CHAPTER NINE
Colton — 16 years old (Sophomore year)
I stretch my legs out from under the table and plug in my earphones. The cafeteria is fairly empty. There’s only two other people here, other than myself. I guess it’s still early for lunch, and too late for breakfast. It’s the perfect time for me to come and see Cole.
St. Lucas Rehabilitation is one of the most expensive rehab centers in the country, the one where all the richest people find themselves crowding in. Of course, it’s located in California, right along the coast of Malibu. High security, with the best beach scenery — what more could anyone ask for? No wonder our father chose to send Cole here, instead of just choosing a rehab in Manhattan, closer to home.
Henry Bennett wouldn’t want to send his son somewhere cheap. He always needs to go big and expensive. As if it’ll prove his worth to people. As if he has to shove it in everyone’s face that he’s got the money — that he is, after all, untouchable .
When Cole heavily drops into the chair across from me, my eyes flicker to him. Cole and I look alike, but we’re not identical twins. My hair is dark brown, while his is slightly curly and lighter. He has a more pointed nose, and he’s got our mother’s rainforest green eyes. I got our father’s brown ones.
His face is slightly pale, and his lips are thinned into a straight line. I don’t miss the muscle tick in his clenching jaw. He’s angry at me, rightfully so.
I don’t blame him.
I would be angry at me too, if I were in his place.
“Why are you here?” he asks coldly.
I remove the earphones, dropping them onto the table. “I wanted to check on you.”
Cole scoffs. “I thought you weren’t allowed to come and see me.”
“Dad doesn’t know.”
“How did you get here?” He frowns.
“I took a plane,” I tell my brother. “It’s faster. I’ll get back home before he even notices I’m gone.”
Cole avoids looking at me, his gaze staring at the space behind my shoulders. His body is tense, and I hate that he’s this way with me.
But he doesn't know the real reason behind my deceit.
And he doesn’t know the extent I’ll go to protect him.
“How are you doing?” I finally ask, when the silence stretches between us. We used to have a lot to say to each other, a lot in common too. But now, there’s a wide bridge between us — something unspoken, a gap of falsehood and grievance.
“You’re really asking that?” He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes sharpening with a glare. “After betraying me? Dad would have never known if it wasn’t for you snitching on me!”
“You were getting addicted to morphine, Cole,” I respond blankly.
“I needed it.”
“And that’s exactly how addiction begins. You need it, and then you can’t stop. At one point, it became a compulsion. You were dependent on morphine.”
He lurches forward, his hands slapping the table in frustration. “You don’t understand. You will never understand what it feels like.”
He’s right and he will never understand the sacrifices I made for both of us. Sending Cole to rehab was my idea — but at least, he’s far away from the hellhole that we call home now.
“I trusted you when I told you that,” he continues, fuming, but I don’t miss the torment in his eyes. “We always have each other’s back, don’t we? But I’m here and you’re there. We are both alone now.”
“You would have done the same thing if you were in my place.”
His jaw tightens at my words. “I would have never deceived you.”
“At least you won’t end up an addict now.” I quirk up an eyebrow when he huffs grumpily. “You’ll get the help you need here, and when you’re ready — you can come back home.”
Cole sits back, and I can’t help but smile at the act of petulance that he’s showing. He’s angry at me, but I know he’ll never hate me.
Deep down, he knows I did the right thing.
And Cole…I don’t think he has the heart to hate anyone . He sees the positive in people, he searches for good in the world. His momentary relapse that caused him to become addicted didn’t change that side of Cole. The side that chooses to see the light in whatever abyss he’s been thrown into.
Me, on the other hand?
I’m awaiting doomsday. Life has poured misery into me, creating poison in my soul. My expectation of the capacity of good in people has been crushed over and over again. I’ve come to absolutely despise humanity. We’re monsters filled with avarice; we live in a wicked, corrupted world. And some days, all I can think about is how I want to set the fucking world ablaze.
Cole says I’m a hateful person.
