else has already started making connections?"
Honestly, I haven't been thinking that far. I'm going to be starting at UCLA in the fall for Pre-Law. It was always my parent's first choice school for me. It was never mine, but when I got accepted with a full-ride scholarship, there was no way I could turn down the offer.
I haven't been looking forward to starting. Every time I think of college, I feel overwhelmed with sadness and depression, thinking of Hunter and how she won't start with me. Besides the last four months, we've done every major milestone together.
Ever since junior year, we talked for hours every week about how we would take over the world in college. We were planning to dorm together, even though that's not suggested for friends. Hunter and I were always those best friends who did everything together.
Until she left me.
I'm especially not interested in making friends. With how hard things have been for me the last four months, the only things I'm interested in are keeping my head above water and going through the motions. Other than that, everything else can go fuck itself. I doubt those feelings will change before I start school in a couple of months.
Not like I would ever tell my parents that, though.
"I'll talk with her another day, Mom."
Before she can try to convince me more, I brush past her to my room. Once safely inside, I let out the sigh I've been holding in since Group. My anger from Theo has calmed, and now all that's left is sadness. It hurts to hear people talk about Hunter so casually. Like she's just another teenager who took their own life. She was so much more than that. She is so much more than that.
She was my best friend since kindergarten. She was the person I did everything with. She was the best friend a girl could ever ask for.
She was wild, loud, fearless, brilliant, and herself. Always so much herself. She always said what was on her mind, and she never minced any words for anyone else's sake.
I loved her. More than anyone and anything.
And without her, for four months, there's been a massive, gaping hole in the middle of my chest. It still feels just as raw as the first day I found out she died. They say time heals all wounds. But I don't see how mine will ever be anything other than a big, empty hole.
Hunter was so much more than someone you see on TV with a sad story. And fuck people like Theodore Fitzgerald who don't realize that.
6
THEO
Instead of going to my apartment, I go to James' home. The sprawling white mansion and fenced-in green grass take up the entire left side of the street. I punch the code into the gate and ride up to the side of the mansion.
I lean my bike against one of James' BMWs, which I know will piss him off. I hope that something leaks onto the shiny white exterior. I cross the driveway to the back entrance. Instead of knocking, I just barge in.
I love finding ways to piss James off. Though, I've cooled it the last couple of months. Mom's getting worse, and I don't want to stress her out more. And I don't want James to pay even more attention to me than he usually does. That wouldn't be good for my plan.
"Ah, barging in, as usual, Theodore," James scowls, coming into the kitchen.
He says my name with obvious loathing. The complete opposite of the way he says it on TV.
I don't bother wiping my boots off on the mat next to the door. I love the look on his face when I track on his polished floors.
"Hello to you too, James," I chirp, faking pleasantries.
Rosa, James' cook, mumbles something about needing to check on the pantry and scurries. The only staff who don't run when James and I are in the same room are Gunther and Crow. Everyone else knows that the two of us in a room is like a ticking bomb.
"I assume you are here to see your mother."
He levels me with a cold look, and I straighten up to my tallest height. Ever since I turned seventeen, I've been bigger than him. Both of us know I could bend him into whatever shape I wanted if it were just the two of us. The thing about James, though, is that he doesn't fight fair. As if they read my mind, Gunther and Crow come into the kitchen, flanking James.
"Did you think I was here to have tea with you or something?" I snort, loving how James' jaw twitches. He has practiced for over a decade at schooling all of his expressions, so I revel in the times when I can get through and make him show how easily I bother him.
Without saying another word, I shove past Crow and make my way through the kitchen archway. He growls and starts towards me, but James stops him. He mutters something to him, too low for me to hear, and Crow just cracks his knuckles. Between Gunther and Crow, I know that Crow could do me the most damage. But he's such a puppet. He would never dare unless James said.
I make my way to the back of the mansion. James made the first-floor library into Mom's temporary room. When we brought her back from the hospital the last time, she wasn't supposed to be down here for more than a couple weeks, but it's been four months now. We all know that she isn't going to make it upstairs to her actual bedroom ever again.
