Angry God by L.J. Shen
The following weekend, Poppy dragged me to one of Arabella’s pool parties.
Showing up uninvited was my idea of hell. But Poppy used the cheapest trick in the book: the heartbreak excuse. True, Knight wasn’t going to be there—he had family matters to take care of—but she didn’t want to face Arabella, Alice, Stacee, and the rest by herself.
So I tagged along, praying the entire drive there that Vaughn wasn’t going to show up and use his cock as a party trick. I was tired of fighting him, of shooting him mean comebacks, of standing my ground.
Oh, and also, I’d sort of retaliated by pouring superglue into his locker. It was childish and silly, but in my defense:
- He started it, using actual garbage.
- Not many things in the world make me smile like watching the Vaughn Spencer trying to unglue his chem book from the bottom of his locker before putting a dent in the neighboring locker with a vicious kick.
We walked into Arabella’s Spanish villa, located in the gated community of El Dorado, already wearing our swimsuits. Poppy had opted for a coral pink bikini under her white beach dress, while I had on a black, studded one-piece and ripped jean shorts.
“You’re So Last Summer” by Taking Back Sunday blasted from the sick surround system. People cannonballed into the Olympic-sized pool and did shots from bikini clad cleavage. Arabella, Alice, Stacee, and a guy named Soren were sitting in a circle outside, drinking pink champagne from colorful sand buckets.
Arabella sneered as soon as she looked up and caught sight of me.
“I thought your kind can only enter when invited?” She arched a microbladed eyebrow, comparing me to a vampire.
“That’s just a rumor. We’re actually perfectly able to barge into your house unannounced and drink your blood like it’s happy hour.” I helped myself to one of the buckets, pretending to take a sip. I wasn’t so dumb as to actually drink their alcohol.
“All we can hope is for you to burn under the sun, then. It’s not like anyone is going to miss you.” Arabella batted her lashes, unwrapping a Popsicle and sucking on it with the enthusiasm of a porn star.
This earned her a chuckle from everyone around.
I bit my tongue. I couldn’t exactly compliment her on her literary knowledge about vampires, which she’d probably learned from Twilight (the movie, not, God forbid, the book) and only because Robert Pattinson was, like, “super-freaking-hot.” It was her house.
“Be nice.” Poppy sighed at Arabella, plopping on a lounger next to them.
“Sorry, dude, but you don’t get to tell us what to do now that Knight Cole is no longer banging you.” Alice started braiding Poppy’s hair, while Soren checked out my sister’s generous rack.
I made myself comfortable on the end of the lounger next to my sister, blocking out the gossip about the cheer squad and texting with Pope.
Lenny: At a pool party with Poppy and I hate everything about this place. Only a couple more months till I’m back.
Pope: You’re missed.
Lenny: I’m going to be in a sour mood working for Vaughn Spencer. He put the twat in the word twat.
Pope: So…basically, he is a twat?
Lenny: Precisely. You get me on another level, Raff.
Pope: I won’t let him be a twat to you while I’m there. Now please tell me there’s a token villain cheerleader and at least two nominal sidekicks at the party, plus a one-dimensional meathead who is their soldier.
I looked up, catching a glimpse of Arabella yelling at Alice and Stacee for blocking the sun, while Soren stared at all of them, tongue lolling out of his horn-dog mouth.
Lenny: Yup. And I’m the awkward girl they compare to a vampire.
Pope: Can’t wait for Freddie Prinze Jr. to finally notice that underneath the glasses and the awkwardness, you’re all that.
Pope: He’ll whisk you off to the sunset.
Pope: Slap a close-mouthed, PG-13 kiss on your lips.
Pope: Sometimes when you open up to people, you let the bad in with the good.
I rolled my eyes, feeling a goofy grin stretching across my lips.
Lenny: I feel like that was an actual quote from the movie.
Pope: Don’t be so scandalized. Took me three seconds to Google that shit.
Lenny: Turning Goth was a mistake. Should’ve practiced my cheer moves.
Pope: You’re no dancing puppet, Lenora Astalis. You’re an innovative artist through and through, and fuck the fakers. <3
A herd of guys swaggered by. They stopped and saluted Alice and Arabella, their fists curled around cans of Bud Light. “America without her soldiers would be like God without his angels. We salute you veterans for your invaluable contribution to our society.”