I guess I am.
Because there’s a deep-rooted hostility inside me, breathing bitterness into my soul — where resentment festers like an uncontrollable inferno.
A dangerous, aggressive distaste toward everything and everyone.
I’ve come to hate the world and the people in it.
Except Cole and Maddox. They are the only people who matter — the only people I’d risk my life to save if the world was ending.
And with my hate, comes the need to willfully piss off everyone around me. Because the only way to see what truly lies underneath their perfect mask — a pretty facade, is to drive them mad. Anger makes us see what is real.
Anyway, I can’t lie. Pissing people off is entertaining to say the least. They always take everything so seriously, which means it’s easy to get on their nerves. And people like that are easily broken.
I’ve never met anyone yet who hasn’t proven me wrong.
But the day I do — I’ll get on my fucking knees.
“Does Sienna know you’re here?” Cole snaps his fingers in my face.
I tense at the mention of Sienna. Clearing my throat, I simply shrug. “Can’t really hide anything from her. It’s like she has ears everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got a bunch of secret cameras in the house.”
Cole doesn’t laugh at my joke. “I don’t trust her.”
My hackles immediately rise at his words, and I tilt my head, studying my brother closely. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something off about her,” he says tiredly, before a rubbing hand over his face. He’s got a bit of gruff on his cheeks and chin. “I don’t know…but what does she gain by helping us, or lying for us? And I’m not trying to judge her, but her motives are questionable. She married Dad, and he’s two decades older than her. I mean, it’s not love. That’s for sure. Dad is incapable of love.”
“Money,” I deadpan. “Money makes people do crazy shit.”
“Hmm.”
“I got this. I can handle both Dad and Sienna on my own. Until you get back home.”
Cole gives me a look — not exactly a glare, but it’s close. “I’m still mad at you,” he reminds me, ruefully.
I wave a flippant hand. “You’ll forgive me. I’m the asshole brother; you’re the good brother. You have to forgive me.”
His lips twitch with a slight smirk.
And I know we’re all good.
***
Cole and I get to our feet, and I go around the table. Clasping his shoulder, I tug him toward me into a half-hug. “Two more weeks and then you’ll come back home. You got this, I know you do.”
His rehab program is only 30-days. He’s halfway there now.
“Thanks for the homework,” he mutters begrudgingly.
“Hey now, we can’t have you failing any classes,” I joke half-heartedly.
We say our goodbyes, and then I’m grabbing my earphones and getting the fuck out of here. I walk out of the main building, and instead of following the path to the main gates, I cut through the trees. It never snows in Malibu, but it’s mid-January and slightly windy even with how sunny it is right now. Cole mentioned that there’s a small cherry and clementine orchard right behind the main building. Cherries are a spring and summer fruit. But clementines are harvested in late fall and early winter. If I’m lucky, there might still be a few on the trees.
The orchard is reserved for the residents of St. Lucas Rehabilitation. I’m just a visitor, but I have a weakness for clementines. And Cole, with his knowing smirk is aware of that. Of course he was baiting me. Asshole.
Sweet and tangy clementines; my mouth waters at the thought.I’ll steal some and then I’ll leave. It’s not like anyone would sue for some stolen fruit. They probably won’t even notice if I’m careful enough.
But, then again, stealth is my game.
Walking past the thick pine trees, I spot the small orchard and make my way there. When I’m close enough, I halt in my steps. Looks like I’m not the only one thinking of clementines today.
I recognize her instantly. But then again, who wouldn’t.
She’s a popular face of Berkshire Academy. Was a popular face — she’s now just a sad reject. Someone easily forgotten. An outcast that doesn’t belong anymore.
A fallen princess.
Riley Johnson lost the war and was forced to crawl on her bleeding knees — to watch her kingdom burn to ashes at her feet.
She sits cross-legged on a neatly-folded blanket, under a fruitful clementine tree. With a book in her hand. She’s wearing a short yellow dress, with thin straps and a lace bodice. Her waist length blonde hair is untied, and the cool breeze keeps blowing it in her face. Her gaze never wavers from the page of her book as she tucks her wayward hair behind her ears.
