Fabricated, page 5
“He calls her Darling?” Tori gasps.
He drops the name back in the jar.
“Dude, you obviously wouldn’t do that. What if someone else draws her?” Kyler groans.
“My bad. Just have them throw it out if that happens.”
My eyes narrow on Branson. “You didn’t draw me, did you?” He winks. Cheating, cosmic-brownies-tainting bastard.
Everyone else draws. I smile when Tucker gets Emerald, who blushes when he says her name. There is something there. I can see it.
Tori and Dante are paired together. I’d bet my life savings they can’t put up their own tent.
Kyler and Kalisha would vibe good with their free spirits and shit.
Josefina and Justin seem to not care either way. The only ones who don’t seem like a power team besides them are Branson and me.
Branson throws the tent down at the farthest point on the campsite. I roll the tarp out, making sure to smooth it all down, then I open the tent bag up. It’s huge. Especially for two people. It is a ten-person tent, I’m sure of it. I start rolling the tent out when Tucker yells, “Strawberry, what are you doing?”
Huffing, I stand up and face him. “Putting up the tent,” I deadpan. Obviously.
Everyone laughs. Like, hysterically. I stand, hands on my hips, waiting to be let in on the joke. “We don’t put up our own tents.” Dante is the first to stop laughing. “We have people for that.”
“So, in other words, you can’t put up a tent,” I sass. He shakes his head. “Expected,” I reply, turning to look at everyone else just sitting around. When my eyes meet Branson’s, I sigh. “Not even you?” I ask.
“No,” he replies. I sigh again, shaking my head. “Very disappointing. That made your hot meter go down by at least seven points. You’re a solid three now. Still impressive.” I wink. His eyes narrow at me, jaw setting.
While everyone waits on the crew to show up, I drop back down, working on our tent. It takes me around twenty minutes to get it done. Everyone is watching me like I’m a circus animal. And to them, I am. They grew up spoiled and rich. Never went to bed hungry. Never had to tape up a pair of shoes that were too small to begin with. Never had holes in their shirts that wasn’t some form of fashion trend.
I’m not judging. Really, I’m not. I’m sure being rich has its problems.
Once I am finished, Branson refuses to make eye contact with me. Or let me help bring in the bags, for that matter. I had probably made him feel like less of a man, but he should be grateful, because while everyone else is still waiting for theirs to be done, we can blow up our air mattresses and settle in. The air mattress thing is new to me, but Kalisha explains there are blowers for them in the car. I’ve heard of those things, but anytime I had gone camping we slept on the ground. Of course, what could you expect at an orphanage's summer camp?
Being in a group home or an orphanage was my favorite. Because there, I knew I could sleep peacefully. I knew I was going to get fed. I knew that I was going to be able to shower.
Foster homes were different. I had to sleep with one eye open and a sharp object under my pillow.
Sometimes I had to do certain acts so I could be fed.
Acts no girl should ever have to do.
Sexual, mental, and physical abuse were very real.
You could be rich or poor. Every color of the rainbow, it didn’t matter. Sick people were everywhere. And when they had their sights set on you…
My thoughts break off when Branson brings a king-size mattress in.
“Do you need me to go grab the other?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to wound his ego again.
“Nah, this is it.” He sets it down in the middle of the tent before pushing it up against one of the walls.
I laugh awkwardly. So, we’d be sharing. Not that we haven’t before, but I would hopefully be sober this time.
We start making our bed. Putting all the covers and pillows on it. Apparently, it gets cold at night here.
“Here,” Branson says, pulling out an extremely soft white and gray leopard print blanket. “I got this for you.”
My heart swells and my eyes glisten. “You got me this?” I ask softly, my hands running through the fur.
His eyebrow arches. “It’s a blanket, Darling. Not a Bugatti.”
It is so much more. No one had ever bought me anything. Ever.
I want to hug him, so I jump on him, my arms wrapping around his waist as my head snuggles into his chest. “Thank you,” I whisper into his shirt. He returns the hug, crushing me to his body.
“You’re being kind of weird.”
Easing back from him, I wipe under my eyes, looking at my shoes. “It’s just that… no one’s ever bought me anything before.”
He’s silent. I can feel his eyes studying me.
He walks over to me, brushing a tear off my cheek and giving me a gentle kiss. No words are needed. He lets me know that even if he doesn’t understand, he gets it. He understands me. And that’s all I can ask for.
Chapter 8
@RayneMarshall: “Everyone has secrets. The question is, do you want them to know yours?”
Rayne
This place is beautiful. I can see mountains in the distance. Snow covering the top higher than the clouds. Thousands of miles worth of trees above us.
A stream flows fast in front of Kalisha and I as we sit on mats to meditate. I hadn’t fully grasped how to shut my mind off yet, but every day I can feel the calming effects it has on me. I just have to let go. And that is the hardest part.
“Hey, Kalisha, can I ask you something?”
She smiles, her purple hair tied up to her head in a bun. “You may,” she says with her eyes still shut.
“Do you believe everything happens for a reason?”
Her eyes flutter open. She studies me for a minute before answering, “That would be if I believed in a higher power.”
“Do you?”