The hell?
The confusion must’ve showed on my face, because Arabella flicked her dark extensions over her shoulder and scowled.
“Your sister doesn’t even know what’s up. Jesus, Poppy, can she be any lamer?”
Poppy turned to me, hitching up a shoulder.
“There’s a system. Every time a girl at All Saints High hooks up with seven guys or more from any of the sports teams, she gets veteran status. Veterans are saluted at parties. They also get free drinks and dibs on new guys.”
“That is literally the stupidest thing in the world,” I said, trying to recover from the amount of inanity crammed into a one-paragraph explanation.
“Ever looked in the mirror?” Soren deadpanned, tilting his Ray-Bans down and giving me a degrading once-over.
“Vampires can’t be seen in the mirror, eejit.” I tapped the Kindle app on my phone, getting ready to read. “But before you spoil it for me, I know, I know. I look like a cross between Drusilla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Edward Cullen, and a bottle of lube. Very funny.”
The afternoon snailed by. No one paid attention to me, but that meant the girls weren’t actively in bully mode. I drank bottled beer I opened myself and read a book. In between, I provided Pope with a live feed of what was happening. I wished I could see him as boyfriend material, but after growing up with him, he felt more like a stepbrother. When the party began to die down, most people retired to Arabella’s living room. (Her parents were on a mysterious vacation in Europe, and her sister, according to the rumors, basically lived at her nanny’s house.)
Arabella ordered pizza, and everyone napped on the couches and floors, sunburned and drunk. I stayed outside and enjoyed the breeze, watched the sun descending into the ocean like an elusive temptress teasing her lover.
I was sitting on the edge of a swing, hidden by palm trees, away from the pool, when I heard low voices behind me.
“…an outsider. You really thought you could date Knight Cole with little to no consequences? He never had a girlfriend. Then you showed up and just took him. You think people don’t talk? That they don’t hate you for it?” Alice accused in a nasal voice, slurring. The words dragged, twisting in her mouth. “Arabella almost had sex with him before senior year, you know. At Vaughn’s house party. You ruined her progress.”
Progress? Christ. As a feminist, hearing that word in Alice’s mouth made me want to slap her with a lawsuit.
“I…I…” my sister stuttered behind the palm trees.
Poppy had also had a few drinks. I didn’t nag her about it, because I was here to look after her, and I understood she needed to unwind after the shitty few weeks she’d had.
“I didn’t know there were codes and such. He was fit and single, so I went for him. I never imagined it’d offend anyone.” She sounded weak, apologetic.
I felt my nostrils flaring, but I didn’t move from my hidden spot on the swing.
Fight back, Poppy.
“Well, you did. God, you’re almost as stupid as your freakshow of a sister.” Arabella chuckled. “Payback’s a bitch, girl.”
“Payback?” Poppy mumbled, her voice sobering at once. “What are you talking about?”
“We know your sister has something going on with Vaughn Spencer.”
I could practically envision the disapproving glower on Arabella’s face.
“Call her now and force her to tell us what’s up. Are they screwing, or what?”
“What?” Poppy snorted. “Have you even met my sister? You can’t get her to do anything, much less talk about Spencer.”
“Make her,” Soren said, the threat thick in his voice.
“No! I will do no such thing. She’s her own person. And a bloody stubborn one at that.”
“Oh, you will,” Arabella whispered with conviction. “Unless you want to be punished. See, there’s a hierarchy in this town. Anywhere, really. Even in your gray little kingdom, right? And here, Alice and I have birthright to Knight and Vaughn. We went to kindergarten with them. Now Knight is out of the race. Luna Rexroth has him, and honestly, he’s too far gone for her, so there isn’t much point in making an effort. But Vaughn is still fair game, and you and your sister are newbies. You screwed up, and now you’re going to pay up.”
Poppy said nothing.
“We promise not to touch her lily ass if she tells us whether she’s bangin’ Vaughn or not.”
I’d gladly confirm to anyone else that I’d shag a hedgehog before touching Vaughn Spencer. Unfortunately, I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing the truth. They obviously wanted to hear that, and apparently, my lily arse was also a vindictive one.
