Angry God by L.J. Shen

About the time I’d gotten used to seeing summer session students around, they left and the school year at Carlisle Prep started with a bang. I’d forgotten just how busy it got here—the hallways always teeming with people, chatter everywhere, shoulders brushing. And with the students, came the fall. The leaves turned yellow and orange, and then fell from the trees completely, leaving them naked and exposed.

Like the leaves, a part of me wanted to jump ship. But I clung on, even when I felt crispy and brittle and curling at the edges, just like them.

In an odd juxtaposition, Pope spent weeks eagerly anticipating my birthday. I was pleased by this—particularly considering what I’d asked him for—but it was strange since the occasion had merited hardly a greeting card from anyone around me last year.

He seemed determined to erase that experience.

When the day finally arrived, I was awakened by my bedroom door, which flew open and slapped against the wall.

Pope barged in wearing a birthday hat, casually blowing a party whistle in my face.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Lenny,” he sang, holding two full shot glasses and keeping a fancy liquor bottle tucked under his arm.

I squinted at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It wasn’t even eight yet.

After a dramatic pause, he finished. “Ha-aaaa-ppy birthday to you.”

He fell next to me on the mattress, handing me one of the shot glasses. We clicked them, mumbled cheers, and sent the stinging liquid down our throats.

“Mornin’,” I greeted groggily, “in case someone forgot…”

“Is it really, though? Everything’s relative, Lenny. Especially time. It’s five o’clock somewhere.” He poured himself another shot, motioning with the bottle to my empty glass.

I shook my head, sitting up. “In Sydney, actually. It’s five o’clock there.”

I was a bit of a nerd. I’d always been thirsty for information. It worked to my benefit, for the most part. For instance, yesterday I’d worked on my piece and debated how to sculpt a shredded heart. I wanted it to pour out of the statue’s chest, like lava slithering from an active volcano. Thankfully, I’d been hitting the daytime classes when I was bored to gather more inspiration, and I’d stumbled upon a papier-mâché technique Alma demonstrated in one of the senior classes. Paper was fragile, wrinkly, thin; I’d marched to the newsagent’s across the bridge as soon as class was dismissed and purchased a stack of newspapers and glue.

The heart turned out deliciously dark. The paper exploded from the statue’s muscular chest like fireworks, bursting with color and motion.

Rafferty elbowed my ribs, anchoring me back to the present. “How’re we spending the day?”

“Working.” I snorted. “You’re pressed for time to finish your painting, and I’ve hit my stride, too.”

“Fuck my painting. It’s not every day my best mate turns eighteen. Let’s get pissed downtown.”

“On a weekday?” I blinked at him. “Before noon?”

He snapped his fingers, pointing at me. “There’s no better time than the present. Also, no queue at the bar.”

“Also, no bar, because it’s eight in the morning.” I laughed.

He rolled his eyes, giving me a light shove. My head fell back to the pillow.

“All right.” I pretended to sigh, feigning exasperation. “I guess we could go for a few pints and fish and chips. And…chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”

“You need more chocolate like the royals need more skeletons in their closet.” Pope jumped up to his feet, strolling to my drafting table and cocking his head. “Who’s the admirer?”

“Huh?” I looked up, stretching in my bed.

There was a huge basket containing a mountain of individually wrapped brownies on the table and a white teddy bear with a red ribbon next to it. My mouth watered immediately.

“That would be Poppy.” I swallowed the excess saliva, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “You know she sends me chocolate all the time. God knows you’re good at demolishing it with me.”

“Poppy sends you chocolate. These are brownies. Not the same. And this looks much more expensive,” Pope commented, tugging the black satin strap that knotted the cellophane together around the basket. It fell open, and he helped himself to a piece of brownie, unwrapping one that had been tucked inside Harry Potter-themed paper.

I shook my head. “Still Poppy. I don’t have any suitors. Crap, our family dog doesn’t like me much.” I shrugged.

Pope snorted. “You don’t have a dog. Your sister’s allergic. Anyway, this shit’s good. Want some?”

“Let me brush my teeth first.”

“Suppose you want your privacy.”

“That would be nice.” I smiled.

“And a bit rich, considering what you asked for for your birthday.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

I blushed instantly. He had a point.

“You can say no,” I reminded him.

“I don’t want to. It’s a fun present to give.”

