Burn (15 page)

 
“Because if you think you’re too good for us, we’ll be happy to make other arrangements.” There is something more than anger inside of him—it’s as though the aftertaste of genuine hatred is layered just beneath. Then it hits me. Tad really does hate me. He doesn’t want me as a part of this family.

“Mom?” I want to ask if she’s going to stand there and let him talk to me like this, but she cowers into him almost as if she agrees.

“
Skyla
.” She pushes her fingers into her forehead and closes her eyes. “Just get to school. We’ll start fresh later.”

“Right.” I take off upstairs.

Something tells me we can never start fresh again.

***

Gage is all hopped up on the heels of our love as we stand in the overflow parking lot.

There’s something charming about the way he smiles and gazes openly, but something alarming about the fact that we’ve let a fake relationship get so far while I’m still in the midst of a real one. The good thing about being with Gage is that I made a promise to myself that whenever we’re in public I’ll never pretend my feelings for him. The bad thing is, during moments like this, when it’s just the two of us in the woods and there’s not another soul around, I should feel far guiltier than I do.

“I dreamed about you,” he says. The smile melts off his face ever so slightly.

“Was I naked?” I bite down on my lip and give a playful smile.

“Nope.” He loosens into a grin. “Very much clothed.”

“So, what happened?” I give a light massage to the back of his neck.

“Can’t tell you. It was one of my special dreams.”

“Special? As in code for dirty?”

“No.” His eyes widen into two large pools. “Special as in prophetic.”

“You know something?” I cease all movement and gaze into him. His dark hair lies in thick wet strands—it curls up around his temples and at the base of his neck in neat little coils.

“I know lots of things.” He looks down briefly. “Anyway, I like dreaming about you, seeing you even when you’re not with me.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and sway with him in the breeze.

“I want to know the things you know. Will you tell me what you saw?”

“It’s not important what I saw.” He gives an apprehensive smile as if trying to hide a mild thread of panic.

“It’s important to me. If it concerns my future, I want to know.”

“I’ve done that before, and I swore I’d never do it again.”

“So it wasn’t good—the dream.” My hands drop to my sides.

“I never said that. It was fine, I just…I think we’re going to be late.” He picks up my hand, and we start in towards the English building.

“Just promise me something.” I step in front of him, blocking his path.

“What’s that?” His dimples dig in on either side, and I get the urge to drag him into the thicket again.

“One day you’ll tell me everything.”

He takes in a ragged breath. “Trust me,
Skyla
, there will never be a day you will want to know everything. Sometimes it’s just better to let life surprise you.”
 

Chapter Twenty-One

Oh Wicked Night
 
 

Drake drives Brielle and me over to Ellis’ party in his newly acquired death mobile. I’m starting to think maybe Mom and Tad aren’t so hot on Drake after all. This thing is rife with engine problems, torn upholstery, stinks like a cigarette burial ground, and I swear it hobbles. It has three-car pileup written all over it.

As soon as we hit the driveway, I bounce out of the car.

I tug at my skirt as I make my way up the driveway. Instead of showing off my French maid costume in front of Mom and Tad, and trying to escape their clutches as they attempt to strangle me with my fishnet stockings, I changed over at Brielle’s.

Brielle’s mom, Darla, lent me a pair of four inch spiked heels with metal studs running down the back. They’re totally cute, but hurt like hell to walk in. Darla kept saying they were her favorite pair of
FM’s
, and when I asked what
FM’s
were, both Brielle and Darla laughed.

It’s annoying when I don’t know things. They’ve totally lived their lives cloistered on an island—they’re the ones who shouldn’t know things. I’m from L.A. for God’s sake. I’m almost positive I was exposed to every vile thing possible before I was nine, and somehow
an entire group of people sequestered from society know
more than I do.

Ellis’ front yard is littered with gravestones, unearthed caskets, and about a dozen groaning corpses that I’m not entirely sure aren’t
Fems
. I’m expecting anything tonight, and a part of me feels ready—the other part suggests I find either Gage or Logan and hide.

“Knock
knock
,” I say. The front door sits wide open, so I step on in. The house is empty.
 
The hollow click of my heels creates an echo as I traipse over the glossy marble floor in the direction of the kitchen. The thick scent of something baking permeates the air. It definitely doesn’t smell like Ellis’ house.

I meander on, until I find Ellis himself pulling a gallon of milk from the fridge. It doesn’t take long for Brielle and Drake to wander in behind me and make
themselves
at home on the couch.

“Wow, what’s this?” A glass pan of brownies sits cooling on the stove. “You bake?”

 
“Yes, I bake. All good men bake.” He’s wearing a football uniform with a tire track across the front of his chest and things that actually look like bloodied entrails hang out of his jeans. “You want one?” He offers me a brownie.
 

