Elle
“Egg whites, lemon juice, sugar, whiskey, and an orange rind for aesthetics,” I say zooming in on the whiskey sour recipe on Aria’s laptop and jotting it down on a cheat sheet on my phone. “We’ll have to skip the egg whites and the peel though.”
“My dad just drinks it straight,” Stassi says. sliding into the chair across from me and beside Aria. “What sort of man do you suppose orders a whiskey sour?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. An old one? Why?”
“Because I’m the customer. I have to get in character.” She rubs her chin in thought as I arrange what ingredients we do have.
“Okay.” Stassi claps her hands together. “I think I’ve got just the character that will order a whiskey sour.”
“Okay.” I nod, looking at the recipe once more before clearing my throat. “What can I get you?”
Stassi sighs as if she’s had a long day. “Whiskey. Sour. Don’t suppose you have any egg whites?”
I give her a look. “No, sir, we don’t.”
“Well, what kind of establishment is this, darling?” Stassi asks incredulously, like an old southern man as she scopes out the imaginary bar. “May as well not call it a bar at all. I remember when you could order the classics with no modifications. Everyone knew how to make it just right. Then again, we didn’t have little ladies as the barkeep.”
“Barkeep? What are you, one hundred?” Aria asks.
“Well, she’s going to have hard-to-please customers. I’m just trying to give her some variety,” Stassi says, returning to her original voice. “You can be another bargoer. Like the lech.”
Aria thinks for a moment before leaning against the table, licking her lips and looking up at me beneath her eyelashes. “So, just how stiff can you make ‘um?”
By the time I’ve made a Mint Julep, a Bellini, and a Sangria (the perfect stage name for me given my red hair, according to Aria. This was after we rejected Stassi’s skin colour choices of Cream and Tortilla), a Screwdriver, and classic daiquiris, we’re all giggling and borderline drunk. I’d had the good sense to make the drinks no more than shot glass sized, but still. It took Stassi a good five minutes to stop hiccuping at some lame joke I’d told and couldn’t even remember now.
“I don’t think we should’ve mixed so many drinks,” Stassi says, holding her stomach as she slides down the wall. We’d long since abandoned the makeshift bar, unable to stand or sit anymore.
“Turn on your side,” Aria says, nudging Stassi to roll over with her foot. “In case you aspirate.”
“You always know every fucking thing,” Stassi says, grabbing Aria’s ankle and using it to roll onto her side. “Sixth Street. Gant. I’m surprised you haven’t figured me out yet.”
“Figured what out?”
“My secret,” Stassi giggles, then hiccups.
Aria’s eyes narrow. “Truth or dare?”
“What are we, nine” Stassi asks before belching.
“Truth or dare?” Aria insists.
“Uh! Fine, truth.”
“Where were you over the summer?”
The seconds tick by, but Stassi doesn’t answer.
When I finally lean over to check her face, her eyes are closed.
“She’s out cold.”
“Faker!” Aria nudges her hard with her foot but Stassi doesn’t wake up, instead a light snoring fills the room.
“She’s only had four shot glasses worth,” Aria says, shaking her head. “How the hell is she knock-out drunk already?”
Probably because her stomach’s now the size of a banana. “Lightweight,” I say, wanting to change the subject. “Truth or Dare?”
“I’m asking first.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “Truth.”
“Does it bother you that Jarett got away?”
That throws me. Why’s she asking about my father, of all people? And at a time like this?
“The way you used to cry and plead in your sleep…it’s obvious he was abhorrent to you.”
I deflate a fraction. I’d tortured us all in this room with my nightmares. I guess it’s only fair that she asks about them.
I nod slowly before taking another swig. “Sometimes, when I think about what he may be up to, I don’t give a singular fuck because he’s not here. Not in my and my mum’s life. But sometimes…sometimes I envision him at rock bottom. I pretend he finally knows what it feels like to be treated as subhuman. Sometimes I wish...”
Aria doesn’t look appalled or surprised. In fact, she looks understanding. “Sometimes you wish Bart Auclair had gotten a hold of him?”I nod, feeling despicable as I hiccup.
“I wouldn’t say it’s too late.”