“You’ll have to come here every day.”

“As opposed to now?” He laughed.

I curled my lips around my teeth, stifling a smile.

Pope took off, walking to the door. “Meet me at ten at the cul-de-sac, birthday girl.”

My phone buzzed right after Rafferty closed the door. Poppy. She called to wish me a happy birthday. I thanked her for the present, and she waved it off and said it was nothing.

“How’re things over there?” she poked, munching on a granola bar on the other end of the line. Since she’d started studying in London, she’d been hanging out with her new, fancy friends. Poppy loved socializing. Based on her tone alone, I knew things had worked out the way she’d planned. She had that shine to her voice, that extra I’m-happy timbre.

“Good,” I lied. Sort of. “And there?”

“Fantastic. I’m having a blast. Papa said Arabella got Rafferty’s internship? How odd. Is she giving you trouble?”

“No,” I answered honestly.

I hadn’t mentioned anything about Arabella when Poppy and I chatted, partly because I hadn’t had the chance to see her much. I occasionally saw her across the hall, but I didn’t bother acknowledging her, or vice versa. She had been spending her weekends elsewhere and her weekdays holed up somewhere, and although I hadn’t spoken to Vaughn about her, I trusted him when he said he wouldn’t touch her. Which begged the question—what exactly was she doing at Carlisle Prep? She seemed to have no ties to the place. She wasn’t an artist. Vaughn didn’t want her. And she certainly hadn’t worked half as hard at bullying me here as she had in Todos Santos.

Why is she here?

“What about Spencer? Killed anyone yet?”

“Shockingly, no.” I fell back into bed, staring at my ceiling with a soft laugh.

I didn’t want to admit I’d dreaded my birthday. Because I knew Vaughn better than to think he’d ever celebrate it, and it was likely Pope was going to whisk me off in the evening for an intimate, private dinner, which meant less kissing time with Vaughn. Papa, I suspected, would forget about it altogether, as he often did when it came to me.

“We get along,” I explained. “For the most part.”

“Don’t forget his true colors,” Poppy warned. “All of them are shades of black. He’s the same guy who bullied you at school, dragged you into the janitor’s room to look at him getting a blow job, and then did it again on the last day of school.”

I remembered those things all too well. I even had a retaliation plan in place.

“A-ny-way,” she drawled, “Have an amazing day, Lenny. Hug that teddy bear for me, yeah?” she teased when I failed to produce any more words about Vaughn. “All my love. Mwah. Cheerio.”

I hung up the phone and slipped into my black skinny jeans, an Anti Social Social Club hoodie, and my Gladstone sneakers. I headed to my father’s office, before I lost the guts to do it.

I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks—not since I found out he knew I’d be sitting around here doing nothing for six months, and still recommended I accept the position. He and Vaughn had made me look like an idiot, and I was worried I’d lash out at him. But I figured if I didn’t go talk to him, we weren’t going to talk at all.

My legs grew heavy as rocks with each step I took toward his office. The air seemed to sear my lungs. I knew, logically, that I had every right to confront him. I needed to shake off the weird notion that my father was too important to deal with my problems and feelings. Wasn’t that what I’d always done? Pushed myself out of the picture to make things easier for him?

That’s okay, Papa, I’ll stay here in Carlisle so you can focus on your job in America.

It’s fine I didn’t get the internship. I’d love to be Vaughn Spencer’s assistant.

Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll just marry my work so you don’t have to carry the burden of any potential heartbreak or boy drama, or really, anything that might put you in the slightest discomfort.

Suddenly I realized I wasn’t much different from Poppy. We’d both slid to the sidelines of our father’s life to make sure he was comfortable. Poppy simply looked the part, with her cute cardigans and groomed looks, while I did it by wearing black lipstick.

By the time I stood in front of his office door, I was so riled up, fire licked at the walls of my stomach, rising to my throat. I curled my fist and raised it to the wood, about to knock, when the door flew open and out came Arabella.

She looked flustered, red, confused as she closed it behind her. She shouldered past me and ran down the hallway.

When she realized who she’d shoved aside, she stopped, turned around, and raised her open hand, signaling me not to talk.

She opened her mouth, about to say something nasty, no doubt, when Uncle Harry breezed into the hallway from his office on the opposite side of the floor, holding a thick batch of files under his arm. The showdown between us gave him pause, and he frowned.

