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Yes, she’d driven me mad.
She gasped when she walked into her room and found me there. She didn’t know that I knew everything. That she’d fucked one of my best friends. Emilia didn’t look any different, but she felt different.
She felt out of reach, now more than ever.
“Pink suits you,” she remarked in a dry tone, nodding toward the pink flowery linens on her bed. “Who let you in, Vic, and what the hell are you doing in my room?”
No one let me in. Her parents and Rosie had gone to the farmer’s market or some shit.
She dropped her backpack by the door and walked over to her dresser, pulling out some fresh clothes. I loved how she was wearing a crop top with the name of a band only she knew and another pair of Daisy Dukes. She looked tan, and a golden necklace was glistening against her soft bronzed skin.
I also liked that she’d called me Vic.
But I didn’t like that she didn’t even look at me when she said it.
“You need to leave,” I said.
“I think that’s my line.” She sighed. “I need to take a shower and fix myself a sandwich. Whatever you need will have to wait until I’m done. Or maybe until I start taking orders from you.”
“I don’t mean leave the house. I mean leave this town, this state, this fucking planet.”
Maybe not the planet. I didn’t want her dead. I just wanted her out of my life.
Help slammed a drawer shut with her hip and squatted down to fish her toothbrush from her backpack. “Let me ask you something. Do you know you’re crazy, or do you see yourself as a sane person? I’m genuinely interested in knowing.”
She waved the toothbrush handle at me, then dumped clothes from her backpack into the laundry basket in one messy heap.
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to disappear.”
She rolled her eyes. She thought I was joking. “As tempting as the idea of putting a state or two between us is, I have nowhere to go.”
“Twenty thousand dollars,” I fired back, narrowing my eyes at her. I was going to withdraw the sum from my own account. I doubted my dad would even notice, and if he did, it would still be worth it. I was losing my sanity, fast, because of her.
“No,” she chuckled, resolute. “What the hell makes you think I’d do what you’re asking?”
I figured she wouldn’t just leave because I told her to, so I shrugged and picked up my cell phone, staring at her, blasé.
“I’ll fire your parents, and then you’ll all have to move back to some shithole in Virginia, and poor Rosie—poor fucking Rosie—won’t have access to the nice health care plan my dad is paying for. That’s what makes me think you’ll do what I demand.” I smirked.
Her eyes turned to slits and her lips thinned. She hates me. I hated myself too. For the both of us. But I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. It was too much. She was too much. Maybe because of the way she looked exactly like a younger Jo. Maybe because of how I still wanted to fuck her regardless. It made me hate myself.
“You can’t do that,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she gathered her fresh clothes and toothbrush to her chest. She loved her family so much. Especially Rosie. “They work for your parents, not you. They wouldn’t cave to their moody teenage son.” Emilia was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.
“They wouldn’t?” My eyebrows jumped as I feigned surprise. “When’s the last time they even bothered being here? Let’s test your theory. I’ll call my dad right now.”
To everyone else, it seemed like I’d always had Baron Senior by the balls. Even though he was too busy doing the New York-Cabo-wherever-the-fuck-Jo-wanted-to-sunbathe route to actually be a parent, he rarely denied me.
I assumed it was because of the guilt that plagued him from what he’d done to my mom.
“Hey, Dad, it’s me.” I spoke into the phone, swinging my legs up on her bed and crossing my feet at the ankles. I was still wearing my muddy sneakers. My phone was on speaker.
“What do you want, Baron?” There was no mistaking the impatience in his tone.
Help’s mouth opened slightly.
I popped my minty gum in boredom, sighing. “Just so we’re all on the same page, since you guys are barely at the house anymore, am I correct to assume the staff is under my supervision? Meaning I can hire and fire if someone isn’t meeting my needs?”
I heard the splashes of the waves against my father’s yacht—Marie, after my mom—and ice clink in a glass. Scotch was my guess.
“Yes,” he said. “You assume correctly. Why? What’s wrong? Somebody giving you trouble?”
I nodded with a triumphant smile even though he couldn’t see me. She could, though.
