OMINOUS: Book II (Ecstasy 3), page 20
I can’t speak for several moments, my throat dry. I have to swallow twice to wet my mouth enough for words. “No,” I manage to get out. “It won’t. She thinks I was with Luna last night—”
“She could still think that.”
“Why is she here?” Why are you so fucking calm?
“I don’t know, baby girl, but we’ll figure it out, okay?” He kisses me again, then straightens over me. “Let’s get dressed, and we’ll work this out. We’re eighteen. It’s not as if they didn’t expect us to have sex, right?”
I know he’s right, about that. But it’s not just the sex. It’s the sex in his dad’s office. The skipping classes. The lies to Mom. I can’t see a future where I am allowed to come here once in the next few months of school.
My heart aches, imagining it. This can’t be stripped from me so soon. I can’t see him in the halls and know he isn’t mine.
Eli reassures me anyway, slowly getting off of me. You’re okay, and we will figure this out, and I love you, Eden.
Somehow, we get dressed. With shaky limbs, I tug on my sweater, my pants, my socks, and boots.
Feeling off balance and terrified, I let Eli pull me to his chest after he rakes his fingers through his hair. I don’t know what I look like, what my mom will see on my own face, but I know she’ll notice his bruise, the marks on his skin. She might not recognize it for that, but…
I am so fucked.
We are so fucked.
“Let me work this out, okay?” Eli asks, my head pressed against his heart.
Eric and Mom must have walked further into the house because I no longer hear them. Maybe their conversation is drowned out from the loud beat of my pulse in my ears.
I pull away from Eli, noticing there are scratch marks on his neck too, above the collar of his white shirt. “I don’t think we can work this out. I shouldn’t have—”
“Just shut the fuck up, and don’t be fucking dramatic. I don’t care what you think,” he snaps, and it’s that, the sudden edge in his voice, which shows me his fear. He’s scared too. And I know it’s not of punishment. Eli doesn’t give a damn about things like that.
The realization of the source of his fear is staggering. Weighty.
He’s scared to lose me.
I lift my eyes to his, our arms by our sides, tension in his shoulders, defeat bearing down on mine.
“Of course we’ll work it out.” His brows are pulled together, the set of his mouth angry. He shoves his hand through his hair again, and without another word, he turns his back to me, and yanks open the door of his dad’s office.
As he stomps off down the hall, shouting for Eric, I see dirt spilled on the marble floor of the foyer. A plant tipped over, green leaves smashed into the ground with the weight of the cement planter.
Mom is screaming from somewhere inside the house.
I keep staring at the scattered dirt.
I can’t move.
I don’t want to.
Maybe I could run.
Come closer.
Stay away.
Two sentiments colliding inside my chest, they’ve been there since the beginning, haven’t they? I knew this was bad. I knew he was bad, and I right alongside him. But no one else will understand that. No one else will understand us. Certainly not my mom. We’re not made of the same stuff. Not like Eli and me.
I hear a resounding silence.
It echoes, in the way quiet that doesn’t belong tends to do.
It’s this, more than the screaming, which steals my attention away from the plant, the crack in the pale stone.
I step into the foyer. I pivot, staring at the kitchen island down the short hallway.
I don’t see anything, but I hear Eric speak, very, very clearly. “Don’t hit my son again.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I imagine Mom standing in this palace of marble and stone, the scar on her arm, the scent of cleaners and other people’s dirt clinging to her skin. Her frizzy hair in a messy bun, her soft body out of place among the hardness of Eric and Eli.
I imagine she feels like she’s drowning.
None of it is good enough of an excuse for her to hurt him.
I’m moving without realizing it, my boots loud on the floor, it’s the only way I know I’m not rooted to one spot. I think of Sebastian. All the ways he’s fallen apart and how Mom either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Not once has she hurt him. Physically, or otherwise.
Anger is loud in my head. It’s hot under my skin. It feels like a living thing in my veins. Last night I was low. Today, before I dragged Eli to his dad’s office, I was high. Now, I’m some strange mix of both.