“Ladies.”

“Mr. Fairhurst.” I nodded politely.

It didn’t matter that I’d grown up in his lap and spent every Christmas and Easter at his Hertfordshire mansion. In school, I gave him the respect he deserved. Arabella, however, yawned provocatively, refusing his eye contact.

“Do we have a problem here?” He looked between us.

Arabella flashed him one of her Colgate smiles, which was faker than her lashes. “No problem at all.”

He turned around and went about his day. I turned around to face her.

“What were you doing in there?” I pointed at Papa’s office.

It was one thing that he kept choosing Vaughn over me. But to consider he was so fond of Arabella that he mentored her in his office made me sick to my stomach.

Unless he called her in to tell her to pack her shit and leave.

But somehow, I knew it simply wasn’t my luck to get rid of her. Blood ran hot in my veins. I wanted to lash out and yell at her.

“Oh, I think we both know what I was doing in there.” She cocked a defying eyebrow.

My eyes widened so much I was surprised they didn’t roll onto the floor. What was she insinuating, exactly?

“If you have something to say, you better say it.”

“I just did. You’re so deep in denial, you just refused to listen.”

“Break it down for me.” I smiled cheerfully, ignoring her snark. “And use simple words. Romanian is my first language, after all.”

Vampire.

Though it had been her joke, the reference flew over her head like a kite. I could see it in the vacant, Barbie-doll expression plastered on her pretty face.

“I’m sleeping with your dad.”

I stood there like an idiot, feeling my nostrils flaring. Self-pity consumed me, and the stupidest thought floated into my mind. Why on my birthday?

Why, indeed. Why did I find out about this on my birthday? Why here, in the place I’d grown up. Why my father, who I looked up to, put on a pedestal, and treated like a god? Was it a wonder I was so drawn to Vaughn Spencer? Maybe it was in my DNA to fall blindly for the ones I wasn’t worthy of.

Arabella strutted toward me, picking up a lock of my blonde hair and examining it between her fingers. “Jeez, Lenny, didn’t your boyfriend, Vaughn, tell you he caught me slipping from your dad’s bedroom?”

What?

I sucked in a breath, but remained silent.

She shrugged, hmmphing. “Guess there’s little talking on the agenda when his dick is in your mouth all night.”

I was going to kill—no, demolish him.

My mind screamed on repeat: Payback, payback, payback.

But what I had planned for him wasn’t nearly enough.

I swallowed, still weighing my next words. She pouted, her hand moving from my hair to the collar of my hoodie.

“I’m so sorry.” She sighed melodramatically. “I was sure he’d give you the heads-up, at least. Guess you really are just another seasonal hole, honey.”

“You’re mad,” I croaked, my voice too hoarse to be recognizable, “that he’s not with you.”

She scrunched her nose, like I’d said something gross.

“You think I wanted to come here because of Spencer? He’s just a kid, and legit a sociopath. Now your dad, that’s a different ballgame. We’re getting pretty serious, actually, so you might wanna try to be nicer to me. You know, for the future of your trust fund. I’m sure there’s a lot of vampire shit you want to buy, not to mention all your stupid books. Wait, you wouldn’t mind calling me Mummy, would you?” She mimicked a very bad English accent.

I lost it.

I simply lost it.

I grabbed the hem of her low-cut blouse, twisting it in my fist and smashing her against the wall opposite to my father’s door. I got in her face, snarling.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Two sordid visits in forty-eight hours. Doesn’t look too good.”

“Arabella,” I warned.

“Mummy to you.” She laughed.

My hand flew from her collar to her neck, squeezing. I couldn’t help myself. It scared me how little control I had over my emotions, my actions. I couldn’t believe she’d said that word. Mummy. It was so sacred to me. What did she know about orphans? Both of her parents were alive. They’d bought her way here.

I realized Arabella hadn’t stopped bullying me. She just played a different, more destructive game here.

Slept with Dad.

Sucked Vaughn off.

Tried to burn my house down.

Why? Why? Why?

I was a firm believer in the “bad person, good reason” approach. To be doing things like that, she had to have a motive. But I wasn’t feeling sympathetic just now.

