34. Juliet
34
JULIET
T he Dionysus Lounge is full today. Each massive circular booth the hosts use to chat with their ‘guests’ has at least one man. Sensual instrumental music pours out of invisible speakers. I stop by one of the tables and set down a fresh bucket of ice and a three-hundred-dollar champagne. Margo, the host, frowns my way when her client isn’t looking. She’d been outside when Gio had driven up and dropped me off. Even outside of Silverwood, I can’t escape their infamy.
Once I’m done with my task, I turn tail and head back to the bar. Mads stands there, waiting with a tray in hand as the bartender pours drinks while the ticket machine beeps and spits out another order. Mads straightens and smiles as I approach.
“Hey, how are you?” she asks, her tone hesitant as if she’s not sure of her welcome.
I sigh, turn, and prop my hip against the side of the bar. “I don’t know if I have an answer to that,” I tell her honestly.
The soft look of understanding she sends me makes me want to shove my head through a glass window. At least she means it though. One thing I’ve managed to discern from Madison Torres is that she’s every bit as kind as she acts. She’s not one to gossip or spill other people’s secrets. I’ve watched her listen to Roquel drone on and on about other people’s problems. She never says a word about any of them, never agrees, but always listens. I wonder if she’ll listen to me if I tell her about the Scorpion Kings.
Another waitress comes up and practically snatches the tray from Mads’ hands, grabbing the three drinks that the bartender plunks down and loading them up before disappearing. Mads watches her go, her hands now empty with a creased brow. When she turns back to me, the long golden blonde hair that she has pulled into a high ponytail swishes over the nape of her exposed neck.
“I assume it has to do with the Scorpion Kings?” she hedges.
“When is it ever not about them?” I groan. Now that I’m no longer in the fold of Silverwood Prep—the Scorpion Kings are all I know. I haven’t even been able to go to Cory’s gym anymore because now I know that Gio goes there too. Then again, I’m staying with Nolan. If there’s no avoiding Gio, then I guess I can start going back. I’ve missed it.
Mads is quiet for a moment more, her gaze turning down. She looks contemplative. I don’t mind the silence. My eyes move over her in her dark wash shorts and shimmery low-cut blouse. It's not real silk, though it does a great impression of it. Real silk isn't that shiny.
“Can I…” Mads stops and lifts her head, a blush stealing across her cheeks. She ducks down again. “Never mind, it’s none of my business.”
But now I’m curious. “Can you what?” I prompt her.
Her jaw firms and this time, when she raises her head, her eyes connect with mine and they don’t leave. “I want to offer you advice,” she admits. “But … I don’t normally do it unless someone has asked, and you…” She gestures to me.
“Haven’t?” I finish.
She nods.
Setting my tray on the end of the bar, I cross my arms over my chest. “Go ahead,” I tell her.
She starts talking as if she’s worried she’ll lose her nerve before the words are out. “Be careful,” she says. “With them, I mean.”
I arch a brow. “With the Scorpion Kings?”
Her chin jerks down. “I’m sure you think you know them because you’ve lived in Silverwood your whole life, but you don’t know them—the real them.”
It takes effort not to let myself go cold at her words. “And you do?” I inquire cautiously.
Madison’s lips press together for a brief moment as if she doesn’t want to answer, but then she does. “Maybe not as well as they know each other, but I’ve gone to school with them a lot longer than you, and I…” Her words drift off and the look she gives me is almost helpless. “I know I might seem out of touch with everything at school,” she continues. “People ignore me, though—they forget that I’m around and they say things they may not otherwise reveal.”
Now, she has my interest. “What do you know?” I demand, leaning closer, dropping my arms.
Her brow furrows. “It’s not what I know, it’s just that—” She closes her arms around herself, rubbing up and down as if she has a chill. “The Scorpion Kings aren’t boys. They’re dangerous, and I like you. You’re not what I expected.”
I know what that means. “I’m not a cold, stuck-up bitch?” I ask, arching a brow.
Her snort of laughter is warm and relieving. She lowers her arms back to her sides and shakes her head. “No, you are ,” she corrects and then grins, “but I think I like that about you.”
I smile back at her, surprised by how easy it is. It’s easy in a way that it isn’t with Roquel. With Roquel, there’s a score, a debt. She got me a job and I give her information—gossip. She feeds on it. I appreciate the kindness she showed me in my first introduction to Silverwood, but at the end of the day, her friendship comes with strings. It’s clear that Mads’ doesn’t. It almost makes me want to try again. Almost.
