He nods, and when he leans in, my chest clenches.
I close my eyes, ready for it, desperate to erase the last lips that landed on mine, but my head decides to turn away without permission, and my eyes fly open when his mouth freezes on my cheek.
Slowly, he pulls back, a quizzical narrow of his eyes, but he shakes it off, drops my hand and licks his lips. He forces a grin. “See you Monday.”
“Yep.” Smile.
I step around him, slide into the back seat and Tanner shuts the door behind me.
My sister starts talking and I slice my eyes to hers. I tear open my purse, pull out, and slip my earbuds into my ears, cranking the music up as high as it allows.
I don’t even know what’s playing. I don’t hear it, but I don’t hear her either.
She blinks, a frown tugging at her brows as she drops against the seat, skating her eyes past mine every few minutes.
When we walk into the house, I head for my room, but her soft hand lands on my elbow and I just can’t.
I whip around, tearing my earbud from my ear.
“What Monti?!” I shout, tossing my shoes to the floor. “What the fuck do you want?! You want to ask how I am, how it went, what the fuck happened?! Why I shed the dress Mom sent me and wore one a guy who likes to fuck with my head gave me?! Go ahead, sister! Ask!” I scream, stalking toward her, but when she says nothing, I get angrier. I shove at her chest and she stumbles back. “Fucking ask! Talk! Say something!”
Her face falls, a blanket of remorse covering her from head to toe, and tears fill her eyes. “J...”
My teeth begin to chatter, so I clamp them shut, and it aches. My jaw, my muscles. My entire fucking body.
She reaches for me, tears pooling in her eyes.
I slap her clear across the face, revel at the shock in her eyes, and tears roll down her cheeks.
“You’re seriously going to cry?” I scream, shoving her as she goes to cup her cheek and she falls against the wall. “Are you pretending like you feel bad for being the shittiest sister on the fucking planet? The worthless daughter who couldn’t even do her fucking part?!” I seethe, my limbs shaking, but something behind my ribs cracks so I try to crack something in her.
I stand tall, clear my face of all emotion and take a step back.
“You’re as pathetic as Dad was. Weak and useless.” I try to take a breath, but my lungs refuse the air, so I force a quick, “Go cry for someone who gives a shit,” and back away as quickly as I can and get the hell out.
I lock myself in my room and the walls begin to spin.
Swatches of gold and glamor funneling around, cutting off my airway and leaving my lungs starved.
I drop to my knees, my head falling into my hands as moisture threatens to slip from my eyes.
But I don’t let it.
I can’t.
Because who the hell do I have to cry for, myself? In pity over a situation I created?
Maybe I’m the one who is pathetic.
And damaged.
And so so screwed.
My door stayed locked all night and day the remainder of the weekend. I played music at deafening volumes that did horrible things for my massive hangover, and if Monti tried to knock, I didn’t hear it. If the doorbell rang, oh fucking well.
But it’s Monday now, so I have to smile and move along like all is well in this fucked-up world of spoiled rich kids and the shit we deal with behind closed doors.
Speaking of closed doors, I open mine to find Monti sitting outside of it.
She jolts, jumping to her feet, looking as if she hasn’t slept since I left her in the hall.
Her cheek is stained a light red in color and a twinge of guilt pokes at me, but I push it away.
It does no good to feel bad for the things we do, that’s just our own conscious trying to justify our actions, but it’s an action that came from us. I did something, so that means, at that time, in that moment, I meant it. To take it back now is to try and save myself from the shame or whatever you want to call it that comes with facing it.
The reality of the situation is I slapped my sister because she cracked, showed her guilt, which forced me to face the facts I no longer seem to be able to fight off.
I’m angry with her.
Livid with her.
I might even hate her.
More pressure falls on my chest, and she senses it, offers a small smile and walks away, but not before pointing to the steaming latte left in the place she stood from.
I kick it over and get the hell out.
I wait until the bell rings to enter the school and avoid eye contact as much as possible throughout the day, but when lunch rolls around, I’m forced to call on my smile, at least for a few minutes until everyone settles into their own conversations and I’m able to pretend to be reading over my French paper on my phone.
That is until the space across from me is filled by a bleach blonde with dark chunks underneath that look like shit.
Her gaze is burning into my skin, so I snap mine up.
She glares, sipping on her smoothie like a prissy little bitch.
Of course, she waits until I look down to lean forward, bringing herself closer to me. With a quick glance down the table, she whispers, “We warned you they were psychotic. A waste of space that will never belong.”
“You’re just mad he stopped letting you suck his dick.”
She gasps and sharp inhales sound around the table, people having only caught my response but completely clueless as to what we’re talking about.
Amy beams a bright, instant red.
“Wait, what are we talking about?” Cali leans closer while Jules seeming anxious, sinks into herself.
Amy glares, an instant ‘nothing’ flying from her.
I sit forward, not allowing her to backtrack. “We’re talking about Amy slumming it.” I use words bound to eat at her.
“You bitch,” she shouts, loud enough to turn heads as she shoots to her feet. “Like you’re one to talk.”
“There’s a difference. I’m not ashamed.”
Her shoulders draw up, her tiny fists balling up at her sides. “You might have a good family name to stand behind, but you are nothing like us. You’re trash. Just like your sister, just like them.”
I fly to my feet, launching the contents of my coffee cup all over her.
Those at the table shriek, and Amy hops back, shocked with her palms in the air and I swiftly round the table getting in her face.
“You’re lucky it’s cooled down or your skin would be on fire,” I snap.
“You are so—”
“What?” I goad her. “Dead?” I walk into her, forcing her steps backward. “Please. You’re more than weak-minded and you know it.”
Amy growls, shoving me in the chest, and I stumble back a step, but push back twice as hard until she’s falling into the girls sitting near us.
People around us begin to shout, and I only get a foot closer before Scott is slipping between us.
Amy reaches past him, so I flip the cup on the table at her, and it sprays over several people.
She gasps again and I dart for her, but Scott grabs me by the arms and walks me backward.
We only make it a half step before he’s tackled into the table, and I’m jerked back in the same second.
The table, with several students still sitting at the far end of it, grinds along the flooring with an echoed, grating sound.