“Know what the best part is? I figured you out a long time ago. You pretend to be all tough and dark.” Arabella pushed me back, and I almost crashed against Papa’s office door. Almost. “But honestly? You’re just your daddy’s little puppet. You’ll never confront him about me, about anything. You’re scared shitless of him. Look how he screwed you over with that internship. I mean, dayum.” She shook her head, snorting. “I might be the one lying on my back getting dicked, but Daddy Astalis sure fucks you over—”

She didn’t get the chance to complete the sentence. I grabbed her hair and dragged her down the hall, somewhere he wouldn’t be able to hear through his door.

She wasn’t wrong, but she was about to be.

I craved my father’s approval and dreaded confronting him. But her revelation changed everything. He wasn’t a martyr who’d sworn off women after Mum. He was a cradle snatcher, a perv who slept with teenagers.

God. No. Not you, Dad.

She protested with little whines, but by the time she started screaming, I’d shoved Arabella into Uncle Harry’s office, which I knew was empty, and disposed of her on the floor. She was a bit bigger than me, but I was feisty and had enough adrenaline to kill three grown men.

Perched on the floor, her back to Harry’s desk, Arabella laughed and laughed and laughed. There was a crazy zing with her eyes. And sadness. I could smell loss from across the room, and she’d experienced it.

“I can’t get over how much people don’t give a damn about you, girl. Your boyfriend didn’t even tell you he caught me with your dad. He’d have probably stuck his dick in my mouth if my jaw wasn’t busy pleasuring Papa Astalis. Your dad prefers your boyfriend to you. Your best friend, Pope, had to beg people to go to your surprise birthday party because nobody likes you…”

She trailed off, knowing exactly what she was doing, then pressed her fingers over her mouth, raising her eyebrows in false embarrassment.

“Oops. Silly me. Totally forgot it was supposed to be a secret. Pope asked me to come to your surprise party tonight. You sister’s dragging her ass from London to bring the body count up. Everyone’s gonna be there. I mean, all four people in your life. Including me,” she cackled, getting to her feet.

I watched her every move, careful not to say or do anything that could put me in prison. I didn’t trust myself with her. And I also knew Pope well enough to see why he’d invite her. He did have a weakness when it came to crazy lasses—even ones who’d hurt me, it seemed.

Arabella smoothed her skirt and swaggered to the door, making a show of yawning. “Anyway, I’m off to find something cute for tonight so I can upstage you.”

Beat of silence. She ran her eyes over my figure. “Not that it would be a challenge. Tell your daddy you know about us, and I swear your life will be over. Catch ya later.”

I leaned over Harry’s desk, trying to regulate my breath.

I wanted to kill Dad.

Vaughn.

Arabella.

And I was about to be stuck in a room with all of them tonight. Then I remembered I was supposed to meet Raff at ten. It was already half past.

But he just wanted to keep me busy until the evening. He was trying to be nice, while my older sister put things together. My fists curled again of their own accord, and I realized I was choking a piece of paper in my hand. I looked down and unwrinkled it, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I might have ruined an important document that belonged to Uncle Harry.

I looked down and read the words on the page, handwritten by my uncle:

To do list:

• Gallery in Milan/call Karla
• Rent/landlord/Chelsea flat
• Check on VS (been quiet? Vindictive?)
• Birthday present/Lenny

VS

Vaughn Spencer.

Somehow I knew, clear as day, that he was talking about Vaughn.

It felt like pieces of a puzzle were falling together—but not into place. I couldn’t get a clear picture of what was happening.

Arabella was here for a reason.

Vaughn, too.

Neither of them was here because of art.

I slid the paper back on the desk, straightened my spine, and walked out the door just as my father came out of his office. He shut the door behind him, holding a paper bag with colorful things inside. When he noticed me, he shoved it back into his room, smiling apologetically.

No need to keep my party a secret. You already gave me one bloody surprise.

“Blimey, that’s some coincidence. I was just about to head over to your room to wish you a happy birthday, Lenny.”

That, after avoiding me for weeks. Yeah. Screw him. Without sparing him a look, I moved past him, my shoulder brushing his side as I advanced toward the stairway.

He called my name, confused, but all I could think about was Papa with his hands on Arabella.

Arabella’s mouth around Vaughn’s cock.

How they’d both chosen her over me—Papa knowing it’d break my heart that he romanced my schoolmate, and Vaughn proving a stupid point with his stupid dick.

She was ruining every relationship I had with the men in my life.

And I was done sitting back and watching it happen.