We'd long ago run out of money to pay for cable, so without the twins in my life anymore, I hadn't done a lot of TV watching the last few years.
There were a few doors on one side of the room. I assumed there were two closets and a bathroom behind them.
Lane had been right. It sucked to share a room, but the room itself was nice.
"You must be my new roomie," Melanie suddenly said, and it was like someone had possessed her body because her voice had suddenly become incredibly sweet and welcoming.
I shook her hand when she held out hers for me to take.
"Everly James," I introduced myself as I shifted shyly under her gaze. I'd never gotten along with girls particularly well, Lane being an outlier at the moment. They'd always been trying to be friends with me to get closer to the guys, and I hadn't felt I really needed anyone but them.
This was going to be a learning curve for me.
"Melanie Carmichael," she responded, dropping my hand and stepping away from me, once again examining me closely. "But I'm sure Lane told you all about me," she added snottily, shooting Lane a glare, who just shrugged while giving her a big "Fuck You" grin in return.
"Listen, as long as you stay out of my way and aren't a slob, we won't have any issues. Give me your cell phone number so I can let you know when I have visitors,” she added, holding out her hand expectantly.
I stared at her a bit dismayed before pulling out my iPhone that was at least five years old. Melanie looked at it as if it was a poop-filled diaper before reluctantly grabbing it and punching in her number.
"I'm texting myself so I have your number," she said before typing a few more things into my phone and handing it back.
There was a large mirror by her bed, and she peered into it briefly, straightening her cobalt blue jersey dress that showed off her thin form. She gave herself an approving stare that was a bit awkward to watch.
"I've got to get to class. Later," she threw at me suddenly before slipping into a pair of leopard booties, grabbing her Louis Vuitton purse, and exiting the room without a look back.
I stared at Lane, my mouth hanging open with a bit of shock.
She just grinned at me.
"Welcome to Rutherford," she sang at me.
Well, shit.
4
Then
My name was Everly James, and I was a con man's daughter. And not just any con man, but the con man who’d lost millions of our town's money and then shot his brains out on the front sidewalk when the feds came for him in a bloody ending that the town would never forget.
There was no one in this city, let alone the state, who was hated more.
And my mother refused to move.
Shannon James was a proud woman. One who had grown accustomed to the riches and privilege my dad had provided her. So accustomed, in fact, that when she found out years before how my father was making his money, she didn't tell him to stop.
Of course for the past few years, she'd been trying to play the victim, telling anyone who would listen that she’d been just as taken with my father's smooth words and gorgeous looks as everyone else.
In my mind, she was worse than him.
Despite her attempt for pity, she'd lost all of her friends, all of her money, and she would've lost the house too if my father hadn't put it in her name and made sure it was paid off before he offed himself.
So ironically, we lived in a mansion that badly needed repairs and staff, but my mama refused to give it up and sell it so we actually had money for things like...groceries, clothes...necessities of life.
That didn't mean that she didn't sell some of her fancy items. But it certainly wasn't to clothe or feed me. Pieces of jewelry Daddy had given her went first, and then priceless artwork would disappear off the walls to pay for alcohol or to put gas in her car. When she remembered to get groceries, she would always buy ridiculous things like caviar and champagne, something that a six-year-old was obviously not going to eat. When she remembered, she would buy me a loaf of generic white bread and some peanut butter, and that was how I’d get by. That was why starting school, I was not only the smallest kid in the class, but also the most hated and ridiculed, even though I had nothing to do with my asshole of a father’s actions.
To make life worse, my father's death somehow pushed my mother to a point where she no longer could stand the sight of my face. She didn’t love me anymore. In fact, I would go so far to say that she hated me. If my shoes even squeaked on the floors of the house, I’d be thrown in a closet for the rest the day, or lashed repeatedly with one of my father's belts.
When she was really drunk, I scared her. Probably because I looked like my father. His curly gold hair and catlike green eyes stared back at me in the mirror every time I looked into one. The combination had been what made my father so hard to say no to. He looked so charming and innocent, certainly not the face of someone who was going to rob you blind. There was no way for me to hide from everyone around town that I wasn’t my father’s daughter.
In short, my life was hell. The worst kind of hell.
I was fruit, ripe for the taking for the Parker brothers. They offered me the warmth, love, and attention I was desperate for. They were my greatest loves, and my worst mistakes.
I should've chosen better from the start, I should've recognized that although I loved Caiden, it wasn't the soul crushing kind of love I felt for Jackson.
I should have done so many things differently.
5
Now
Jackson
I fell in love with Everly James the first time that I saw her on that playground, holding her ground against kids twice her size. She was tiny, her tangled curly blonde hair so long and thick that it practically covered her face. When I saw her standing there so bravely, all I could think was she was the most beautiful creature that I’d ever seen.
There was only one other person I loved as much.
And that was Caiden.
I was fucked up.
Even as a kid, I couldn’t control my emotions. The slightest things would set me off. My mom would tell me that I needed to eat the vegetables on my plate, and next thing I knew, the plate would be shattered against the wall, the spaghetti that had been on the same plate sliding down the wall leaving an oily, red stain that would have to be painted over. My dad told us to turn off my favorite movie and a baseball trophy would find its way to the television screen minutes later, glass shattering all over the carpeted game room.
They tried all the parenting tricks they could find. Grounding me, taking away toys, trying to bribe me. Nothing worked. Except for Caiden.
When the anger built up inside of me, I couldn’t think straight. It felt like the real me was locked inside, a slave to the darkness and frustration that I couldn’t get past. Caiden was always there, soothing me, talking me down from the ledge I was poised to jump off of. It only ingratiated it more for my parents. He was the golden child, the peacemaker, the better twin.
I loved him too much to be jealous of him.
Doctors told my parents it was ADHD, intermittent explosive disorder, too much sugar, not enough sleep. The list went on and on. I was put on various diets, medicines, therapies...but the hyper manic behavior...the irrational anger...it continued.