I’m in the kitchen. I turn.
Mom is there, her hand up, elbow bent, fingers splayed, like she’ll hit him again. Her eyes are watery, she’s in a pale pink shirt, soft gray pants, once-white sneakers.
Eric is beside Eli, but Eli is closest to me. They stand in front of the sink, and Eli’s eyes are downcast. His cheek is red, and it’s the same place I leaned my elbow when I was fucking him.
All three of them turn to look at me, and I don’t move, several feet from the aftermath of Mom’s violence.
I glance at Eli’s eye, but not to connect. Instead, I’m taking in the bruise. The red pool around the green iris.
My gaze comes to Eric’s.
His jaw is locked, but his eyes seem to soften, his brows relaxing as he looks at me. What do you see? Your son’s salvation, or the opposite? What am I here?
“What happened to your mouth?” Mom asks, the words ragged. She drops her hand. I catch sight of the thick scar on her upper arm before I look into brown eyes full of confusion.
I swipe my thumb over my bottom lip, and I know I’m smearing blood, based on Mom’s horrified expression. She’s searching my face, probably taking in the redness from Eli’s hand pressed over it. Her gaze drops to my throat, and maybe she sees where he circled his fingers around me.
None of it hurt.
This does.
The fear before the fall. The plunge of punishment Mom is going to push me into. And if I’m not around Eli, he’ll forget about me, won’t he? He’ll move on.
I’m not sure I ever will.
“Don’t hit him again.” The words are angry, but there’s an undercurrent of grief I couldn’t hide.
It feels like everyone is holding their breath as they look at me.
Mom blinks rapidly, like she can’t believe my audacity.
“Why are you even here?” I blurt the words out fast.
Eric clears his throat. He’s more in control than Mom, maybe thanks to his job, or raising someone like Eli. “She went to pull you from school, because your brother, he’s—”
“I can tell her.” Mom snaps the words out. Her politeness is gone. It runs in the family, manners cracking under pressure. “Sebastian is in jail. We’re bailing him out and he’s going to rehab, and I thought you might want to know, so I was going to break the news to you gently, but you were… You lied to me, and you were with… him.” She gestures toward Eli with disgust, her lip curling.
Eli says nothing.
Does nothing.
He’s staring at me.
“How long have you been doing this?” She turns to face me, her cheeks blushing pink, her light brows pulling together. “How many days have you skipped class, Eden? Do you want to get suspended again? Do you want to be just like your brother? What do you think you’re doing? Are you going to let him...” She does that dismissive gesture to Eli again. “Knock you up, and what, you think you’ll live in this big, fancy house and you’ll—”
“I think that’s enough,” Eric tries to say.
“And he’ll love you forever and treat you right while he busts your lip open and—”
I say, “He didn’t.”
At the same time, Eli says, “Stop talking to her like that.”
Mom’s mouth falls open as she turns to Eli.
He keeps talking. “I’m sorry, Ms. Rain, but this is entirely my fault. She’s never skipped school before, and I just thought with Thanksgiving break coming, and she’s been working really hard on a few projects, we could… we could relax today, and hang out, and this is all my fault.” His performance is almost flawless, except I hear the cold edge of anger snaking underneath his contrite confessions.
Mom looks like she wants to slap him again. If she did, I think I’d break her arm.
“What happened to Sebastian?” I try Eli’s method of deflecting, even while I feel like I want to throw up.
I need to get out of this house.
I never want to leave.
Mom’s eyes come to mine. I’ve never seen her so angry before. I wonder which part she’s most mad about. The fucking, the skipping, the lies.
Her nostrils flare, cheeks still an ugly pink. “Now you care about your brother? Since when you have ever cared—”
“Ms. Rain.” Eli’s voice is like ice. The politeness is buried beneath a foot of it.
She clenches her jaw and turns her head to Eli.