She hums, looking at the stream. “I believe in something. Do I think God hates one for loving their same gender? No. I believe there is something out there. A higher power. So yeah. I think everything happens for a reason.”
I nod. “I want to believe there is a higher power, but if I do, then that means it allowed me to suffer.”
“What do you mean, suffer?”
I like Kalisha. I trust her. But I don’t know if she’ll tell the others my secrets. But if I am going to make friends, I need to take a chance.
I study her. Her beautiful mocha skin. The way the orange yoga outfit complements it. How free and happy she is.
“Let me ask you something,” I say carefully.
“Have you ever gone to bed so hungry the pain kept you awake? Have you ever stolen food to eat? Slept on a bench at the park because it was safer than your home? Ever taped your shoes because they were falling apart?”
Her eyes soften. It isn’t with pity or judgment. They show a form of love. The kind that cares.
“I haven’t,” she replies softly.
I nod. I figured as much.
“I envy you guys,” I whisper.
“You think because we are rich, we don’t have problems?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I believe everyone faces their own demons. Some just get easier ones.” My eyes connect with hers, locking.
“I guess I only see what you allow me to see. It would just help if you all seemed like humans instead of robots.” She laughs at this.
“That’s true. But you had something none of us ever had.”
Puzzled, I turn to her, tilting my head to the side.
“How so?”
“You had the freedom to be whoever you wanted to be. The freedom of being alone. Of having strangers not know who you are. Our whole lives have been one giant show. People telling us who and what to be. It’s exhausting to have so many people cast judgment on your life.” She sighs, tossing a rock.
“You seem free and happy.”
She smiles at that, looking to the sky.
“My whole life, people have been telling me what to do. Then one day, I decided I was done. I told the world, ‘hey fuckers I like girls!’” She lets out a tiny laugh. “And that day, I became free. My parents were outraged. Social media was supportive, but oh, the few who weren’t? They left comments like, carpet muncher, Satan worshiper, some even said they hoped I rotted in hell for betraying our God.”
My chest tightens and my anger rises for her.
“All because I didn’t love what society thought I should. Demanded. To them, we are faces. They don’t see us as real people with feelings. And we all have to paint on a smile. Especially Tucker.” That gets my attention.
“What do you mean?”
The wind picks up, causing the water to mist on us.
“I’m only telling you this because he’s your best friend here. And I have a feeling he won’t let you go, even when the show is over. See, Tucker used to be my best friend. Until he spoke his feelings for me. I couldn’t return them and things got ugly, but Tucker… he’s good. One of the only good ones in this world. His demons are deep, raw, and ugly. His dad is an ass. Constantly beating Tucker for not being perfect.”
My chest cracks and squeezes, hurting with a raw pain that I can’t fix. For Tucker.
A tear slips down my cheek as I watch Kalisha. Her eyes hold pain, sorrow, and misery.
I can tell she cares. She misses him.
“Who else?” I ask softly.
She snorts, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“Who not, is the question. Tori, that miserable bitch, has a ton of issues.”
I nod. “I figured. She's just so hateful. And in my experience, you project what you feel inside.”
“Right. Tori's mom is a retired Miss America and has been the winner of Beautiful Woman of the Year five times in the last decade. She’s constantly tearing Tori down, telling her how she’ll never be as beautiful as she is. After a while of being told something, you start to believe it, you know?” I nod. I know all too well.
We both get into an upward-facing dog position. Which is my favorite.
“Hey, can I see your necklace?” she asks.
I smile, coming to crouch in front of her.
Her eyes narrow as she looks at it, before snapping to mine. “Where’d you get this?” she whispers softly while making sure the cameras aren’t too close.
“I umm… my birth mom, I think. It was found with me when I was left at the orphanage.”
She continues to stare at it, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Why?” The look on her face has me curious. I’ve never seen the symbol before—no one had—but she looks as if she recognizes it.
She shakes her head before looking at me, smiling. “No reason. It just looked familiar.” But she must be lying because her eyes break contact with mine way too fast.
I settle back into my yoga position. “Should you be worried you just aired everyone’s laundry on national television?” I ask her, jerking my head to the cameramen.
She looks over to them. “Nah, they’d never make us look like anything besides privileged brats. Plus, you don’t air out The Children of Nobility’s secrets and live to see another day.”
Her statement sends shivers down my spine. I can’t tell if she is joking, but the sheer seriousness to her voice gives me a hint that she isn’t. I know The Children of Nobility is a group of powerful people, but maybe they are something more…
As Kalisha and I approach the campsite, I hear screaming. Something about poisoning someone’s body with drugs. It sounds serious so I sprint ahead.
Justin is in Tucker's face.
“No offense, dude, but the steroids are way worse than some damn weed brownies,” Tucker spits, shoving at Justin’s chest. I go to break them up when a hand grabs mine, pulling me down. Branson is watching them closely. Cameras circling around them as they face off.
“Shouldn’t we stop them?” I ask, worried. I have no clue who would win, but Tucker is my best friend. I feel a primal need to protect him.
Branson twirls a lock of my hair. Whispering, he says, “It’s an act. They’ll just shove each other around and then it’ll all be back to normal.”