“I know what I’m getting into,” I tell her. “It doesn’t take a blind man to see that they’re using me for something.” The fact burns something foul in my gut. Anger is red hot, a seething demon prowling for release in the back of my mind.
Yeah, I definitely need to hit up Cory’s gym again soon. I’ve let the frustration build up far too much.
Mads’ next words shock me back into the conversation. “I don’t know that they’re using you,” she comments, teeth sinking into her lower lip as her face contorts in thought. She releases it with a huff and gives me a sad look. “You have to understand. All three of them have had a rough upbringing—a lot of kids in Silverwood Public have, but they’re different.”
“I know that Lex’s parents are dead,” I state, “and that Nolan’s dad took off a few years back.” Even if I'm not from their side of the tracks, everyone knows everyone’s business in Silverwood.
“Lex’s dad killed his mom and then himself. Lex was with his aunt at the time—his parents were being investigated by social services—it’s probably the only thing that saved his life,” Mads says. “And Nolan’s dad was abusive to his mom. A lot of people in town think Nolan killed him after his mom was sent to the emergency room. She was pregnant and she lost the baby due to a beating he gave her.”
A dull throb pulses behind my right eye. My chest aches and clenches. I can’t keep looking at her as she tells me this shit, so I turn and look out over the lounge, not seeing a damn thing in front of me.
A soft hand finds my arm and I know it’s Mads. “I think a lot of people were surprised that you came out of your parents’ mess as strong as you did,” she says, her voice low. “None so much as them.”
“What does me being ‘strong’ have to do with anything?” I snap, looking back at her. “Do you think they’re hanging around because I didn’t bow to their commands the second I stepped into school?” I doubt that’s it. Nothing is ever so simple.
Mads doesn’t even flinch at my tone. She keeps going as if I’d never spoken in the first place. “The Scorpion Kings are survivors and so are you. I see that. They see that. Your strength is something they crave. They’re addicted to it. Their attention—their blessing —is the same as drinking a scorpion’s venom straight. If you’re not careful, soon you’ll start to bleed just like them. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I don’t have it in me to tell her it’s too late. Dead people can’t feel pain and that’s exactly what I am. Juliet Donovan died months ago on the front lawn of her childhood home as her father was taken into police custody and her mother broke down in front of the entire town. I flatlined that night and my corpse is the one calling the shots now. No one even seems to notice.
Carefully, so as not to frighten her, I extract my arm from her hand and take a step back. The bartender slaps down several drinks on the end of the counter and I move towards it numbly. I gather the drinks and put them on the tray.
Mads’ expression is full of sorrow when I turn back to face her. “Think about what I said,” she tells me. “And know that if you ever need a friend, I’ll be here.”
I don’t respond. I have nothing to say. Her words hit far too close for comfort. They’re a warning, alright. A tale of cautionary dangers—get too close to the Scorpion Kings and they’ll kill me. They’ll drain me dry of this supposed strength of mine and when I show even the slightest bit of weakness … what then?
Hours later, when my shift ends, I’m still thinking about her words as I shrug into the clothes I’d worn to school and stuff the rest into my backpack to be taken back and washed. I head out into the parking lot, but instead of Gio’s Firebird, I spot Lex’s black SUV with the headlights turned off at the back of the lot.
Lex. Not Gio or Nolan. My heart threads an unsteady beat in my chest. I march towards the SUV, wishing I’d brought a jacket, and round it, popping the passenger side door. Lex smiles from the driver’s side. I don’t say anything as I slide into the seat and close the door behind me.
It's warm in the cab and there's a familiar emo rock song playing on the radio at a low volume that almost makes me relax. It's something I'd listen to if I were on my own—a musical taste that I used to hide from Bran and Avery because every time something like it came across one of their mainstream stations, they'd scoff and roll their eyes in annoyance before changing the channel.
Rich girls aren't supposed to like Hollywood Undead. They're not supposed to scream to Disturbed or cry with Linkin Park. Rich girls are supposed to like things that aren't as deep, easy repetitive beats with lyrics shallower than a kiddie pool. They aren't supposed to relate to the songs about betrayal and heartache and neglect. Only weirdos listen to those songs. Only the kids who hate themselves walk around dressed in black all of the time and make a hobby out of slitting their wrists. At least, that’s what society believes. Doesn’t matter that it’s bullshit. Anyone can hurt. Anyone can love good music, and now I can too.