“No,” Poppy said with conviction that filled my heart with joy. My sister was not faultless, but she was loyal to a fault. “You can’t mess with my sister. I won’t allow it.”
“Well, well, well,” Soren drawled, amusement dancing in his voice. “If we don’t have your little lapdog to keep us entertained, I guess that leaves you as the main show.”
I heard a huge splash, and the hiss of bubbles surfacing above water. I darted up from the swing, rounding the palm trees and running toward the pool. I found Soren crouching down at the edge, holding Poppy’s head underwater. Her arms flung wildly, trying to claw at his hand. She was desperate for air.
I was going to kill him. That much I was sure of.
Soren jerked Poppy back up by her hair. She gasped, water dripping down her blue face.
“Is she fucking Vaughn?” Arabella growled in my sister’s ear, baring her teeth.
“Eat shit!” Poppy screamed.
Arabella gave Soren a little nod. He shoved Poppy’s head back into the pool. Bubbles gathered around my sister’s head, like a crown.
“Maybe this’ll refresh her memory,” Arabella purred, perching her butt on the edge of the pool, lazily braiding her long, dark hair. I grabbed a telescoping pole, advanced toward Soren from behind, and flung the pole at his head like a sword. He fell onto the grass like a toy soldier. His wail rose from the green blades.
“Jesus fuck. The crazy bitch really did it this time!” Alice slapped her thigh.
She didn’t help Soren, though. She simply stood there, glaring at me. Ignoring her, I rushed to the pool and pulled Poppy up, hooking my hands under her arms. I dragged her to the grass next to a groaning Soren and turned her on all fours, slapping her back.
She coughed out spurts of water, crying and wheezing. Once Poppy turned around and sat on the grass, I spun on my heel, eager to deal with her so-called friends.
“What’s wrong with you?” I shoved Arabella’s shoulder.
When Alice stepped to her rescue, I slapped Arabella so hard she stumbled before falling on her ass. An audience of curious partygoers was forming around us. I didn’t care.
They’d taken it way too far. Their words, I could deal with. But nobody touched my family and got away with it. Nobody.
“You only have yourself to blame, Vampirina. You were the one eager to open your legs to Todos Santos’ royalty without figuring out who called dibs on them first.” Alice pushed me, poking my chest with her finger accusingly.
I threw my head back and laughed. “It happened because you girls can’t see that sucking people’s cocks publicly is not the same as dating them. Vaughn and Knight will never be yours. Not because of Poppy or me or Luna Rexroth. They won’t be yours because you’re rotten and unworthy of the air you breathe!”
I found a semi-friendly face at the party—Hunter, of all people—and he helped me carry Poppy back to my car. I buckled her up, got her home, hurled her into the shower, and nursed her back to health for the rest of the weekend.
Poppy never spoke to Arabella, Alice, Stacee, or Soren again.
She no longer cried about Knight or about moving back to the UK.
She was done with All Saints High and waiting to go home—just like me.
I kept my profile lower than the Dead Sea for the remainder of senior year—even when word got out that Vaughn had decided to take Arabella to Indiana and parade her in front of everyone at Daria Followhill’s wedding proposal. The invitation came out of the blue, but it garnered a lot of rumors about them being an item.
Afterward, I overheard Alice whispering to Stacee that Arabella had tried to kiss Vaughn during that trip, and he almost broke her nose fighting her off.
Why he took her with him across the country was a mystery I was going to have to live with. Did he really hate me so much that he was willing to bear the presence of my enemy just to prove a point?
Anyway, Papa was right. I needed to take the assistant’s job, suck it up, and move on with my life.
I’d been resilient and unaffected, even when Vaughn spent the weeks after his internship announcement looking for every reason under the sun to smirk at me tauntingly, trying to rile me up. I always knew when he was in the same room with me, even if I had my back to him, because it felt like clouds rolling in, bringing thunderstorms in their wake. He’d yet to offer me the assistant’s position officially, and so I’d yet to accept.