Suddenly, my shoulders stiffen again. Aria’s Gant’s friend. But does that make her words any less true? I’d been thinking about what sort of things Bart Auclair could do to Jarett ever since Gant and I’s conversation in the studio. Unimaginable things, Gant had said and I can’t help but think that Jarett would deserve all of them.
“One problem. I don’t know where Jarett is.”“If you did, would you tell Gant?”
There’s a long pause. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I’ll tell you, just like I told Gant, I have no idea where he could be. Not a singular clue.”
“Hmm,” Aria mutters and it gives me déja vu as I remember her other ‘hmm’ when she asked me what Rin wanted.
I look away from the intensity of her blue-green eyes and stare down at Stassi”s slumbering form instead.
“You don’t want to be despicable like Gant, but you admire his work, nevertheless.”
I think back to Rin and the video. To the senior girls who wasted all that good food.
“Maybe. But it’s not me. I don’t want to be like that.”
But how long will that feeling of wanting to remain human last when you’re constantly surrounded by beasts who push you to the edge? I don’t want to be a beast, but sometimes I can’t help but think that being a beast is better than being the prey. And yet, Gant’s breakdown has shown me that being a beast doesn’t erase your problems, either. You can be miserable as either or. I know, because I’m a miserable prey trying to find neutral ground as a hybrid.
“My turn,” I say, gesturing the bottle towards myself.“Truth.”
“Since we’re talking about revenge, who do you want to get revenge on more? étienne or Rin?”
She glances down into the opened vodka bottle she’s still gripping onto. “étienne. I told you Rin’s painfully boring. She does what bitches do, so who’s surprised?”
“But you’re surprised by étienne?”
“More than surprised, and that’s two questions.”
“Fine. Your turn.”
“Truth.”
“In the forest, you said Gant could never love you. But could you ever love Gant?”
More Gant-related questions? Then again, I was desperate to know more about her dynamic with étienne.
“I…” Say no. But I can’t. “I don’t know.”
Aria tsks. “We’re playing ‘Truth’. Not the ‘middle road’. I let it slide the first time, so yes or no?”
I take a deep breath and smell the alcohol expelling from my lungs as I exhale. “Yes. Stupidly, yes. Because lately, I’m starting to understand his insane logic. Even if I can’t agree with all his bullshit.”
Aria nods. “That’s respectable. Some things don’t need to make sense to understand.”
“Truth or Dare?”
“Let’s cut the shit. No one’s doing a dare. We can’t even stand up.”
“Truth then. You and étienne don’t make sense because of your parents’ relationship. But that doesn’t stop you from loving him in a way you shouldn’t, doesn’t it?”
Aria tenses but then relaxes, slumping down the wall as she swallows another mouthful of vodka. “You know what used to drive me the craziest about our so-called tabooness?”
“That you aren’t blood-related?”
She shakes her head. “There are a lot of adopted and step-siblings who feel a genuine familial connection regardless of blood. But I don’t feel that for étienne. I never have and I never will. No, what used to bother me the most is that our parents aren’t even married. Yet.”
“So you’re not even step-siblings?”
“Yet.”
“You said used to. So what drives you the craziest now?”
“That I saw éti first.”
That’s deep.
Or maybe it’s just the drink.
I watch as she drags herself across the floor to the desk chairs and grabs the wigs we bought earlier before pushing herself up against the wall. With one hand, she fixes the blonde wig on her head carefully before gazing at herself in Stassi’s floor-length mirror. It’s as if she’s making sure her disguise is convincing enough to trick both of us about her identity. I don’t think she wants to talk about étienne if she’s still Aria.
Next, she throws the curly wig at me and motions with the vodka bottle that she wants me to put it on. As silly as it sounds, I feel better once I do. We aren’t Aria and Elle anymore, but Caramel and Sangria.
I wait patiently as she slips on her hooker heels without buckling the ankle straps and knocks them together for good measure, the plastic goldfish bobbing in the clear encasement.
“I’ve always loved étienne. From the moment we became skating partners at age nine. That’s how our parents met each other. The coach had paired us up, and we began winning smaller competitions. We became a golden duo, and we became inseparable on and off the ice.” She pauses, swirling the clear contents of the bottle over and over again and watching it form a little whirlpool. When she finally gets sick of doing so, her teary eyes fly to mine. “It’s not fair. I saw him first. But that’s not valid because we were children. It’s just puppy love. We’ll outgrow it. Just innocent little crushes to sweep under the rug in favour of our parents’ love. But we’re eighteen now and the only thing that’s changed is that I love him even more.”
