11. Frosted Shadow
eleven
Frosted Shadow
Onyx: 2024
M r. Badass is going to have a helluva time trying to explain our little game to his misses.
Revenge is a queen’s best pastime.
I’m spinning over the chaos, trying to process what’s gone down, which is a hard task when you don’t know the players or the game. Not to mention, I was almost taken out by two stumbling sets of bouncing boobs on my way through the drunken maze in the house. At least they were modest enough to keep their thongs on for the pictures and videos they were starring in.
Drunken games turn into social suicide, according to Mom.
I see Zoey charging down the sidewalk when I slam the front door behind me. This girl’s always on a damn mission.
Hurrying down the steps. “Are you gonna slow down?” I yell at her back, legs burning from trying to catch up with her.
She’s got a short girl huffing!
Her steps slow to a stop. “Sorry,” she grumbles once I’m beside her.
“What happened? Who was that guy?” I ask, trying hard not to sound as out of shape as I feel.
Kicking a rock with the toe of her shoe. “Gage. My boyfriend.”
“Um, your boyfriend’s kind of a dick,” I tell her, starting to catch my breath now that I’m no longer jogging to keep up.
She huffs, rolling her eyes. “I hate Mal and Carney,” she grits.
“Which one is which?” I ask, already having a sneaking suspicion.
“Mal was the lush that fell on Gage’s dick. Carney’s her evil leader,” she grumbles, snatching a leaf from a low branch. “Mal thinks because her precious leader has a claim on…” She pauses awkwardly, side-eyeing me before starting again, “Claim on, Vex. That she gets Gage,” she grits, ripping the leaf to shreds.
I nod slowly, listening to her vent. “How long has Carney been with Vex?” I ask, trying to decipher the picture she’s painting for me.
Her head falls back for a second. “Ugh, she was… but things changed recently. She’ll go back to where she belongs now that…” Her words suddenly trail off when her phone rings, and she answers. “Shut up, Zeke. You’re an asshole. Stop checking up on me!” She hangs up, forcefully shoving it in her pocket.
“Who’s Zeke?” I ask, knowing I’m being nosy as hell.
“My stupid twin. The one that does whatever he’s told to do,” she grumbles.
For a small town, there sure are a lot of people. “I didn't see him," I throw out thoughtfully. "But, tell me more about the bitch,” I urge, steering her back on topic.
She shrugs, side-eyeing me. “He was one of the shadows by the fire. She’s a bitch. That’s the most important detail. Watch out for her and her groupie.”
“But… I thought you said she was going somewhere?” Confusion threatens to make my brain hurt.
Once we’re through the patch of trees. “Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out soon enough. Just keep an eye on her,” she warns, turning to stroll up what I assume is her driveway.
We part ways, and I’m instantly lost in my head, trying to sear the few facts she’s given me to memory. In my opinion, tonight’s outing was a total waste of energy. Her boyfriend – I could think of a better description – wasn’t worth chasing down. Lap catchers like him are only useful for attracting trash. So really, all I gained was a tiny glimpse at the players of the epic shit show these next three months are going to be.
As soon as I enter the cottage, the alarm beeps, and I hurry to reset it. As I step inside, unanswered questions from earlier plague me.
Who filled this place up? And when?
I left the light over the kitchen sink on because I hate being met by complete darkness. Before I’m able to turn into the living room, everything comes to a screeching halt when I notice the vase of purple tulips waiting for me in the middle of the kitchen table. Anger hacks away at my insides the longer I stare.
That motherfucker was in here snooping around!
It’s already 11 p.m., I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to confront his ass at dinner. I make a mental note to contact Nolan once my eyes are open in the morning to ask him about my privacy rights. Storming through the house to the bedroom, anger filling my veins with tiny bubbles racing through my heated blood.
By the time I finish my nightly skin care routine and change into something cozy to warm my freezing bones, I feel much calmer. I'm still annoyed, but I hope I’ll be able to sleep. The past few days have really taken a toll on my exhausted brain.
The huge king bed calls to me, dipping under my weight when I tuck myself under the comforter in the center. Fatigue from the past week settles over me, pressing on my eyes. The silence hovering around me is too loud, reminding me I’m completely alone in this shitty world. Sadness fills me, clogging my throat threatening to suffocate me if I don’t swallow it.
Acceptance is a hard bitch to choke down.
Chaotic thoughts swirl, pulling everything I’ve managed to avoid for years back. All my insecurities and fears cling to me like a magnet, clustered in neat little piles waiting to be sifted through.
Finding out I was being forced to leave the only home I’ve ever known fractured my heart. Just the thought has tears welling behind my heavy lids.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, soaking my pillow as memories start to play like they have every night since it happened. Shutting out the world brings the vivid images to life, reminding me of the last time Mom and I were together …
You’re nothing but a dark cloud of disgrace. I told him you were broken. He said I was the crazy one.
Insults thrash at me like twisters, beating against my scarred insides, ripping away the mangled flesh. It’s a never-ending loop of chaos sucking at my sanity until I fear I’ll lose myself completely.
Sleep evades me as it has for so many nights recently. I crawl from my cocoon in need of a numbing distraction to calm the frantic thoughts jittering my insides. For some off-the-wall reason, the thick carpet squishing under my steps reminds me where I am. Which has me obsessing about Mr. Are-You-A- Thief? Mr. I-Couldn’t-Come-To-The-Hospital. The same piece of shit I learned recently had to be forced to show his face at the funeral.
My chatty thoughts melt to anger, almost causing me to spill the box of tampons. Once I locate one holding a joint, I light up. Smoke trails behind me on my way to the kitchen to grab a water.