In the meantime, Vaughn had decided to burn the days until graduation by spiraling out of control. It was as if getting what he wanted—the internship—had destroyed whatever was left of his joy, instead of giving him something to look forward to. He seemed utterly miserable, even more than his usual morbid self, and he’d started skipping school for three and four days at a time, perhaps giving up on his high school diploma altogether.
One day I caught a glimpse of his father prowling the corridor of All Saints High like a demon. Clad in a sleek, black suit and a scowl that made no room for error, the man left no doubt that Vaughn was his flesh and blood. His gaze could wound you from across the hall, and heat spread across my cheeks when I remembered how I’d told Vaughn I was going to call the police on him, and he’d said his father owned everyone in this town.
It wasn’t a figure of speech, I’d later realized.
The principal had invited Vaughn’s parents for a discussion, but when Baron Spencer left the premises an hour later, a triumphant smile on his face, I didn’t think he was the one who’d gotten the third degree.
It made me so frustrated, I bit my inner cheek until warm, salty blood swirled inside my mouth. Vaughn did nothing to earn the unabashed love and support his parents offered him.
When Vaughn did attend school, he looked like he’d been dragged through every section of hell—bruised, beaten, with cut lips and black eyes. I’d heard he’d gotten into plenty of fights, and his face confirmed that. His welts opened if he spoke or moved the wrong way.
He’d stopped talking to people, attending parties, and, according to his friends, responding to text messages and phone calls. There were no more rumors about him getting blowies on school grounds or elsewhere, and the only people he seemed to still be communicating with were Knight Cole and Hunter Fitzpatrick.
I wanted to ask him if he was planning to offer me the assistant’s position anytime soon—or at all. Just because Papa said he’d discussed it with Vaughn didn’t mean he would follow through with the plan. But my pride, mixed with the fact that I really didn’t want to draw his attention to me when he seemed to have finally forgotten about my existence, held me back from asking.
All that changed the last week of school.
I came home after classes with the intention of swimming, then trying to work on the sketch for my next piece, which just wouldn’t come. It drove me nuts that I couldn’t nail down the way I wanted the assemblage to look. I was beginning to suspect Vaughn had not only messed with my head, but also with my creativity.
I dropped my backpack by the stairway, kicking the door shut behind me and double-locking it for good measure. I wanted to swim naked—not because of the stupid tan lines, as Vaughn said—but because I’d read somewhere that swimming naked reminded people what it felt like to be in the womb, and I desperately longed to feel that, a sort of connection with Mum.
I tugged at my shirt, advancing toward the glass doors, when I heard it.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I spun sharply. The leak came from upstairs. Broken faucet? Bollocks. There went my afternoon. I’d be glaring at the back of a frustrated, grunting plumber.
I took the stairs and stopped dead when my boot slipped over the marbled surface. I looked down. Blood. There were drops of blood trickling down from the second floor.
Shit.
“Papa?” I called, gripping the bannisters so I wouldn’t slip again, taking the stairs two at a time. “Are you all right?”
It wasn’t just drops. The stairs were smeared with blood, with traces of bloodied fingertips crawling up the white granite, like in a horror movie. It occurred to me that maybe I should call the police, but I was too panicked with the prospect that something had happened to Dad or Poppy.
I climbed up to the second floor and realized the blood prints led to the bathroom closest to my room. I flung the door open and immediately had to suck in a breath. The entire expanse of crème ceramic was painted red. Nearly every inch of it. Vaughn Spencer was sprawled in my bathtub, clothed in a black V-neck shirt and black skinny jeans, dangling one army boot over the edge and smoking a joint. He bobbed his head back and forth, his face covered in cuts—like he’d just fought a rabid housecat—and that’s when I realized he was listening to my CD player. I yanked the earbuds from his ears, my heart beating so fast and wild I felt nauseous with adrenaline.
“Spencer!” I cried.
He looked up, finished the remainder of his joint, and tossed it to the floor. The blood killed the ember with a vicious hiss. Vaughn exhaled a ribbon of twisted smoke into my face, slow and deliberate, forever a connoisseur of cruelty.
“Lenora.”
“Forgive me for being so dense, but could you please enlighten me as to what you are doing in my bathtub, bleeding to death?” I exhaled slowly, shaking with anger and, yes, fear, too. His dark shirt was soaked with blood, reminding me that he was human, after all. Something worse than the scratches on his face lay under there.