Maybe my dad’s betrayal hadn’t fucked up my entire life. Because of him, I can do whatever the fuck I want now. So, I lean forward and turn the dial-up, letting "The Kill" by Thirty Seconds to Mars drown out all of the shit in my head if only for a few minutes.
Lex is quiet as he drives out of the parking lot. Street lights pass overhead, illuminating the inside of the vehicle briefly before disappearing us into the dark once more, until the next one arrives and does it all over again. Hanging a right, Lex drives us onto the on-ramp for the interstate. As he speeds up, the front of the SUV trembles slightly and then calms as it gets over whatever hurdle had sent the hood shaking. Signs pass us on the highway. Silverwood 32 miles. Eastpoint 190 miles. Eastpoint. I wonder if that would be a good place to rebuild my life when I graduate. Eastpoint University was my top college of choice last year. This year, I’ll have to apply for the underprivileged program if I want to make it in.
They’re survivors … Mads’ words circle in my head like a pack of starving vultures, plucking at any stray thought and reminding me of our conversation. I cast a look in Lex’s direction.
Survivors are dangerous because you never know what they did to become one.
“Juliet?” Lex’s voice penetrates my maudlin thoughts. “Are you okay?”
Silverwood 20 miles. My chest constricts. “I’m fine,” I say. Minutes pass, and Lex doesn't respond to my obvious lie. Instead, when the next off-ramp comes up, he diverges from the road. I sit up.
"Where are we going?" I demand as the SUV veers onto the exit.
The illumination of yellow gas station lights draws closer. Lex doesn't answer me as he directs the front of the car into the lot and then pulls it up to a pump. I relax back into the seat but watch him out of the corner of my eye. Lex shuts off the vehicle and gets out, keys in hand as he goes to perform the task of fueling the car.
When he gets back inside, Lex cranks the engine, but instead of pulling around to the exit, he drives forward and parks along the side of the gas station where a shitty diner faces towards the interstate. I frown at the open sign as he shuts off the vehicle once more and gets out.
He rounds the front of the SUV and stops next to my door, popping it open. I eye him. “I’m tired, Lex,” I say. “I want to go home.”
Not that Nolan’s house is my home. For that matter, neither is my currently unlivable apartment. His gaze pierces me, then he leans in close. My breath catches as the smell of him invades my personal space. Cheap soap and shampoo should not be that enticing.
I'm so focused on how close he is, how the heat and scent of him comes over me in waves even though he hasn't even touched me, that I don't notice that he's unsnapping my seatbelt until the thing loosens against my chest and slides back.
"What—" I reach for it, but he stops me with a hand and a shake of his head.
"Come on," he says quietly, nodding back to the diner. "I'm going to feed you."
"I'm not hungry." As soon as the words leave my lips, my stomach chooses that moment to announce its dedication to Team Lex in an aggressive rumble.
I close my eyes again and silently curse. Doing a quick tally of how much I have in my bag from tonight's tips, I look across the way at the shiny interior of the diner. With disgust at my easy capitulation, I get out of the vehicle. Lex shuts the door behind me and moves towards the entrance. Keeping my arms secured around myself, hands gripping my elbows as if they're a lifeline, I don't look up as I follow him into the building.
The smells hit me—burned coffee and something sweet and sugary. I lift my head and spy the small glass case by the register to the side. Various deserts from pies to cookies decorated with bright cheery colors are on display. My mouth waters. When was the last time I had something sweet?
A strong male hand reaches back and pries one of my arms out, fingers locking around first my wrist and then moving down until our palms are against one another. Lex doesn't look back at me as he pulls me along, leading me down a row of red-vinyl booths. He gets to the last one and gestures for me to sit down. I glance back at the direct line to the exit and then to the seat he wants me to take.
With my free hand, I point to the booth seat with its back against the wall. "Can I sit there?" I ask.
Ash gray eyes watch me and Lex releases my hand as if that's his answer. I hurry by him and feel my shoulders relax marginally with something solid at my back. When he takes his seat across from me, he shifts uncomfortably, and for a moment, I wonder if he has the same issues as I do. Before I can ask, though, a harried, rail-thin woman appears at the edge of the table with a notepad in hand and not one, not two, but three pens stuck through the bun at the back of her head.