The purple tulips silently taunt me, provoking more ugly thoughts to congregate. This asshole hasn’t bothered to claim his child in years. But now that he has to take me in for a few months, he wants to suddenly act like a parent? Throwing out orders about dinner and bedtimes? Invading my private space to leave… what? A peace offering? He can shove his peace up his ass! He doesn’t know shit about me.
Someone knows something about you.
The silent reminder haunts me as I stroll back to the bathroom, seeking out the chapstick lying on the counter. Hypnotized by the small tube, I blink, realizing I’ve tapped out the joint and shoved it back into the empty plug.
Shaking off the last few seconds as I storm across the room, snatching a throw blanket along the way, before plopping my sleep-deprived ass on the bench by the picture window. Praying for the hate consuming me to subside.
At this rate, I feel like a borderline insomniac.
The moon’s rays light the frosty ground surrounding the tree. Snippets slither to the surface, drawing memories from the scene before me. All of which I’d shoved away years ago.
The wind gusts, pushing the swing from its hiding place behind the weeping branches, conjuring a different hate I’ve suffocated for years. Vexen Carver, the soul-crushing devil who pretended to be my best friend. Then BAM!! It's like he kept me around as his personal toy to torment.
He’s the biggest reason I hate this town. The reason I blocked this shit hole out. The one person that had better stay out of my way.
He thinks he can hurt me, but I'm ready to call his bluff this time.
Resting my head on the wall, willing my cranky emotions to settle enough for me to get some sleep. The swing moves again, drawing my attention. Chills flutter over me, setting me on edge, fear suddenly clogging my pores. My breath catches in my lungs, noticing a shadow moving over the frosted ground. Panic consumes me, and for a split second, I’m paralyzed, wishing I was in the main house instead of feeling like a sitting duck in the back of the grounds beside the river.
Would anyone hear me scream?
My fingers death grip my phone while I slip from the bench to hide on the floor. My heart kicks at my chest, filling my ears with a whooshing, turning me deaf. Rolling flat on my belly, trying to rationalize with myself because where the hell am I going to army crawl to? Under the bed? Fuck that, it’s the first place they’ll look!
I’m in the dark, so there’s no light, only the moon. If someone is lurking outside, they shouldn’t be able to see me. Right?
Sweet baby angels, why am I trusting hearsay at a time like this?!?!
Let’s be real, the damn person that claimed this theory could’ve been loony. But it’s not like I have a ton of options. I need to know if I really saw something lurking around. What if it’s my exhaustion playing wicked tricks on my tired brain?
Awkwardly, I maneuver to my knees, twisting myself up like a pretzel, trying to keep my ass below the window. Scooting on the floor as close as possible to the bench, I position myself on my knees to peek outside. Still clutching the phone, holding my breath, and stretching my neck the tiniest bit.
I gasp, lungs choking on fear, when my eyes land on the shadow cast across the yard. Almost positive, I see something move behind the tree.
“Fuck,” I whisper shout, hitting the deck, falling flat on my belly again.
Panic strikes hard and fast, surging adrenalin by the cup fulls into my veins. Without thinking, I slither like an uncoordinated caterpillar across the carpet. My goal: to get to the master bath and lock myself inside.
Because that’s not the second place they’re gonna look!
I'm completely out of breath from slithering, shaky hands fumbling with the lock on the doorknob. My eyes quickly bounce around the room, failing to find a good hiding spot, leaving me no choice but to curl into a ball and tuck myself into the corner of the shower.
At least it’ll be an easy cleanup after they kill you. Shut up!!
Awful thoughts blast me, sweat gathering on my clammy skin while I work to catch my breath and unlock my phone. Tears stab at the backs of my eyes when I realize I’ve got no phone service.
This town’s the definition of shit show!
Resting my forehead on my knees, tears dripping, soaking my legs as hopelessness takes hold. Hating the panic consuming me, the same as it has for years. The attacks started from the fear of being watched. The sensation has constantly tormented me like a sixth sense. Shaking me to my core, literally rattling my soul.
When I was home, the attacks were manageable. Mom pretended to care when I was young, taking time to talk me through the worst ones. Sometimes, she would read to me to help distract my racing brain. But, as I got older, she became more annoyed with the ‘distractions’ as she liked to call them. That’s when she decided having cameras installed around the grounds would have some magical healing power.
It made going places with friends hard. I usually ended up freaking out. Perpetually feeling like strange eyes were watching me, to the point I'd feel crippled at times, frozen, every part of me hypersensitive. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone. It’s always just been a sensation that poured over me.
Until tonight.
The fake friends I had thought I was crazy. I know they judged me and talked tons of shit behind my back. I'm sure that's how I became known as Queen X. Of course, they never dared to say anything to my face. They wouldn't get themselves canceled that easily. They weren't dumb. I didn’t understand any of it until I got older, but I figured it out quickly.
Mom got me a therapist, which freed up her time, and clued me in on a few things about life.
By high school, all the taunting was in the past. Let’s just say, I adopted the 'Queen’ role and scared the shit outta those bitches. It's fun watching haters flounder like a fish out of water when confronted. Suddenly, they lose their tongues. I'll just say they were happy to become my pawns and leave it at that.
I owned the wild-outspoken-party girl persona they wanted me to be. I refused to let having money dictate what I wore. Which really ate at their asses because they didn't have someone dictating their appearance for them. They had to make decisions independently unless they wanted to walk around like me in ugly gas station hoodies and thongs from Target.
I bet they're so happy I disappeared.
The trip down memory lane distracts me enough, I finally feel my eyes getting droopy. The panic attack fades, allowing the exhaustion from the adrenalin crash to set in. I rest my head on my knees again for just a second until I can figure out what to do next.