He needed to go to the hospital. Immediately. I yanked my phone out of my leather jacket’s pocket, but he shook his head.
“Stitch me up, Buttercup.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen your Tree in Fall piece. You know your way around a needle.”
My Tree in Fall assemblage was a lone tree I’d found in a Hampstead Heath park. It had been completely naked of leaves. It looked cold. I’d stitched a garment on it from scratch, then hung clothing items, like leaves, on its thin, bare branches. By the time I was done, the tree looked a bit like a ghost. I loved that it went from looking weak and helpless to fearsome and Goth-like.
I wondered how Vaughn had seen it, since I’d only posted it on my Instagram, and he didn’t have any social media accounts. But now wasn’t the time to ponder this question.
At any rate, Vaughn was right. Mum had taught me how to sew, stitch, and crochet.
That didn’t mean I was going to play the role of his devoted nurse, though.
I started dialing. Screw him. I wasn’t helping him beyond what the law required: tossing his ass into an ambulance.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said calmly.
I stopped, looked up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The first words we’d spoken to each other in weeks, and he was already getting on my nerves. Vaughn Spencer had the uncanny ability to make me feel twisty, like if he didn’t touch me with his icy fingers, I’d burn. But I was also repelled by his behavior.
“I came here to offer you the assistant’s job, and I just might withdraw if you’re already being such a bad sport,” he drawled.
Wanker.
He’d left me hanging for weeks, and in that time I’d come to terms with my bitter loss to him. I found myself waiting to be approached. His plan had worked. Now he dangled it in my face, asking favors in return.
“Don’t make decisions with your ego.” My father’s voice pierced the red fog of my fury.
“I don’t want to be your anything,” I croaked.
It was the naked truth and most terrible lie I’d ever told anyone. I didn’t want to explore what I thought or felt toward Vaughn. I wanted to serve him a nice dose of pain, as he had me.
“Liar,” he said.
“Congrats on using your last name to get the gig.”
It wasn’t the right time for small talk, but if Vaughn dropped dead in my bathroom, the only part I’d hate about it would be testifying to the police and the paperwork that came with it. Anyway, he didn’t seem terribly bothered by his state, either.
“Eh, jealousy. Bitterness’ oldest companion. It’s not easy being a genius, let me tell ya. One is the loneliest number.”
“There are literally two of you, Mr. Shit-for-Brains. Rafferty Pope got the internship, too. In fact, I could be his assistant.”
God. Why hadn’t I thought about that earlier? Maybe it was too difficult to swallow being my best friend’s assistant, when we’d been supposed to intern together, side-by-side. But this made perfect sense. I could just text Pope and get it sorted. A Vaughn-free future was a phone call away.
Vaughn smacked his lips.
“The position for Rafferty Pope’s assistant has been filled, I’m afraid.”
“Says who?” I scowled.
“I saw to it myself. Now, about your first assignment…” His eyes sliced back to his bloody shirt.
“No. If you die, I’ll get your internship.”
“If I die, I’ll haunt your ass so good, you’ll be praying ghostbusters are real,” he deadpanned.
“You’ve been skipping school and getting into fights. Why?”
“Your face disgusts me so much, I couldn’t risk running into you.” He ran his icy blue eyes over my body. “And here I am. Irony’s a bitch.”
Disgusted or rattled?I thought, slightly pleased. Because if avoiding me was the reason he’d stopped showing up at school, that meant I’d gotten to him. I flustered him as much as he did me.
I groaned. “Let me see the wound.”
He raised his shirt, exposing bronzed abs and a muscular V. He had a perfect six-pack bulging out of his lean stomach, a narrow waist, and a dusting of dark hair arrowing south of his belly button. A gash sliced through the smooth skin across his side, just above the V. It looked nasty. Like someone had tried to cut him in half.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered.
“Correct, for a fucking change.” He yawned, flicking a gray flake of ash from his knee. He dropped his shirt, eyeing me with mild, amused interest.
“Well?” He raised an eyebrow. “This bitch is not going to stitch itself up. You may want to offer me some alcohol. Not just to clean the area, but to make sure I don’t yank your hair out when you close me up.”