I can’t look at him, my heart beating too fast in my chest, my hands flexing into fists, my face feels as if it’s sunburned.
“Eden has always cared about her brother, but I know there are more than a few times where her brother didn’t feel the same about her, and when you left her alone with him, well…” I imagine Eli shrugging in my head, but I stare resolutely at the floor. “You might want to talk to her about it before you start accusing her of things that aren’t true.”
I think I’m going to faint.
“Eli.” Eric’s voice is restrained. “You’ve said enough.”
“Can we go home?” I blurt the words out, everything seeming to fade around me, like I have tunnel vision on the ground at my feet. It feels like I’m swaying, unsteady, my adrenaline dropping like a rock, leaving me exhausted and sore in its wake. “Can we just go?”
There’s silence with my question.
I don’t look up. I’m not sure I could.
Then Mom says, “Yes,” with spite. She marches toward me, grabbing my arm, ignoring the way I jump. She spins me around, dragging me down the hall, but I’m grateful for her grip, because without it, I think I’d collapse.
“Don’t hurt her.” It’s Eli’s words. A solemn, icy whisper.
My pulse flies everywhere, I can feel it beating in all the parts of my body.
Mom pauses, and surprising me, her grip loosens. But she doesn’t let go completely. She takes a shaky breath in, then over her shoulder, she says, “I think it goes without saying we won’t be coming over for Thanksgiving.” Then she’s pulling me through the door and out into the cool November air, and my backpack is upstairs, and my phone, and I should say something about it, but I can’t speak. I can only stare at my shoes as she pulls me down the steps of Eli’s house, to the circular driveway, and yanks open her van door before she releases me all at once to walk around to her side.
“Get in the car, Eden,” she snaps when I don’t move.
I risk one glance back. I can’t stop myself from looking, my heart picking up speed all over again.
There he is.
My perfect boy, standing in the open doorway, Eric his shadow. Eli is gripping the doorjamb with both hands, his expression unreadable.
“Now, Eden.”
I turn away, and duck into Mom’s van.
17
Eden
“She what?” I hear Reece’s voice through the thin walls.
My eyes are puffy from crying, and I jam my pillow over my head, burying my face into my bed. There’s more yelling from the opposite end of the trailer, heavy footsteps, then Mom’s sharp words, wrangling Reece back in.
My heart medication is on my nightstand. I took three pills, but it’s not helping. Not yet. I can still feel my entire body jump every time my heart beats.
My phone, my bag, it’s all at Eli’s, even my laptop.
I’ve got no way to contact him, and Mom took the keys to my car. I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back. It’s in her name, after all. I don’t really own it. I have nothing in my name. She could cut my phone off too, if she decides to go that far.
I’m supposed to work Friday, but I haven’t asked her about it. She spent the entire drive in a stony silence and told me to go to my room when she pulled into the driveway.
That was hours ago. The sun is sinking below the horizon, trickling in weakly through my closed blinds. I couldn’t cry anymore if I wanted to, all my tears are on my sheets, damp with grief.
Sebastian is here.
I heard his door slam closed shortly after he and Reece got home. You can hear everything in this house. Nothing personal, it feels, except where was everyone when Zachary was creeping into my room? Why didn’t you hear me then, Mom? The night after, why didn’t you hear me crying in my room at the coast?
Fuck you.
Fuck. You.
I sit up, unable to stay calm anymore, and I’m flinging my pillow across the room. It hits the wall, but it barely makes a sound. Darkness never does, not until it shatters all the light in its wake.
I ball my hands into fists, sitting on the edge of my bed, in sweats and an oversized T-shirt. Mom came in to make sure my birth control is up to date, like she just got it for me to play with and not actually fucking take. I’ve been fucking responsible all this time without you.
She asked if Eli hurt me. She asked me three times, each more hysterical than the last. No, no, no. “You’re crazy,” I had shouted the words. “You are crazy!”
