Chapter 2
Tommy
I’ve never been on a private jet before. Hell, I’ve never even been on a regular plane before. I know what planes are and how they work, but I’d never considered buying a ticket anywhere.
Not only for the practical, logical reasons, like I have no ID and no money.
But also for wispier, less concrete reasons like…
I have nowhere to go, and nowhere I want to go.
I barely want to be here. I don’t have enough positivity to try and work up the motivation to want to be somewhere else.
So the whole world outside my city is just a big blank space of stuff I’ll never see. Why bother thinking about it at all?
Except today, I will see a little more of the world. I’m on a motherfucking plane, baby.
Take-off is thrilling: the speed, the jump into the air, the tilt upwards and the knowledge that I am higher than humans probably should be.
It’s great. We could plummet to our deaths at any time.
Engines are notoriously fickle things, you know?
I vibrate in my seat with adrenaline, and it feels kinda good.
Now, I’m poking around the jet, looking at everything.
My new clothes are soooo fucking soft, and smell so good.
I’ve never had such soft, sweet-smelling clothes on my skin, ever.
And I look nice, I can admit that. Looking in the mirror after the tailor delivered the wardrobe was like seeing a new person.
I have slim-fitting designer shirts, all soft and fashionable and dyed weird colors.
Not like ugly colors, just… Somehow, I can tell just by looking at them that they’re rich person colors.
I’m also wearing “casual” jeans that I’m honestly worried about getting dirt on, and that kind of stress is new to me and very unwelcome.
Add in the haircut Lexie insisted I have–I’m now rocking a fresh new fade, which does actually look fantastic–and I look like a million bucks.
Even the underwear is new, all bright white straight from the package, stark against my dark skin.
And the socks are thick and there aren’t any holes or threadbare patches on any of it.
It feels weird having socks and briefs that actually hold onto me and cup me where they’re supposed to.
I’m going to hoard fucking all of it. It’s all mine now, bitches. You’ll pry it from my cold, dead hands.
I’m surprised the girls are allowing me to keep wearing my double-ear piercings and my nose stud (albeit with shiny new gold pieces; you bet your ass I’m keeping those, too), but they both insist that it adds to my ‘hot-guy allure’.
I’m happy, really, because at least I still feel like myself in some small way.
But for the most part, it’s like being someone totally different, someone I don’t know.
I have new clothes, new hair, and a new identity.
The girls gave me a fake last name before I even had the chance to tell them I didn’t have one of my own.
Or if I ever did, I don’t know it. I think they gave me the last name as a cover story, not because they somehow knew I was undocumented and alone. Still, it feels weird. I feel weird.
Tommy Claremont. That’s me now. Pretentious ass name, in my opinion, but I guess that’s the point. Tommy Claremont is an interesting guy, with tons of money and class and a family that loves him probably. And he wears fancy watches.
“Tommy Claremont” might need to come stay with me for a while after all this and live with me at my house, slide into my skin and wear me like a new coat. Maybe I’ll enjoy being Tommy Claremont. I bet Tommy Claremont never killed a man. I bet he never had to.
I’ve killed three.
Not that I’m counting or anything.
“Tommy,” Lexie calls me over to the cushy seats she and Kira are reclining on. “They’re bringing drinks over.”
On cue, a server brings out a bottle of champagne that glitters like it’s made of diamonds. I ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at it as I hurry over and fall into the plush bench-chair with Kira, smooshing her a little.
She laughs, then shyly, hesitantly, puts her hand on my thigh while I wrap one arm around her shoulders and pull her close.
She lets me position her so she leans against my side, her head tucked on my shoulder.
She fits really well, and I can guess by the sparkle in Lexie’s eyes that we look good together.
We’ve been practicing boyfriend-girlfriend behavior all day, at Lexie’s adamant direction, and I’ve slipped into the role of affectionate, doting boyfriend almost too easily.
It pleases something in me to act the part, even if I don’t actually like Kira that way.
It makes me a bit wistful. I wish I wasn’t so devastatingly single.
I hold in a sigh. As talented as I am at stealing, I can’t steal a whole person, so getting a boyfriend seems hard.
Like, who would want to stay with me, anyway?