"What'll it be?" she asks expectantly.
I scramble for the menus set towards the window, but before I can even lay a finger on the grease-stained plastic folders, Lex speaks up. "Two waters, two specials—one with no mayo—a coffee, and a slice of apple pie with ice cream on the side."
I gape at the man across from me, but the woman wastes no time in scribbling the order on her pad and disappearing back down the row of half-empty tables and booths.
"Did you just order for me?" I ask.
Lex meets my gaze and nods.
"Why?"
"I’ve been here before," he says. “I know what you’ll like.”
I shake my head. “What makes you so sure?”
“It's a turkey club sandwich with fries," Lex replies. "Without mayo. I know you don't like it."
"And the coffee and apple pie?" I ask. He can't know what my favorite dessert is. There's no fucking wa ? —
"Coffee is for me," he answers. "Apple pie and ice cream is for you."
Something about the way he stares at me tells me it isn't. I press my back against the worn seat and frown. A prickle of awareness stings the back of my neck and to calm my racing heart, I turn away from the man in front of me to examine the interior of the roadside restaurant. There aren't that many customers at this time of night. A plump woman with a rambunctious little boy bobbing his head and swinging his legs to some silent tune in his head as he scribbles on a piece of paper sits in a booth towards the entrance. There’s a flannel-wearing truck driver by the counter and an older couple at a lower table on the opposite side of the entire restaurant—as far from the convenience section of the gas station attached to this place as they can get—their white hair barely puffs above the chairs and booths between us.
I clench my hands into fists and then release them only to repeat the action. I don't stop until the waitress returns, two glasses of water and a small mug of coffee in tow. Setting everything down along with creamer and sugars next to the black coffee that smells more like motor oil than the real—non-instant—stuff, she heads back around the corner as a cook rings a bell in the slit of a window above the drink machines.
Needing to do something, I reach out and snatch several napkins from the black and white container pinning the menus against the window. Slowly, methodically, I pull apart the two-ply paper and then scrunch the centers. I'm aware of Lex's eyes lingering on me as I work, but it takes considerable effort to do this without ripping the cheap tissue paper and still make it turn out the way I want it to.
"Flowers?" he finally guesses as I finish the first one and set it aside to grab a few more napkins.
"Yeah," I mumble, starting the process all over again. "I was on the Student Council Committee at Silverwood Prep for Junior year. We sponsored the prom." Both Avery and Brandon had bailed on helping.
"Public has a prom too, you know," Lex mentions.
"Yeah, I'm sure it does." I snort. "I doubt I'll go."
"Even if someone were to invite you?"
I freeze at that question and the waitress appears in that moment, tray in hand. She passes both clubs onto the Formica tabletop and points out the toothpick marking which one has no mayo before ordering us to let her know when we're ready for the apple pie. Lex deftly slides the mayo-free club in my direction and I swipe the remains of the torn tissue flower to the side. My stomach grumbles again, but I'm already putting one corner of the perfectly cut club into my mouth and biting down.
Several moments of peace pass as I consume one half of the club and then the second before picking at the fries. Lex finishes his meal before me, seeming to devour the sandwich and fries in short bites.
"Well?" His prompting question has me dropping a fry to my plate smack dab in the middle of the mound of ketchup I'd squirted onto an open section.
"Well, what?" I reach for a fresh napkin, this time to wipe my mouth clean of any crumbs.
"Would you go to prom if someone asked you?"
I roll my eyes. "No one is going to ask the pariah of Silverwood to prom," I say. "So, it's a non-issue."
" I'm asking you."
The napkin falls from my hand, landing right over that fry in the ketchup mountain. I raise my head and stare at him. His hair is still wet at the ends from a recent shower, the ends curving just below his ears. His face is lean and well-defined, with high cheekbones, and a few scars here and there—no doubt from fights or football injuries—but overall, he’s handsome. Had he been born on the north side of Silverwood, the prep girls in my old life would’ve been all over him.
But he wasn’t, I remind myself. He was born on the wrong side of the tracks and he’s mastered the art of manipulation. Only I don’t know why he’d be using it against me now.
I sit back in my seat. "No."