“Just to make sure we have an understanding—I’m not doing this because of the assistant’s job, or because I’m afraid of you like the rest of our pathetic classmates. I’m doing it because I truly believe you’re stupid enough not to go straight to the emergency room, and I don’t want your death on my conscience.”
With that, I got to work. I went downstairs, bringing back a bottle of whiskey—the cheapest I could find—and my sewing kit. When I got back upstairs, Vaughn was listening to my CD player again. I yanked it from his hands, this time placing it on the counter across from the bathtub, where he couldn’t reach it.
My eyes narrowed. “Stop touching my things.”
“Better get used to it, Len. I’ll be touching a lot of your shit when we work together next year.”
I ignored his use of Len, which I hadn’t heard from him before, and tried to kill the butterflies in my stomach as I took a pair of scissors from the sewing kit and lowered myself on one knee, cutting the front of his shirt vertically.
“I didn’t accept your offer yet.” I kept my eyes on the damp, bloodied fabric that soaked my fingertips.
“Don’t embarrass yourself. The only reason you don’t let my ass die in your bathtub is because you want this position.”
I wish that were the case.
When his shirt was a pile of fabric beneath him, I plucked my black towel from the rack above my head and soaked it in whiskey, bringing it to his side.
“Aren’t you going to ask how it happened?” He stared at my face as I worked, not even wincing when I put the alcohol directly to his open wound.
He was particularly chatty today, in a good mood—better than he’d been in weeks. I wondered if fighting was a defense mechanism. If physical pain took away from the mental decay that was nibbling at him every hour of the day.
“No,” I said simply. What if he’d committed a horrible crime? I didn’t want to be involved.
His glacier eyes skimmed my face. “They say you slapped Arabella at her pool party.”
“They need a hobby or a bloody pet,” I said dryly, half-glad the rumor had spread fast and caused an uproar, “if that’s what they’re talking about. I’m not opposed to slapping her again if she tries to mess with my sister, so you can pass the message along to your little girlfriend.”
I loathed myself for inadvertently admitting I knew he’d taken her to Indiana. It was clear they weren’t together, but that apparently didn’t stop me from wanting to hear a denial straight from him.
“You hate her,” he said instead.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious. I wish your superpowers included not getting stabbed and crawling into my house uninvited.” I continued cleaning his wound.
He ran his long finger along the edge of the bathtub between us slowly.
“You know about Indiana.”
I said nothing, but my heart jumped in my chest as I tossed the black towel to the floor.
“My parents called her Mystery Girl, because it was a mystery why I brought her.” His eyes clung to my face, gauging me for a reaction. He wanted me to ask him why.
Over my dead body, boy.
I cleared my throat. “I honestly can’t think of a better match.”
Silence.
“What’s your favorite band?” He changed the subject. He was doing it again—making small talk in the midst of an awkward, violent, insane situation.
I shook my head, plucking out a needle and a thread. I chose green, because I wanted it to stand out. I wanted him to look down at it and remember me in the following weeks. And I didn’t even know why.
“It might leave a scar.” I looked up at him, arching an eyebrow.
He stared at me with a desolate look, dark and feral, but somehow full of hurt and shame, too. There was something behind those arctic icebergs that begged to be thawed, I swear.
“Good. I might remember your insignificant existence in a couple years.”
I faltered. “Pass me your lighter.”
I needed to heat the needle to make sure I wasn’t going to saddle him with a bacterial infection from hell. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
He elevated his groin and fished out his Zippo, throwing it into my hands. I ran the flame along the needle, back and forth.
Vaughn stared at my face with an odd concentration that made me blush, despite my best efforts.
“The Smiths, right?” he asked.
God. What did he want from me?
I put the needle to his skin, taking a deep breath. Even though he’d bled a lot, and probably needed a bottle of water more than he did whiskey, the wound didn’t look too deep upon closer inspection. He was right. I could stitch it, but I wasn’t going to do a bang-up job. My hands were clammy and my fingers shook, but I needed to close his wound.
“Most of your CDs are The Smiths’.” He snatched the bottle of whiskey from the edge of the bathtub and took a swig.