I know she wanted to slap me, but no one ever seems to be able to actually do it, and instead, she stormed out and slammed my door shut.
A scream is buried somewhere deep down in my throat, and my hands are shaking. If I don’t let this shit out, if I don’t go for a walk in the woods or a run or something, I’m going to explode.
But I could write. I could write everything down, all my darkest thoughts, everything I did with Eli, so that way, it’s not just this Icarus tattoo on my arm I have to remember him by. If I can’t see him, he’ll let me go.
I stand.
I feel faint.
My notebook…
My fucking notebook is at Eli’s.
I collapse back onto my bed, burying my head in my hands. I wasn’t lying when I told him I started writing about us. A childish, girlish story where we save each other, or rather, we damn each other, and it feels so good, neither of us care.
A plot convoluted and full of red herrings, murders and broken boys, naïve little girls. No heroes, only villains, and the ecstasy between us is a rush we’d only experience once in a lifetime.
Fuck. I think I wrote that exact line down.
Most of it is in my computer, sealed with a passcode, but there was so much—little lines and plot points and shitty character sketches—he could find in my notebook. The humiliation, even this far away, burns hot inside of me.
I pull at my hair, groaning as I hear Reece yelling about selling my car and going to Eli’s house to confront him.
Fuck you.
I’m still hunched over when my door swings open, then closed just as quickly, the lock flicking, the one Mom told me not to engage.
Sebastian stands in front of the door, hands on his hips.
He looks like hell.
Bloodshot eyes, his long, blond hair is oily, his clothes so loose on his thin frame. Despite the fact it’s November, he’s wearing shorts, and his feet are pushed into tattered sliders that might have once been black but now are gray.
The hairs on his leg are blond, but long, and I see his knees seem to wobble. As I drag my gaze up, I catch sight of the inside of his arm.
My stomach churns.
Yellowed skin, red veins, and bruises.
He scrubs a hand over his face and the marks twist with the movement.
I feel a little queasy.
I drop my gaze.
“I need to get the fuck out of here,” he says, then he laughs, like it’s the funniest thing.
Reece is still yelling. Mom’s high-pitched sob cuts through it, only for a moment, and my stepdad pauses in his tirade. Is that love? Their version of it? Is it always so twisted?
I squeeze my hands into fists again, digging my nails into my palms.
Sebastian drops his own, flexing his fingers. His wrists are so bony.
My eyelids feel hot, a tightness in my throat, seeing him so visibly fall apart, even as he’s only standing still.
This time, I’m laughing, and I couldn’t even say why. “Me too.” I stand, raking my fingers through my hair as I turn my back to my brother.
“I’ll tell them I need you.”
You’re going to get high, aren’t you? “If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to break something.” I turn to face him, restless energy beneath my veins. “Do you have anything? Do you have any… any Xanax?” They gave it to me for my panic attacks before they figured out my heart problem. It helped everything. I step closer to him as his eyes widen. “I know you do.” I smile at him, even though I don’t feel it. “I know you fucking do.”
He swipes his hand over his face once more, then backward, dragging his hair out of his eyes for a moment. The hollows of them are sickly, the lines pronounced in his forehead, and he’s so young.
So fucking young.
“Eden.” He looks so, so sick. Sweaty and pale and sad, too. “I can’t—”
“Give me something, Sebastian. Give me fucking something.”
He stares at me a long moment.
Mom is still sobbing.
Reece is quiet.
I hate them.
I shake my head, clenching my teeth together, refusing to let the burn of tears sting my eyes.
Sebastian just stares at me.
I get closer, in his face, smelling the sour sweat of him as irritation crawls under my skin. “Give me something now, Seb.”
“Eden. You know I can’t.” He sounds so serious, it’s laughable. “I can’t.”
My heart is beating a mile a minute. I’m going to fucking hit him if he keeps looking at me like that. “You’re shooting up.” I grab his arm, pressing my thumb into his clammy skin. “Give me a goddamn Xanax.”
