Bad Boy Blues, page 30
The dresser, my backpack, the pillows, the sheets, the lamp.
She doesn’t get it, does she?
If I don’t have anger, if I don’t have my revenge, my hate, then what do I have? Where’s the fucking justice for all that they have done to me?
I’m both the witness and the victim of all the crimes they’ve committed. If I move on, then all of the bad shit I went through, all of it would just go away.
They’re off the hook, then, for fucking me up. For making me feel small and worthless and miserable.
Right?
Wrong.
They’ll never be off the hook. I’ll never forgive them.
Fuck moving on. Fuck being the bigger person.
I throw anything and everything that I can get my hands on until all that’s left is destruction.
And her smell of sugar.
I’ve always loved you…
Her voice causes a pain in my chest. It’s so intense that I come down on my knees.
I don’t want her love.
I don’t.
Then why the fuck does it hurt so much?
He’s smoking.
I don’t think he’s smoked ever since I stole his pack. He finally accepted the tobacco chewing tablets I’d bought for him. Though I haven’t seen him use them more than a couple of times.
I haven’t ever seen Zach in a suit before, either.
He’s wearing one now.
It’s black and crisp, those pants and that jacket, with a white shirt underneath. The collar is open and probably a couple of top buttons too.
It’s hard to tell from here. There are a lot of people between him and me.
The ballroom is packed.
It’s another party; it’s Mr. and Mrs. Prince’s anniversary. A real celebration of love, what with all the red roses and crystal hearts for décor.
They have been planning this party for weeks. So it wasn’t a surprise, but still, I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched with all the love that’s being blatantly displayed.
Funny, how one night can change everything.
One phone call might mean your parents are dead and three little words could get you kicked out of a room, in the middle of the night, all naked.
I spy Mrs. Prince in the distance, chatting with a group of heavily decorated ladies. Heavily and expensively. She herself is sporting a rose-colored gown, again the color of love, looking like a million bucks.
Looking new and shiny and most importantly, healthy.
Apparently, make-up can hide a lot of things. Though it can’t hide how frail she looks. How bony and how, when she smiles, her artificially made-up eyes appear glassy. But I guess these people are not looking.
No one here cares about a woman who’s shrinking and disappearing with every event, and a girl with blue hair whose eyes might look a tad bit puffier than what’s normal for human beings.
To my credit, I’ve managed to be calm and not break down in the middle of the room like I want to.
My legs have the strength to carry me and my brain has enough sense that I smile and stop and present the tray full of champagne flutes at appropriate times.
Maggie wanted me to call in sick. She said it might be good for me to get some sleep and just rest, after the night I’d had. You know, with all the sobbing and crying like the world was ending.
And maybe it has.
Maybe it’s the apocalypse. The sun has scorched the earth and all life is dead, except for some unlucky ones like me.
Who are alive to see the love of their life transform back into the bully he used to be.
I’ve been making circles of the room, carrying my tray, and so far, I’ve avoided going over to Zach’s side.
He’s tucked away in a corner by the French doors that lead into the grassy grounds and the starry sky.
And he’s not alone.
He’s with his old gang.
Like the prince he is, Zach stands in the middle of the circle, his back propped against the wall. He keeps looking out the French doors every now and then, smoking his lungs away and drinking champagne.
Ashley is to his right, standing super close. So close that with every breath, her breasts are touching his arm. I want to tell her that he’s a fiend for big tits – a typical guy with simple needs. But I won’t. Let her find out the hard way.
To his left is Rob. He used to be the most vocal of the group and he’s also the one who tripped me on my second day at St. Patrick’s. I’ve never seen Zach be close to anyone, but if I had to pick, I’d say he was closest to Rob. Or at least, Rob saw to that because he never left his side.
Then there are Chase, Alex and Samantha, forming a semi-circle of sorts. I honestly had forgotten about them.
Samantha used to follow Ashley’s lead. Chase would repeat whatever anyone said and Alex would just snigger.
And Zach was the quiet one. He’d watch everything but never say anything.
Now, seeing them together, all grown up and decked out in million-dollar clothes, they all seem replicas of one another. Tall, blond and beautiful and made of the same fabric of cruelty.
Zach’s the only one who’s dark, filled with an innate darkness.
The darkness that I met last night.
Or maybe I met that darkness a long time ago. I just thought it didn’t matter.
I thought that when he called me his prize, he would at least give me the courtesy of putting on some clothes before kicking me out of his room.
Anyway, I know now.
For the next hour, I continue to serve drinks and zig-zag around these people, successfully managing to stay on this side of the line, away from Zach and his grown-up minions. The moment someone calls me over to the other side, I know my time’s up.
I know I’m going to have to face them. They’ll make me face them.
No sooner than I’ve served the drinks to a bunch of old ladies that tsk at my blue hair and lipstick, I hear my name called in Ashley’s very nasally and chirpy voice.
I take a deep breath, clench my fist before letting it all go, and swallow down the bile. It’s okay. I can do this.
I have done this, a million times before. Except it feels like all of that happened in another lifetime.