I’m a fucking mess. And my last fling made it clear that I could bend over all I want, get on my knees whenever he asked, but since I could never cum, I might as well not even bother trying.
He said I was broken, and it made him feel like shit to use me if I didn’t even “like it.”
But I did like it, sort of. I don’t hate having sex with someone if I’m into them, it feels nice to let them feel good. I just…I can’t…finish. I try, but–
Shut up, stupid brain!
“A toast!” Lexie declares happily, raising a delicate flute of bubbling alcohol. I hand Kira her glass before taking my own. It was second nature to me, but Lexie nods approvingly. “You’re fantastic at this boyfriend gig.”
We clink glasses, and Kira is blushing bright red. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Too late to back out, now,” Lexie says quickly. “We’re all in this together, to the end.”
That’s not ominous at all. I take a sip to hide my smile, then make a face.
It’s a little too sweet for me, but I bet the price tag is insane and rich people probably like it, so I pretend to enjoy it while sipping some more.
It’s weird to have so much money on my tongue.
I hate to say it, but expensive doesn’t taste as good as I thought it would.
Lexie’s phone chirps and she pulls it out.
It reminds me of the fact that they casually gifted me the newest model of iPhone, which sits in my (also new) luggage set, still in the box.
I assume it’s just for the week, but something tells me the girls wouldn’t notice if I never returned it.
They apparently have an endless supply of cash.
I’m definitely not gonna return it, so I’ll probably sell it or something.
I should sell it, and all the luggage. It’s useless to me, anyway.
I don’t have anyone to call on a phone, and I’ve never had enough of anything to need more than a garbage bag to pack my shit in.
No one would miss me if I disappeared tomorrow, and I’d leave nothing behind.
I have no one to call if I ever need help. I’m alone.
Well, I guess one of my roommates, Joshy, might kind of give a shit, so that’s one person. Not enough to justify keeping things like that.
But…maybe I’ll keep it all anyway, just to have. Just to own. I’ve never owned something so fancy before. The luggage even smells new, like plastic or whatever. And it’s packed with all of Tommy Claremont’s things, and if he’s coming home with me, I’ve gotta bring his stuff. Right? Right.
Lexie scowls at her phone. “Janessa just posted from her yacht.”
She turns the screen around and pushes it into our faces.
Kira leans in with interest. I don’t know who they’re talking about and don’t really care, but Lexie makes sure it’s right in front of my nose, so I look; it’s a short-form video showing a group of young socialites living it up on an insanely luxurious yacht on the open ocean, surrounded by the endless blue.
It’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen the ocean in person. It sparkles and I wonder if it sounds like it does in the movies, all crash-y and whoosh-y. I haven’t seen a lot of movies lately, but I used to watch them all the time back when I lived with–
Stop it! Shut up! I shove those memories into the back of my head and refocus on the ocean.
My eyes are so distracted by the scenery that I miss most of the faces and people in the video.
“They’re off the coast, near the estate,” Lexie says with a scowl, pulling her phone back. “They’ll probably beat us there.”
Our flight from New York to California will take several hours, so if the rest of the group is already on that side of the country, Lexie’s right.
“Is that a problem?” I ask, looking down at my fake girlfriend to see her biting her lip nervously.
“No,” she admits softly. “I just wanted a little time to get… I don’t know. Ready? They’ll jump on me as soon as we get there.”
“We won’t let them bully you,” Lexie swears. “Right, Tommy?”
“Yeah,” I promise. “Who’s Janessa?”
“Janessa is the other woman,” Lexie says dramatically, a hiss of hatred in her voice. “Brian was the fugly blonde kissing her in the video.”
I didn’t notice that part, too distracted by the water in the background, and suppressing memories of dead people. “Got it. We hate them.”
“Exactly,” Lexie nods adamantly. “You’re so good at this.”
My head spins a bit from all the compliments Lexie keeps giving me.
I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic for praising me over such random bullshit or if she seriously thinks I’m such an idiot that following along with the plan is a feat worthy of some admiration.
Should I be offended? Or, like, happy…? I don’t hate compliments, I guess.
So I’ll let it slide. I’m not used to them, but… maybe I feel a little fuzzy about it.
“Let’s go over the backstory one more time,” Lexie says before I can get bored and restlessly go look around some more.
“Again?” I ask.