AllFreeNovel
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Then I slow down, my pulse never slowing with me.
I rub my hands through my hair. “What the fuck,” I whisper, hearing the sound of my shaking voice. Are you going to cry? Then I rub my throbbing cheek, the wetness apparent. “Stupid shit,” I mumble softly and then rummage in my backpack.
I collect a cigarette and lighter, putting the end in my mouth. I suck in deeply, and then I look up and realize how far I’ve sprinted and then walked.
I’m at Loren Hale’s house. It’s a mansion, not as ostentatious as my family’s. The lights are off, and the driveway is empty. I pace back and forth by the mailbox, smoking a cigarette.
I don’t know why I linger. My friends and I—we’ve pranked their house since they first moved to this neighborhood, and at first, we were just curious. Who the fuck are these people? we all thought.
They’re not famous because they did something revolutionary or because they acted, sang, and entertained their way into peoples’ hearts.
They’re famous because Loren’s fiancée is a sex addict. The heiress of Fizzle—a soda empire—sucked a lot of cock.
You know, I met him—Loren.
He caught me after I shot paintballs at his house windows, and my friends—they just left me there, racing off with their own paintball guns, thinking he’d turn me into the police. Being loyal, I wouldn’t have ratted them out.
But that night, Loren Hale let me go.
I don’t get it.
I don’t understand why he didn’t turn me in. He seems like an ass. He’s always glaring in tabloid photographs, not more than his half-brother, but still. He looks like a fucking dick—and he let me go.
I don’t know why I do it now, but I reach into my backpack and grab a canister of metallic spray paint. With my heart banging into my ribcage, violently saying no with each beat, I spray the side of his mailbox. My nose flares, knowing it’s bad.
Knowing I should stop.
But I don’t.
The paint wets my fingers as I hold down the nozzle tighter, and on one side I write the word Cock and on the other, I write Sucker.
Maybe I should’ve just written help instead.
september
3
garrison abbey
Superheroes & Scones is packed.
Slouched in a red vinyl booth, I listen to Nathan prattle off reasons why he can’t stand this place—how it looks like Captain America took a shit on the walls, a red and blue and gray scheme. It’s a dumb complaint. We’re in a comic book store for Christ’s sake.
I take a swig from a bottle wrapped tightly in a brown bag. Shit. Sharp vodka slides down my throat, inexpensive and probably a cousin of rubbing alcohol.
This is the best I could steal from the liquor cabinet. My parents only stock shitty vodka, and they’d notice if I took their prized Scotch and bourbon.
“Hey.” Nathan waves a hand at my face, sitting next to me. “You here?”
I flip him off and then chug again, leaning against the window. Our friends John and Kyle are seated on the opposite side. Their faces begin to blur, which means today is better than yesterday.
I’m about to put the bottle back to my lips when noses suddenly press against the window, and girls scream bloody-murder outside.
“Christ,” I curse before following their gazes across the store. Everyone here seems to freeze, comic books half open but eyes elsewhere. With their slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions, you’d think an A-list movie star just made an appearance.
I’m not surprised by what I see.
Loren Hale and his half-brother, Ryke Meadows, just entered the main storeroom from the employees’ only door. Nathan, John, and Kyle purposefully escalate their voices and mess with the sugar packets, tearing them open and spilling white granules all over the table.
I can’t focus my gaze enough to make out Loren and Ryke’s features. But I’ve read enough descriptions on Tumblr from obsessed girls (and probably guys, to be honest) to have their faces forever imprinted in my fucking head.
Loren Hale is all sharp-edged, his jawline like ice and his amber eyes daggered and so scary. He will murder you with them. He wears a lot of red Vans and V-neck shirts. He’s so cool. His hair is shorter on the sides and longer on the top (guys take notes!)
How about no.
Ryke Meadows is all hard-edged, his scruffy jawline like stone and his brown eyes narrowed and so broody. He’s an animal. Beware. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a werewolf in another life.
Tumblr girls are so weird.
And yeah, I read all of those in my free time. Internet culture is more entertaining than real life. Like right now, I immediately turn my head away from Loren. Because of what’s in his arms.
A baby—his baby. The thing can’t be more than two months old, and he’s crying hysterically at all the noise and attention.