She turns the page, before biting into another piece of clementine. Her tongue peeks out, swiping over her lower lip to catch the remnants of the juices.
My heart thuds in my chest.
Riley Johnson sits there, looking like a ray of fucking sunshine.
And I don’t know why — but it pisses me off.
I quietly edge closer to her, and she doesn’t notice me. Riley is in her own little world, reading and eating clementines—the same ones I ’m supposed to steal.
Leaning against the tree, I stand behind Riley and peek down at the book she’s reading. The Great Gatsby. Since we were forced to read it in freshman year, I’ve hated that book. The It’s supposed to be some kind of famous classic, but while I can appreciate some intelligent and beautiful writing, I find none of the characters likable. In fact, none of them are even dislikable. They are just merely despicable.
And frankly, I never understood Jay’s pointless obsession over Daisy.
“The ending to this one isn’t very good,” I drawl.
Riley is easily startled and she snaps the book close, before looking back over her shoulder at me. “W-what?” she stammers, but when she notices who has sneaked up on her — her eyes sharpen into a glare.
“Bennett,” she says under her breath, whispering my last name like it’s a damnable curse.
Yeah, we don’t get along. Not that we’ve ever interacted with each other before. She’s a junior, and I’m a sophomore. But Riley Johnson and I have lifelong animosity.
It’s nothing personal between us — but our fathers have been feuding for as long as I can remember. Henry Bennett and Thomas Johnson have a personal agenda against each other. They were rivals in high school, and now both are running in the gubernatorial elections, for the same state. I even heard about how Thomas slept with my father’s long-term girlfriend in college. In revenge, my father burned down Thomas’s vocational cottage. But then again, those are just rumors. To say they have a strong dislike for each other is an understatement.
I think it’s petty, but our feuding families automatically make Riley and me — enemies.
Our fathers would have a stroke if we ever ended up as friends.
But then again, I don’t have any intention of befriending the “fallen” princess of Berkshire Academy. She’s a nobody now — a disgrace and an outsider in the social circle of the wealthy and corrupted.
My father likes to say that we have an exceptional reputation, and that we do not associate ourselves with public scandal.
And damn it all, Riley has scandal written all over her petite frame.
She inhales a shaky breath. “I think it’s a classical ending.”
“Bullshit,” I deadpan, enjoying the way she frowns at my choice of word.I pluck a clementine from the tree and start to peel it. I’m meticulous, taking my time to carefully peel off those little annoying strings from the fruit. I hate those.
“It’s a tragic love,” she defends. Riley acts personally attacked by my remarks, and I safely conclude that The Great Gatsby is probably her favorite book. Since she’s being so defensive about some stupid, fictional characters. “Of course, I don’t expect you to understand that.”
I scoff in response. “Love is always a tragedy.”
“So you think you’re different and special just because you think the book is bad, while everyone else is praising it for being a classic?”
I merely shrug, before popping a piece of clementine into my mouth. A burst of flavor fills my mouth, and fuck, this is good. Sweet and tangy — with a bit of entertainment on the side as I watch Riley Johnson mull over my words.
“I’ve seen your twin around.” Riley brings a hand up to her face, to find shade from the sunlight as she squints up at me. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?” I shoot back, but then chuckle. “Oh wait, I know.”
Her body tenses and I watch as her jaw clenches. She grips her book tighter. I chew on my clementine, hiding my smirk. “I was there that night, at the Christmas gala. I had a front-row seat to your downfall. I was practically disintegrating with boredom. But I have to say, you puking all over your father’s expensive shoes sure made my night more interesting.”
Riley sucks in a shocked breath, and I see the exact moment her composure changes. Her body jerks as if I slapped her, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. I don’t miss the anxious twitch in her jaw, or the fact that her gaze slides away from me. I study her with quiet interest.
Riley Johnson is something for sure.