I don’t know if it’s the liquor, but suddenly my heart cracks with her voice, and my eyes burn too.
“And I can’t be with him because their being together took him away from me.”
Damn.
“At first, I thought it was fantastic. We got to see each other outside of school and the rink. We got to go on vacations together, spend holidays together, and sleep at each other’s houses. When our parents bought the penthouse and we all moved in together when I was twelve, I thought it was a dream come true… but it’s a fucking nightmare.”
I can guess why, but I keep quiet, letting her vent and take her time.
“Do you know how hard it is to pretend to be someone’s sister? How confusing is it to view their father as your own, yet you view them separately?”
Of course, I didn’t. I didn’t have a sexy stepbrother I wanted to fuck.
“Does étienne know this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Now look who’s playing middle road.”
“étienne and I’s relationship is abnormal. I can’t explain it. We say a lot, but nothing at all. We do a lot, but nothing at all. I can’t tell you what is from what isn’t because I think I know and then again I don’t, actually.”
“That is profound…” I slur before raising my cup. “Or it could just be the drink.”
“What does it matter now?” Her laugh is cold and bitter. “Maybe our parents’ dismissal was right that we just needed space and new experiences and new people. He’s obviously growing close to Rin. Maybe it’s for the best. What kind of weirdo is in love with their soon-to-be stepbrother?”
“I don’t think it’s weird,” I say softly, well now that I’ve gotten more of the backstory. “Just look at me. I’m falling into like with my bully. It’s not only weird. It’s pathetic, and it’s sad as fuck.”
I scratch my scratchy wig and straighten it like a crown. Maybe Rin is right about me. Miss Dumb Bitch Universe.
“But you know what’s crazier?” I ask.
“What?”
“The more I like him, the more scared I am to fuck him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s winning. He’s getting exactly what he wants by becoming someone to me. And if he becomes someone to me, I’ll care about the aftermath.”
“And you’re scared about caring about the aftermath,” Aria slurs.
I nod. “Because then that means it isn’t just a game anymore. Not for me, anyway.”
Aria shakes her head sadly. “I’m so jealous of you. You’re lucky.”
I snort right as I swallow another mouthful of my drink and end up shooting snotty alcohol from my nose. I wipe it on my shirt. “There isn’t a lucky bone in my body.”
“You can be with Gant.”
“And win the Dumb Bitch of the Year award? Everyone will laugh at me.”
“They already laugh at you.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I deadpan.
“I’d do anything to be with étienne. Even if it meant having everyone laugh at me.”
“Yeah, that’s probably because étienne is actually worth it.”
Aria doesn’t respond because when I look over at her, she’s out cold, just like Stassi, her head resting on her outstretched hand that’s still clinging to the bottle, her blonde wig askew.
“Gant can’t be worth it.” I continue to myself. “Because then I’ll lose. And it’s all just a game. None of it is real.”
My phone lights up.
It’s a notification from Mum’s new IG account. She’s just posted a new photo. For a second, I think it’s a throwback pic. One from her teen years when she smothered her green eyes in heavy black eyeliner and her lips and nails in red. She’d fondly called it ‘whore red’, saying that’s what every person over forty called it back then. But she’d loved it. And she’d loved her fishnets, short shorts and oversized band tees. I squint at the familiarity of the logo on the front. It’s the same band from the old photo. The one in the picture of her with Jarett.
But even though the tee’s the same, the Jaime in this photo isn’t as petite. Her heavy eyeliner can’t hide her deep crow’s feet, and her hair just isn’t as teased, or as flaming red as it used to be. No, the picture’s new and for one second I begin to smile, happy that the old Jaime wasn’t lost after all, just hiding. But then I recognize the background. The bar. The same bar I’d just visited last weekend with Aria.
Jarett’s favourite bar.
The Watering Hole.
She’d been back in town. This time I was sure of it and she hadn’t come on a weekend to see me. She’d driven three hours. Twenty minutes away from Beaulieu and she hadn’t come to see me.
She’d gone to reminisce about Jarett.