“Sure, I guess. Hey, wait…” I tilt my head suspiciously. “You put your stash in these.” I think I just nailed precisely why Ellis Harrison bakes—why he does anything in fact.

“What are you on? I don’t share my stash in its natural form, let alone grind it up and waste it on a dozen different people. I just thought it’d be nice to have something around, plus my mom bought the mix.”

I wave my hand over the dish. “Ooh, still warm. They’re so my favorite when they’re warm.”

He pours us each a glass of milk in tall cobalt glasses before cutting long rows several inches thick into the pan. We each pick up a strip and indulge.

“These are really good. You should go into business,” I muse.

“Check out at the nun and the priest.” He flicks a finger over at Brielle and Drake. They’ve gone horizontal and are pushing their faces into one another. “Looks brutal.”

“I think it’s a part of their costume. You know, sort of a performance piece.”

We just sit there stuffing our faces and watch them like it’s some sick show on TV until a stream of people filter in through the main entry.

“I better shut the lights off.” Ellis takes off and starts flicking switches. Rows and rows of candles are set out in various places all over the house that I hadn’t noticed until now.

Ellis’ brownies are really freaking good. We’ve managed to polish off half the pan already, so there’s no point in cutting them up and setting them out. I’m practically doing him a favor by downing the rest. Truth is, I only like brownies and cookies if they’re fresh out of the oven. There’s something about warm gooey chocolate melting in my mouth that I find intensely satisfying.

A swarm moves in. The bitch squad cackles up a storm in my direction. There she is—Mama Michelle. Her hair is curled in tight little ringlets that spring up near her face. She’s got on a deep velvet cape that, in this
devoid
lighting, looks a dark shade of bloody crimson. Of course, she’s fully equipped with a clunky walking cast from that flying leap she took off Devil’s Peak a few weeks ago.
Little red mommy hood.
I press my lips together to keep the comment from vomiting out.

Emily looks like a questionable Alice in Wonderland, her fake long blonde hair and overdone face makes it look like she’s in drag more than anything else.

Then there’s
Lexy
.
Actually
Lexy
looks good—too good.
She’s supposed to be the queen of hearts judging by the glorified leotard, mini tutu, and a thousand glittering hearts sprinkled all over. A giant heart on her chest cradles her boobs, sort of gives the impression they’re sitting on a tray. She’s got her feet pressed into heels twice as high as mine, and they totally look like
FM’s
, and…oh freaking shit. I think I just figured out what
FM’s
stand for, and I don’t like those words having anything to do with
Lexy
on a night when Logan’s going to try and get some info out of her.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Emily pulls her bloodstained lips into a snarl while examining me up and down.

“French maid.” I point to my neck. “Who just got her throat slit.
”

The three of them sit and gawk with their arms folded tight.

“It’s supposed to be sexy with a Goth flare,” I add stupidly.

“You just keep believing that.”
Lexy
swivels her head over her neck and for a brief moment, I’m hopeful it’s going to glide right off.

“I don’t think you’d know sexy if it walked up and bit you in the face—which I’m sure bears a striking resemblance to your ass.”
Michelle high fives Emily.

“So where’s the big bad wolf?” I ignore her quip, looking behind her, fully expecting to see Marshall. Showing up at a student party isn’t beneath him. Apparently knocking them up isn’t either.

“Is he coming?” She fingers the rose around her neck.

“How would I know? I’m not his keeper.”

Lexy
and Emily take off towards the cauldron of bubbling liquid that Ellis just set out, surrounded by towers of red plastic cups that act as an inebriation warning system.

“I saw you.” Michelle jabs her finger into my chest with each word.

 
I slap her hand away. “Saw me what?”

“Get in the car and take off during second. You think your shit doesn’t stink? You come into town, steal Logan, break his heart,
then
take Gage. You disgust me. And now you think you can sleep around with Dudley on the side? I’ve known Logan and Gage all my life. I’m not going to stand by and watch you slut around while grinding everyone to pieces. I bet that’s why you moved from L.A. You slept around town so damn much, they threw you out.”

“First of all…” I go to point my finger, and my entire hand feels lighter than air.

Ellis turns on the music, and it’s some song I haven’t heard in like forever.

“God I love this song!” I really, really
love
this song. “Anyway, I don’t break hearts, and I’m not a slut,” I pause as I make my way past her. “Besides, they would never kick you out of L.A. for sleeping around. They erect statues and throw parades for shit like that.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bite Me

I start scanning the crowd for either Logan or Gage. It feels so lonely without them. I’m so sick of wanting Logan, wishing I could be with him, stealing a moment just to be together, and never having enough of him. But then there’s Gage, those eyes that see right into my soul, the way he protects me, and he just so happens to have the face of a thousand underwear models rolled into one. He’s the paragon of perfect. I laugh at my own pun. That is actually pretty damn funny.