Justin’s fist lands under Tucker's jaw, upper cutting him. Tucker falls to the ground and Justin delivers a sickening kick to his face.
“That doesn't look like an act to me,” I growl, about to get up, when Emerald runs, pushing Justin out of the way.
She lays on top of Tucker, her body protecting him. “If you want to hurt him, you’ll have to go through me,” she says, passion burning in her eyes.
My human chair lifts, setting me down gently. “And if you touch my sister, Justin, I’ll make you disappear forever.”
Justin meets Branson’s glare with one of his own. His eyes drop to Tucker before he stalks off. I drop next to Tucker, and his eyes flick open. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He grins.
“Idiot,” I whisper, slipping my shirt off—don’t panic, there is a sports bra underneath—and I wipe the blood off his lip.
Turning to Emerald, I give her a small smile. “Will you get him cleaned up?”
She nods frantically before helping him up. I watch them walk away, Tucker reassuring her that he is fine and that he appreciates the heroic act but to never do it again.
“Come walk with me,” Branson says, intertwining our hands.
Chapter 9
@BransonLexington: “Obsessions are like opinions; everyone has one and they’re usually wrong.”
Branson
Have you ever had an obsession? One you couldn’t act on for so long that when you finally reach it, outside force keeps you from it. It’s like starving a dog for a week and then dangling meat in front of its face and telling it not to eat it. Devour it. Destroy it.
Rayne Marshall. The name is like putty to all my cracks, making me whole. I never dreamed I’d connect with someone I’ve said around thirty words to.
There isn’t a lot I can say without getting my balls chopped off. Everything is monitored and they are watching. Always watching. Always deciding.
Her tiny hand is enveloped by mine. Her scent of strawberries and vanilla tickles my nose. It is the worst torture being this close to her.
Her strawberry blonde hair blows freely in the wind as we walk. Her pink, pouty lips turn up, grinning at me as I connect the freckles, that dance across her nose, with my eyes. She is breathtaking, so addicting I want to be high on her forever. I want to capture her. Hide her. Keep her for myself.
Does she know how sick I am about her?
She doesn’t, but she will. It’s hard to tame the beast inside me. He is down to one chain and soon, very soon, he will snap that chain and break free.
RAYNE
“Tell me something about you,” I say, noticing the cameras aren’t focused on us for once.
“Like what?” he says, looking down at me. The wind tosses his raven hair. The sun makes his tanned skin glow.
“Anything, so I don’t feel like I’m walking with a stranger I have weird sexual tension with.”
He laughs, squeezing my hand. “My favorite color is red. And I hate pickles.”
I throw my hands up, cutting him off. “Who hates pickles?”
“Lots of people,” he deadpans.
“I just… I can’t fathom this,” I sigh dramatically before releasing his hand and walking backward to face him.
He smiles. “What are you doing?”
“Trying not to walk with a sociopath.”
He laughs before his eyes go wide. “Rayne, Darling, don’t take another step back.”
Laughing, I do the opposite of what he told me not to do, and my foot slips. My eyes widen; my stomach drops. My body begins to tip back, the ground leaving from under me.
Branson’s arm grabs my waist as he pulls me back. We go stumbling to the ground, him bracing himself on top of me.
“Damn it, Rayne!” He stares down at me. There is a wild look in his eyes I have never seen. Something raw and haunted. “Next time I tell you to stop moving, fucking do it. You could have died.” He shakes above me.
My hands touch his face, trying to dim the raw fear in his eyes, to ease the tremble of his body. He closes his eyes, his face scrunching with undiluted fear. “I’m okay,” I whisper.
He sighs, bringing his forehead to mine. “Never do anything like that again.”
“Promise,” I whisper.
‘Activities’ turn out to be party games. Branson and I are currently kicking Tucker’s and Emerald’s asses at beer pong.
“No, babe,” Tucker groans. “We want to make it in the cup. Not behind them.”
Emerald frowns. “I’m trying, Tuck. This is hard, okay?”
I hide my smile behind my glass. This is the champion round. We’ve beaten everyone but these two.
“Tuck, there’s like thirty cups there. I swear, I’m making it every time.” Emerald tips to the side a little. She is so wasted she can barely keep herself up.
I try not to look at the cameras, but being a bit tipsy adds to the challenge of ignoring them. They are so close for some reason.
“Hey, Em, how about another shot?” Branson grins at a scowling Tucker.
“How about you leave my partner alone. Listen, baby,” Tucker turns back to Emerald, “I know that’s your brother, but he’s the enemy right now, okay? So, focus on me.” She looks up to him with a dreamy smile.
“He better not be banging my sister,” Branson says under his breath.
Tucker winks at him.
I laugh harder. Emerald shoots the ball and claps. It misses but she swears she made it.
“All right, Darling, we have one more cup. You make it in and I’ll give you an orgasm.”
I gag. “Pass.”
Shooting the ball, it sails in, splashing. I jump onto Branson's back—it took several attempts to get me up there, but we managed. I throw my hands in the air, waving them around as I cheer, loudly. Some might say it’s poor sportsmanship, I’d say they’re sore losers. “Suck that, Tucker!” I scream.
