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I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t need to. Colt doesn’t need threats spelled out for him. He’s endured more than enough violence to know the consequences of disobeying royalty.
That’s why I can’t tell him the truth. I can never tell him. Because if I did, there’s a chance that in a reckless moment of anger or frustration, he’ll let it slip. He does shit like that, like flipping off Baron when he was pissed one time. That’s how he lost that finger. It’s a miracle Baron didn’t see something last year, when Colt was so drunk on daring that he’d text me at school.
Or maybe Baron did. Maybe that’s why he put us together in the senior project. He’s the cat playing with his mice, reveling in his power and my terror. There’s no point in making Colt share the fear. He’s happy. He has Dixie, and his cousin, and even a new girl to hang out with. All I would do is get him killed. After all, if they tried to kill him for hanging out with Royal’s plaything, what would they do if they knew what he did to their queen?
I stand on the curb and text my sister asking her to come get me.
Colt throws his trash away and gives me the barest nod, like we’re less than strangers, before he walks to his truck and drives away without a backwards glance. I glare after him, hating him more than I ever have in my life. It’s unfair how easily he deals with things. His sister tries to kill herself, and he says it’s for the best. The Dolces beat his head in, he just comes strolling back the next year like nothing happened, flaunting his annoying girlfriend. Nothing can stop him.
He bends so easily he can’t be broken. It infuriates me. He doesn’t care enough about anything to be hurt. He’s mild, lukewarm, without passion. It’s everything I want to be, even as I stand there, sure I’ll explode at any moment, storm and rage and seethe and tear apart this entire town and everything in it just so someone will pay for the hurt that drills down deeper and deeper into my soul and never ends.
Or maybe I’m just shallow enough that all I want is for someone to see me, to think that I’m worth seeing. To realize that I’m not the façade I show the world, that I am not Jackie, and to want to know even more. I want someone to break open the shell I’ve created even as I scream for them to stop. I want them to see my darkest shames and the secrets I work so hard to hide, and to know that I’m not perfect, that I’m not beautiful, that I’m not okay.
I want someone to see that I’m more than a pretty diamond shell. That I’m not the girl I was two years ago, and I’m not my flawless veneer, and I’m not the Bitch Queen. I want them to stop trying to make me those things and just admit the truth of who I am now—a hideous, blackened golem who is a thousand times uglier than Colt Darling will ever be.
I don’t need them to love me despite it.
I just need them to acknowledge it.
eleven
Rumor Has It… A certain Founding Son hoping to join the Elite inner circle is throwing his first party tonight. Will it prove he truly belongs, or will he fail the test and remain on the fringes? Only time (and this girl!) will tell!
Rylan Woods
FightFuckFinnegan: got ur shit
TheseDarkWoods: k
FightFuckFinnegan: rush delivery?
TheseDarkWoods: at a party
FightFuckFinnegan: hs?
TheseDarkWoods: mostly, some college
FightFuckFinnegan: any virgins?
TheseDarkWoods: how would I know?
FightFuckFinnegan: besides u
TheseDarkWoods: fuck off
FightFuckFinnegan: its ok little man. We’ll get u laid one day.
TheseDarkWoods: what would I need ur shit for if I was a virgin?
FightFuckFinnegan: solid point, mate
TheseDarkWoods: c u next tuesday
FightFuckFinnegan: ur a real one
TheseDarkWoods: thx
“Hey.”