One dark slash of a brow arches. "No?" he repeats, a questioning tone in his voice, though he doesn’t sound particularly surprised or bothered by my answer.
"No," I affirm. "I'm not playing this game with the three of you. I'm not going to be used and passed around like some prize between you, Nolan, and Gio. So, whatever bullshit you're trying to pull, you can cut it out right now. When you drop me off at Nolan’s, I'll pack my shit and go back to my place. I'm not doing this."
"The complex hasn't fixed anything yet.” Lex leans forward, placing both of his elbows on the edge of the table. He doesn’t deny my assumption of the reasoning behind his sudden offer to take me to prom. “And what exactly am I trying to pull?”
I push my plate away. "You know exactly what you’re doing."
When Lex tilts his head, it’s with an odd sort of animal grace. As if he’s as connected to his body as a hunting lion, no sign of the awkward stilted movements of a boy. He’s all man.
“Enlighten me.” His words are a challenge and I rise to the bait.
“I don’t fucking need to,” I say. “We both know what game the three of you are playing—it’s the reason Nolan’s letting everyone at school assume I’m fucking you. It’s a power play. Let me ask you something; when are the threats going to make an appearance?” A snarl builds up in my throat.
Why did I let them help me? Was it just because I was vulnerable and needed someone and they were in the right place at the right time? Then again, they hadn’t really given me much choice, but then again , I didn’t really fight all that hard, did I?
“Threats?” His question is quiet.
“Yes,” I hiss. “Threats. Suck my dick or I’ll tell everyone your secret. Spread your legs or you’ll go to prison just like your daddy. Let me and my friends treat you like our little whore or?—”
“I am not threatening you to get you into my bed.” Lex leans forward, cutting me off as his gaze darkens. His shoulders seem to swell with each breath he takes, his nostrils flaring as he glares back at me.
An image of Nolan surfaces. His big body on top of mine. His tongue in my mouth. Mine in his. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory.
Fuck this. I’m not waiting here a second longer. Standing up, I dig into my pocket and withdraw a twenty. Slapping it onto the table, I glare at him. "I'm not interested in any more lies," I tell him, "and I'm done talking about this. I called your fucking game. I’ll find my own way back to Silverwood.”
I leave the booth and stomp towards the exit and out into the parking lot. The moon hangs fat and heavy overhead. I glare up at it before taking a look around, wondering if there’s a bus stop nearby or if I’ll have to hitchhike my way back to Silverwood proper.
I don’t make it ten feet across the lot before Lex is storming out of the diner and making a beeline for me. With a growl, I hold up a hand and flip him off. “Get lost, Lex,” I call out. “I’m not dealing with?—”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow as he drives into me, grabbing my arm and swinging me around to back me into the side of his SUV. “If you think I’m going to leave you out here in the middle of bumfuck just because you’ve got an attitude, you don’t know shit.”
“An attitude?” I’ll show him a fucking attitude. Shoving him back, I slide out from beneath him and stomp over to one of the gas pumps. Right next to it, as if someone had dumped it out of the back of their truck when they pulled away, is none other than a thick red brick.
It calls to me like a beacon. Anger sits inside me and there’s no escape from it. My nightmares. My attacker. Megan. The school. The goddamn Scorpion Kings. Fucking everything is compounding and I’m out of control. I feel torn open and exposed, like my protective cover has been ripped free and everyone can see my wires. I just want them to look away. To leave me alone. To stop blaming me when I didn’t. Do. Anything. Wrong.
“Juliet.” Lex’s voice is a warning. One that I ignore as I bend over and pick it up.
My hands are immediately coated in dust and grime. The burning rage inside me makes it so that I don’t care. Rage can do a lot of things. It can numb you to pain that would otherwise be debilitating. It can make you stronger, faster, and a hell of a lot meaner.
“How’s this for fucking attitude, Lex!” I scream as I heave it up and hurl the damn thing right towards the back window of his SUV.
The second the brick leaves my hand, it’s like the whole world slows down. I watch it fly the short distance and with as much anger and force as I’d put behind it, I’m not shocked when it collides with the black glass and shatters it upon impact. Glass rains down against the pavement, pinging and skidding every which way. The cracking sound echoes around the near-empty parking lot, and for several seconds the two of us just stand there. It’s as if neither one of us can believe what just happened—what I just did. I don’t even think. I just run.
Anywhere as long as it’s away from here. Away from him.