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I had to remind myself why I couldn’t know the answer to that question and that it didn’t matter anyway.
She might have looked like a goddess but on the inside she was dark and screwed up. She didn’t live by the meaning of the name she hated so much.
“It means mild and merciful”, she told me once when we were ten.
There was nothing mild about her and I knew it even then. She was wild, weird, and twisted in the most fascinating way possible. And she was as merciless as one could be.
I saw the girls from cheer surrounding Clem. I knew why. They all wore her handmade jewelry. I sometimes found myself in a situation when a girl was sucking my dick and I was wondering if the earing that has hanging from her ear into my lap was one of Clem’s.
I often touched the trinkets. I thought of it as a revenge. Touching something she had touched while another girl kneeled down in front of me.
The only girl who ignored Clementine and went straight to the locker room was Amy.
I could hear Chase’s voice in my head.
“Pussy drama.”
Chapter Three
Clementine
Twelve years ago
“Come on, Clem, I’m going to be late,” my sister said over her shoulder, trying to make me walk faster. I dragged my feet on purpose even more.
“Where is mom?” I asked and, even though I was only six, I knew what the correct answer would be.
Anywhere but with you.
“Home,” Maddie answered, looking ahead while I was still walking three steps behind her.
“Why didn’t she pick me up then?”
“It was dad’s turn to pick you up, but he has a meeting.”
“Why do they have to take turns if mom is always home and dad is always working?”
I asked that question a lot for the past few months and no one was answering me. Madison exhaled loudly, turned around mid-step, and kneeled down. Our faces were at the same level now.
“Don’t think about that, okay? I can pick you up. Just not on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
She had ballet on those days. Mom took me once two years ago, when I was four. I didn’t like it. She yelled at me for three days because I refused to go. Then she yelled at dad for defending me.
Madison took my hand in hers and we started walking again. I thought about her ballet lessons.
“Maddie?”
“Mm?”
“You hate ballet. Why do you keep going?”
My sister’s head snapped in my direction. She was thirteen, and she was almost as tall as mom, so I had to look up to see her face. She had a long blond hair and green eyes and she looked exactly like mom when she was Madison’s age. Or so everyone kept repeating. My brother Tyler also took my mother’s features, while I looked like dad. No one ever admired my simple brown hair and ordinary brown eyes.
“Why do you think I hate it?” she asked.
“I heard you say it. You were talking on the phone.”
Madison tried to hide a smile but failed.