Turning around, I walk toward them.
Or rather, I walk toward him. He’s the only thing that I can see.
There are no outward signs on him of what happened last night. He looks the same, stunning and mean. Kind of dashing, even, in his suit that hugs his body like a glove or a lover’s hand. My hand.
His midnight hair curls over the collar and sticks up in places, lending him a lazy, sexy look. I can almost see him at future parties like this, wearing suits, sipping champagne and breaking hearts.
With his black eyes, he watches me approach their group.
My body, stupid, stupid body hasn’t caught up at all. It still flashes with heat at his stare. The flashes I’ve been getting all evening, making me think that he knew where I was the entire time, like I did him.
Reaching them, I stand at the edge of their group.
“Hey, Cleo,” Ashley chimes in, wrapping her hand tightly around Zach’s arm.
Like she has something to prove.
I look away from her hand and focus on her face. “Hey.”
“Have you been avoiding us?”
“Something like that.”
“Come on,” she says with a mock frown. “We’re old friends.”
The group chuckles at that. I do, too.
That’s such a blatant lie.
“Yeah, definitely.”
“So aren’t you going to serve us, while we refresh your memory?”
I give her a look but then I step forward, kind of including myself in the group. Then, Ashley starts the introductions like I’ve never met them before.
“This is Samantha. But Ms. Bridges for you, of course.”
Ms. Bridges picks up a glass and giggles.
I want to pull out her tongue and wrap it around her throat just to get her to stop that high-pitched sound, but all I do is shoot her a tight smile. The sooner Ashley gets the satisfaction of humiliating me, the sooner I can get out of here.
Because her insults are not what’s getting to me. It’s him.
He’s getting to me.
Standing there like a dark, silent specter. A ghost from my past. I can feel the blast of his hot stare on me, watching me, watching for my reactions as Ashley reintroduces me to the group of people who made my life hell years ago.
And he’s not doing anything.
I could’ve stopped them with the flick of a hand.
Did you still love me?
Did you love me through all of that?
This is his response to my love.
He knows that I love him, and now he’s doing everything he can to kill that. To crush it, to stomp on it. To bully it out of my heart.
What choice do I have but to stand tall?
To stay rigid and fight back. To be brave, even though I’m feeling sick to my stomach. To tell him that I do, in fact, love him. I loved him and will love him, despite everything.
Despite his coldness, his cruelty, his abuse.
Despite the fact that he’s thrown me to the wolves once again.
As Ashley comes to the end of her introductions, Mr. Simmons, Mr. Brandt and whatnot, I wonder if Zach would still save me if I jumped into the pool like the other night.
Will he catch me or leave me to drown?
Finally, she re-introduces me to the love of my life. She waves a magnanimous hand at him. “And this, of course you know who this is. This is the guy you work for: Mr. Prince.”
He takes a drag of his cigarette before blowing it out of his soft lips.
“Yeah, I know who he is,” I say, looking at him but addressing Ashley.
To Zach, I say with my eyes, I know who you are. I know you’re better than this. You just won’t admit to it.
Before I can read his reaction, Samantha jumps in, “Is that your old school uniform?”
I look down at myself and realize, yeah, it could pass for it. White blouse and black skirt. Only the tie is missing.
Ashley chuckles. “Right? I thought so too. She seems to be… bursting out of it.”
Ah, the body jokes. It never ends.
“I happen to like the visual,” Rob says.
Chase repeats the same thing in different words and Alex sniggers.
In my peripheral vision, I see Zach coming off the wall. I’m not sure for what reason. It could hardly be to defend me, so I take matters into my own hands.
I turn to Rob. “Was that a compliment?”
“What do you think?” he replies, looking at my chest, smirking in an obnoxious way.
“I don’t know. I can’t decide whether to say thank you or knee you in the junk.”
The smile vanishes from his face.
I’m ready to head back after that, secure in the knowledge that they’re happy and content in humiliating me so they’ll leave me alone now.
But I guess they still have more in them. Because suddenly, I hear a slow puddle forming at my feet. I look up to find the source. Ashley is sneering at me as she pours down her drink on the floor.
“Oops. I’m clumsy, remember?” She shrugs with wide eyes.
“Yeah and bit of a one-trick pony, too.”
“It’s okay, Ash. I think we can have it cleaned up?” It’s Samantha’s turn to shrug and make her eyes bigger.
“Right? I mean, I’m sure it’s included in your job description?” Ashley adds.
I glance at her and then at the puddle at our feet. It’s spreading, touching my borrowed Mary Janes and Zach’s black leather shoes. Polished and crisp, like the rest of him.
Swallowing, I fish out a napkin from the small apron tied around my waist for just these emergencies.
Okay, Cleo, you can do this. This is just like mopping up any regular mess.
Biting my lip, I come down to my knees. The floor hits me hard even though I was anticipating it. My tray’s empty now so I leave it next to me and get to work.
I spread the napkin over the puddle and hear chuckles from up above.
But I don’t focus on that. It was never about their chuckles or insults or sneering. It was always about him.
