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When I turned back to the mirror, I couldn’t help but check the spot that Jai had been occupying. He was gone. Trying to focus, I answered, “I like it. I think I’ll buy this one.” Mariana hopped up and down, clapping her hands and dropping some of her costume.
She quieted and pushed me back toward the small, dark room. “Fantastic, go get changed. I’m gonna keep looking around; you just catch back up to me. This is going to be so freakin’ fun!”
I didn’t see Jai again in the store as I made my way to the register to pay. I wondered why he’d been in the store at all.What kind of costume would a guy like Jai need?
Chapter 2
October 10, 2020
Jai
My phone rang as I sat down at my desk and started taking the jewelry out of my piercings. A trill cut through the silence, and when I looked down, I saw an unlisted number flash on the screen. I picked it up and hit the speaker button.
“Yeah,” I grumbled.
“Hello, this is Detective Westcott from Cape Haven. I’m hoping to speak with Jaid—”
“This is him,” I grunted before he could finish his sentence. My full name in other people’s mouths left a bitter taste in mine. Thanks, Mom.
“I’m sorry to call you with this news, but it seems that the body we’ve recovered from a crime scene has been positively identified through DNA forensics as Wesley Wells, your father.”
“Ok.” It probably sounded incredibly dickish on the other end of the phone, but I truly wasn’t interested in anything related to my father. There was nothing my father could have offered me now. I would be fine, and it would be without his help.
“The coroner will need—”
“Burn him. Throw him in the trash. Detective Westcott, you shouldn’t consider me next of kin. I have no desire to see his remains. He’s been dead to me for years; there’s no reason for me to mourn now.” I didn’t give him a chance to explain or plead further as I ended the call and pocketed my phone. I didn’t even know if I could legally deny accepting remains.
One parent down, another to go. My mother abandoned our family when I was four. From my understanding, it was because my father picked up the bottle and his fists. Which I understand, that’s not an ideal situation, but to leave your kid? Despicable.
I had little faith that my mother would see the end as quickly, justly, or horribly, given her saintliness. It was either going to be old age or a freak accident. Whatever came, that day would be handled the same.I don’t care.
I looked at the bottom corner of my monitor. A picture of Bexley from a campus newspaper article was taped there. I wanted to manifest her here in front of me. My phone pinged with an email notification. Detective Westcott emailed the details he could share with me, no doubt hoping it’d sway me into compassion.I don’t care.
I locked the phone again and continued to unscrew the balls and unclasp the hooks. It had been roughly twenty-four hours since seeing Bexley clad in black pleather. The wandering thoughts about her figure plagued me for most of the evening.
Bexley was perplexing. Her friends didn’t fit her, the crowd she rolled with didn’t fit her, and her sense of self was different from others with her old-money connections with the government. People talked about being driven, but in reality, they were just trying to please others. Not only did Bexley seem goal-oriented without her parents' assistance, but her lack of social media also told me she wasn’t seeking the flimsy and conditional approval from strangers.
Over the years, what platforms I could follow her on had little to nothing to offer. Knowing Bex meant being with her in the here and now. It wasn’t a completely foreign concept, but I had my suspicions regarding the decline in her online presence. There was a clear shift in her demeanor after breaking up with her ex-boyfriend.
Social media stalking wasn’t beneficial for trying to understand this girl, but I hadn’t found the courage to actually walk up to her and engage in any meaningful conversation in five years. Even that freak encounter the other day hadn’t provided more insight.
In high school, our paths didn’t cross often, and she didn’t have an interest in me to change that. I couldn’t blame her, though, because not many people cared to form a relationship with the city’s shining delinquent.Especially the attorney general’s daughter.
I did enough in high school to dick around with my reputation and surprisingly didn’t fuck up my chances at college. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure why I was here.Except I need to see that fucking promise through.
I could count on one hand how many times we had any kind of contact before college.
Junior year, I was standing at my locker and her friend group passed by in giggles and hushed whispers. Friends was a very loose label for those people. I shelved my last period’s books when a body crashed into me.
On instinct, I put my hand between their head and the lockers. It hurt like a bitch, but when I looked down, a frightful Bexley was peering back at me with astounding steel-blue eyes. A map of freckles was speckled across her cheeks and nose; rosy lips were ready to tell all of her stories. I hadn’t been that close to her before, and I couldn’t form any coherent sentences.
The snobby girls were responsible for pushing her into me as some kind of joke to test my patience. It wasn’t the first time, but she was the first to have their skull saved from the metal door.
She rushed out an apology and nearly jumped out of my hands. All I could do was nod. The most memorable part of that day was what her wild mess of hair felt like between my fingers. It hadn’t changed since then, I noted, looking at the hand that had been woven through those strands earlier in the week. Her wavy hair was rich chocolate and feather-soft.
I need to touch her again, be close to her.
Any other careless group of people that pulled a stunt like that would’ve definitely riled me up enough for an immature and quick-tempered response. For the rest of that day, all I wanted was to put my hands back into her hair and grip her to me tightly.