It was the first time I’d seen Vaughn drink—not just alcohol, but at all. Which was bizarre.
I didn’t answer, sliding the needle to the base of his wound. He hissed, but stared directly at what I was doing, our heads touching as we focused on my hand movement. When the needle pierced his skin that first time, coming out of the other side, I let out a ragged exhale of relief. I hadn’t breathed for a few seconds.
Mortal, after all. Flesh and blood and insecurities and secrets.
I moved the needle again, whip-stitching the wound in careful strokes, convincing myself the blood wasn’t real, and the entire moment was a nightmare I was going to wake up from. It helped me keep my cool.
How Vaughn put me in these situations, I had no idea. But I had noticed the pattern. It was always him who came to me. He dropped trouble at my doorstep like dead mice, untamed cat that he was. And, silly girl that I was, I always opened the door and let him in.
Vaughn took another mouthful of whiskey.
“What do you do all day? You don’t have any friends.” He eyed me, his voice more bored than venomous.
Homework. Art.
“You don’t fuck anyone, either. Don’t try to lie to me. I have eyes and ears everywhere. You just drive around by yourself like a failed Uber driver.”
And there it was. The malice.
He groaned when I dug the needle in without my usual gentleness. I didn’t appreciate his line of questions. When he realized I’d hurt him on purpose, he smirked.
“Hold on to that virginity, baby girl. Prince Charming is just a fantasy book and a vibrator away.”
“Fuck you, Vaughn,” I snarled.
“I’m starting to consider it. You’ll be my pro bono case. Not full-on fucking, but feeling your lip ring on my cock no longer makes me want to vomit.”
“Well, it makes me want to vomit, so that’s still firmly off the table.”
I dug the needle harder again, and he laughed, drinking some more and placing the bottle back on the granite surface. It slid and almost slipped from his hand. He caught it at the last minute.
“Wanna know something?” He glanced into the bottom of the whiskey bottle.
No.
“You’re pretty.”
I stilled, the needle hovering in the air over his skin. I wished he hadn’t said that. Because if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have to live with the shame of my heart nearly bursting with sweet, smoky ache. My breath hitched, and I had to swallow and refocus my gaze on his wound.
He’s drunk, and in a tremendous amount of pain. He doesn’t mean it.
“It’s a slow-burn kind of beauty. The more I look at you, the more it sneaks up on me. You remind me of Robin Wright in The Princess Bride—the kind of pure, wide-eyed innocence no amount of black shit and piercings can tarnish. But that’s not why I don’t hate you.” He shook his head, his eyes trained on the side of my face as I stitched him. “Everyone in this town is fucking pathetic—slaves to materialistic bullshit and ticking the predictable boxes of school, college, football, cheerleading, jogging, fucking, falling in love, getting a job, blah blah blah. Money is cheap, dirty, and boring. Everything is a popularity contest, and you’re out of the rat race. I guess…” He threw his head back with a sigh, staring at my ceiling. “You’re real. Maybe that’s why, sometimes, even when you’re not around, it feels like you are.”
I feel that way, too.
Vaughn was always here, even when he wasn’t. I could feel him from miles away. I recognized his scent, his touch, the air he brought into the room when he entered. I could spot his dark soul in a carnival teeming with colors and smells. For better or worse, he was the most unique guy I’d ever come across.
I continued stitching him up silently, his gaze caressing my cheek.
“Hunter said he was gonna make a pass at you.”
I licked my lips, tugging at the thread before sliding the needle into his skin again.
“I put him in his place,” he finished.
I poked his skin with my finger lightly, pinching it back together. This was where I was supposed to tell him he was delusional—I was not his—but I decided to listen to the entire story before I bit his head off.
“We were at his house. He was drunk. He thought I was kidding when I said I’d fuck him up if he tried to mess with you. I beat him up so bad, he came after me with a steak knife. He was supposed to miss. But that’s the thing about shitty aims—when they want to miss, they don’t.” He laughed without a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just lost a gallon of blood.
I paused, moving my gaze from his wound to his face.
He got stabbed because of me?
“Is this a joke?” I frowned.
“Do I look like the joking type?” He cocked his head sideways, looking at me like I was an idiot. “You made this mess. Only fair that you clean it up.”