She was fierce a minute ago, but the moment I mentioned that night, she’s all meek now. Like a kicked puppy — small and easily spooked.
You see, I’m always drawn to broken things; it’s a peculiar interest. I’m not drawn to fix them — but to watch as desperation bleeds out of them, to see just how far they’ll go. And just how thin the veil of life and death is. One time, Cole and I found an injured bird. While he rushed to help, wanting to fix it — I, on the other hand, was simply captivated by the bird’s broken wing and its struggle to fly again.
And Riley Johnson?
She’s a broken pretty thing.
Her brokenness entices me; it feeds the venom in my soul.
She gets to her feet, taking her blanket and book with her. Riley tries to silently push past me, and I find that amusing. That’s all it took to shut her up? She’s making herself an easy target, and what she doesn’t realize is that boys like me — we see vulnerability and we pounce on it.
C’mon now, Riley Johnson. Where’s the fire in you, the one I saw just a minute ago? I know she’s more than this pathetic weakling.
My hand snakes out, and my fingers brush against her blonde hair. I wrap a silky strand around my index finger, before using it to tug her to me. Riley wobbles toward me, before standing her ground. But she’s still not looking me in the eyes.
I cock my head, feigning innocence before spewing venom that I know will hurt the princess even more. “Little Miss Popular got dethroned.”
Her lips part with a silent gasp, and she takes in a shuddering breath before her gaze finally darts up to mine. There are specks of gold in her brown eyes. “You find that amusing, don’t you? Laughing at someone’s downfall? Mocking their defeat? That’s very typical of you, Bennett. I’m not even surprised.”
“Are you though?
“Am I what?” She grits sharply.
I tug on her hair again, just because. “Defeated.”
“Weren’t you there?” Her exasperation bleeds through her words. “Didn’t you see what happened?”
I saw, alright. But that was only the outside shell of Riley Johnson. Because even pretty girls like my nemesis harbors dark and dirty secrets. So, what are hers? My eyes roam her face and her body, lingering longer over her tits and the sway of her hips. The yellow dress molds perfectly to all her curves.
“You know what you remind me of?” My lips twitch with a half-smile at the memory. “An injured bird I found once. The wing was broken.”
Her pink lips form a silent ‘O.’
“It died,” I tell her.
She jerks back, and her lips twist angrily. “I remind you of a dead bird? Let go of my hair, Colton.”
I don’t. I wonder if she’s always this defensive and on guard. “Do you know why it died?”
“No.” She growls, but it’s barely even a kitten growl. “I don’t care, now let me go.”
“Because the bird lost its will to survive. That’s why you remind me of it.” I lower my head, bringing our faces closer. Her breathing is ragged, and I know I’m starting to piss her off. My lungs fill with poison, breathing in her wrath.
This is where my enjoyment comes from — I piss off people, because their anger feeds the hate inside me. Addiction comes in all shapes. This is my drug of choice.
“It was a dead, fallen sparrow. You’re a dying, fallen princess. Weak prey in a world filled with dangerous beasts,” I say, taunting her.
Her hand snakes out so fast, I barely catch on until she’s got a full grip of my hair in her fist. She pulls hard , forcing my head back. “Let. Go. Of. My. Hair. Bennett. That’s the last time I’m telling you.”
I tug on the silky strand.
She tugs harder on my hair.
My lips twitch with a knowing smirk. There we go. There’s the fire I had seen earlier. Now, now, what do we have here? Riley Johnson is finally somewhat interesting.
I release her hair, letting the blonde strand unfold from my index finger. Riley lets go and takes a step back. “Stay away from me, Bennett.
I raise my hand, the one that’s holding my clementine in a mock cheer. “May our paths never cross again.”
Her brown eyes flicker anxiously to my face before she straightens her spine and then stalks away. Popping another piece of clementine into my mouth, I lazily chew as I watch her ass sway back and forth in her yellow dress.
Yeah.
May our paths never cross again, Nemesis.