The guy who wouldn’t do anything to stop it. Like now.
I get the napkin to soak up the worst of it and then mop off the rest with the dry corner of it. My knuckles hit the pointed end of his shoes and I’m thrown back to the day when I found my books torn up and scattered in the hallway.
A twelve-year-old Zach came up to me on that day as well. I saw him, shoes first. He stepped on the pages and when I looked up, he smirked down at me.
He was so cruel that day, the boy I’d fallen in love with at first sight.
Tonight too, as I look up, I find him staring at me. But instead of smirking, his face is blank, and his gaze is burning.
Maybe he’s remembering that day from long ago, too. Or maybe he’s thinking about how I bathed him yesterday and how I sat on my heels and took him in my mouth, loving him.
He looked like a prince then, and he looks like one now.
I probably look the same too.
The lowly maid who serves him.
Slowly, I stand up, leaving the soiled napkin on the tray. “You were lying.”
There’s no indication on his face that he heard me but I know he did. I also know that he can hear my broken heartbeats.
“You’re not mine, are you? You never were.”
At this, his jaw clenches.
His eyes blaze and I’m doused with so much heat that I feel steam rising from my skin. I don’t expect an answer from him. But he gives me one anyway.
“But you’re mine, aren’t you?”
I can’t read his tone. The tone of the very first words he’s spoken to me all night. Is it condescending? Insulting?
Is it disbelief?
Whatever it is. I’m going to tell him the truth.
I nod. “Stupidly.”
“Stupidly,” he agrees.
“And I’m done proving that.”
I step back and take in the open mouths of all his minions. Sighing, I put my hands on my waist.
Then, I smile.
“Ashley, thanks for the re-introductions.” I bend down and take off my Mary Janes, one at a time. “But it was totally not needed. I remember who you are. I remember all of you. You’re the people who’ll never amount to anything. You never did back at St. Patrick’s and you don’t now. Oh, and I also call you minions of the anti-Christ, in my head. Anti-Christ being Zach.”
I address Samantha and wave at my boobs. “So these… are called boobs. It’s hard to know what they are when you don’t have them yourself.” I unbutton the top two buttons as I keep talking. “But I’m sure if you ask your daddy nicely, he’ll buy you a pair.”
To Rob, Chase and Alex, I say, “Stop being pervs and stop hitting on the maids. Guys like you grow old to be the kind of creepy middle-aged men who force me to use the itching powder. You don’t want me to use the itching powder on you, do you?”
They stare at me wide-eyed.
Finally, I turn to Zach.
Looking him in the eyes, I unbraid my hair. Slowly, methodically. With every knot that comes out, I feel like I can breathe again.
Once I’m done letting my hair loose, I give it a shake and throw him a tight smile. “I quit. Oh, and,” I turn to a shocked Ashley. “the way you’re rubbing onto Zach’s arm? That’s not going to work. He likes his girls curvier with bigger tits. You know, someone like me.”
With that, I spin around and leave the ballroom, barefoot, with my long blue hair swinging against my back.
When I reach the exit, I spy a lonely glass of champagne and throw it back.
I might be a little bit in shock because I don’t feel an ounce of regret. No regrets. Not one.
I’m not going to get my house back, and well, I don’t want it. It’s not going to bring back my parents and I have to cut ties some time.
I have to go find… life.
As I walk down the hallway, I decide that I’m going to take that road trip. I swear to God. No more excuses.
So what if no one knows my name out there? So what if I’m alone? I have myself and I have my blue car.
I’m walking down the hallway and I pass by a room when I hear a crash – not the kind of violent crash I heard back in Zach’s room last night but still. It’s a crack, I think. Because it’s followed by a whimper.
I come to a halt and creep toward the door. I’m surprised to find it open when I turn the knob. For some reason, I feel like whatever’s going on in there is something that happens behind locked doors.
And I’m right.
I open the door and stick my head in to see the supposedly happy couple whose love is being celebrated back there.
Mr. and Mrs. Prince.
There’s a huge difference between their heights and right now, it shows in the most dangerous way. Mr. Prince is towering over her smaller, thinner frame and his hand is wrapped around the same wrist Zach was asking about yesterday.
He says something to her, but in a low voice that even I can’t hear, and when she replies something haltingly, he gives it to her.
Oh my God.
He hits her, slaps her cheek and she hardly makes a sound. A whimper, that’s it. Even lower than the one I heard.
How many times has he hit her for her to not make a sound? For her to be trained to go quiet?
It looks like he’s going to hit her again and I burst through the door.
“Get away from her,” I shout as I charge at him.
They both look startled at my sudden appearance. And unhappy. But I don’t care.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, you old fuck?” I push at his chest when I reach him. “She’s your wife! And she’s sick.”
Zach’s dad is frozen but only for a second before he growls and charges back at me. He pushes me in retaliation and Jesus, it hurt.
My chest feels battered and he’s only shoved me a few steps back.
Breathing with difficulty, I come at him again. Both with my fists and my words. “You’re a bully, you know that? A fucking bully and I’m going to fuck you up so bad.”