My eyes widened, a fresh dose of rage coursing through my bloodstream.
“We are not together,” I said, dumbfounded. “Never will be. You’re an asshole.”
“If you think that has anything to do with my controlling your every move, you obviously haven’t been paying attention.”
I thought about the public blow jobs I’d heard about until not too long ago, the internship he’d snatched from me, what I’d seen in the darkroom all those years ago.
His threats.
His cruelness.
His taunts.
I stabbed him with the needle, shoving it deep into his healthy skin, twisting it to make my point. He groaned, pinching his eyebrows together, but he didn’t retreat.
“Push me, Vaughn, and I’ll push harder. I’m not the same girl you threatened in Carlisle Castle. This time, I will hurt you back.”
He snatched my jaw, jerking my face close to his. The needle slipped from my fingers, clinking in the bathtub beneath him. Our breaths mingled, hot and heavy and full of thick lust—the metallic scent of his blood and sweetness of my breath, sugared from a watermelon slushie I’d inhaled before coming home.
“Don’t pretend my blood doesn’t turn you on. You sucked good and hard on it, and my cock will be next.”
“In your drea—”
It all happened so fast, the way our lips crashed together like fire and ice. Euphoric pleasure exploded between my legs, heat spreading in my lower belly like lava as his lips opened on mine and his tongue slid into my mouth. I grumbled when our tongues touched, because I didn’t expect him to be so soft, so delicious.
My knees sank to the floor. Vaughn took my face in his hands and kissed me more roughly, biting the corner of my lips, pushing his nose against mine, devouring me with the same desperation I felt for him. I imagined it looked like he was trying to eat my whole face, and though it probably looked awkward, it felt perfect.
I was the willing, stupid prey.
I whimpered when he broke the kiss all of a sudden. He lurched back, like I’d bitten him. The look on his face was priceless—as if he’d just woken up and discovered me in bed with him. Like I was the one who kissed him, who invaded his universe repeatedly.
“Fuck.” His chest rose and fell with heavy pants, his eyes dropping to my mouth again.
It was the first time I’d ever seen him out of control.
“Not in this lifetime, Spencer.” I cleared my throat, trying to pick up the slippery needle from the bathtub with shaking fingers. I snapped the thread. I was done stitching him. “I’m going to clean the wound up now. Hold still.”
“Shut me down next time.” He took the whiskey bottle and gulped the rest of its contents in one go. His lips were puffy and bruised, and I realized we’d been kissing for a few minutes. I wondered if I looked like I’d been kissed, too.
“No. You make sure there won’t be a next time,” I whispered hotly, licking my lips. “Not sure you’ve noticed, but it’s the twenty-first century. Men are responsible for their own actions. Or are you one of the so-why-did-she-wear-this chauvinist brigade?”
“Turning me off with your clothes seems like a lifelong goal of yours, so no trouble in that department.” He scoffed, taking a fractured breath as I dug the needle deep into his skin again in retaliation. I was done mending him.
He captured my wrist in his hand, squeezing lightly to make me look at him. I did.
“I don’t want to like you, Lenora. I want to ruin you.”
“Then do it already!” I broke free from his hold and threw my hands in the air, exasperated. “Why don’t you put me out of my misery and just finish the fucking job if you’re so high and mighty?”
He had plenty of opportunity, power, and the means to get Poppy and me kicked out of school. Yet he never did. He never went the extra mile, always skating on the outskirts of making my life uncomfortable, though not unbearable.
“The former interferes with the latter.” His mouth twisted in revulsion as he turned to look at the wall.
My jaw almost dropped to the floor. Was he saying he liked me?
He turned his head back to me, a slow smile spreading across his lips.
“Oh, shit. Look at you. You bought it.” He shook his head, laughing. “Wrap it up, GG. I have somewhere to be.”
I went downstairs, got a bottle of water, and came back up, handing it to him.
“Next time someone busts you open, do yourself a favor and go straight to the hospital. Now drink this, and then clean up your mess. All of it. Every drop of blood,” I said as coldly as I possibly could. “Friendly reminder: I may be your assistant one day, Vaughn, but I will never be your bloody servant.”
