Chapter 23 – “Born To Die” - Lana Del Rey
VICE
“BORN TO DIE” - LANA DEL REY
“Il mio angelo,” my mom exclaims before the bells on the front door to the coffee shop even stop chiming. She immediately breaks several health code violations as she walks around the counter and takes my face between her hands. “You look so much better today.”
“I’m feeling better,” I say, lips pursed between squished cheeks. “It only lasts a few days.”
“Monica, get out from back there,” my dad grumbles. “You don’t need to get Dahlia slapped with a fine.”
“Ti darò uno schiaffo,” she snaps back.
He watches her with affectionate amusement, and the glitter in my mother’s brown eyes matches it. They’ve always had the kind of playful, easy-going marriage that I hoped to find for myself. They met young and realized quickly that they’d never need anyone else again.
It was easy to get caught up in the idea of simplistic eternity when it was the primary example of love you spent your whole life witnessing.
Now, I watch them in astonishment, unable to comprehend how two people could’ve possibly gotten every decision right the first time around, or if there are darker aspects of their story they’ve kept hidden from us.
I wonder if dark people like me even deserve that kind of happiness.
I didn’t used to think like this, and that’s probably why I can’t finish a manuscript to save my fucking life.
“What’re you two doing here?” I ask, sliding to the end of the counter so the other barista, Aimee, can take over.
“Grabbing an overnight bag for Lou from Dahlia. We’re going to pick her up from school, and she’s going to sleep over at our house. Everett’s taking Dal away for the night to celebrate her birthday.”
“Fuck. It’s Dahlia’s birthday?”
I’ve been working with her for the last five hours, and nobody said a goddamn thing.
“Everett texted the family group message three times yesterday to make sure nobody forgot,” my dad chimes.
I’ve had the family group text muted for years. Dammit.
“I feel bad,” I say as my mom tosses me a serves-you-right look.
“It’s fine.” Dahlia flutters through the double doors that lead from the kitchen. “I don’t like to celebrate my birthday, anyway.” She smiles at me as she hands a backpack to my mom. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“None of that!” Mom swats at her before pulling Dahlia in for a hug. “Today is tied for my top six favorite days of the year. Don’t insult me by belittling it.”
“Top six?” I deadpan, glancing at my dad.
“She thinks the best days of the year are the ones where her kids and grandkid were born.” He smiles at her adoringly. “Notice how my birthday isn’t on that list, but it’s fine.”
Both of my brothers come through the front doors of the cafe, smiling as they greet our parents. “Thanks for watching her,” Everett says as he pulls away from my mom’s embrace.
“You can pay me back with more—”
“More grandbabies. I know. I know.” He laughs, scratching his beard. “I’m doing my best, okay?”
“All you have to do is not pull out.” I tilt my coffee mug in his direction before taking a sip.
“Yeah, dude. If you can’t perform, just say that.” Leo tosses him a shit-eating grin.
“You’re fuckin’ annoying,” Everett mutters.
“Aye, man. At least I planted my seed.”
“Don’t say you planted your seed.” My lip curls. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah.” Everett nudges Leo. “Say cream pie. It’s much classier.”
“No cream pie jokes!” our mother snipes.
“Oh, my God,” Dahlia groans, wiping a hand down her face. “I’m going to trespass you guys. You’re making the customers stare.”
I glance around; the shop has gone quiet. I also realize our dad has migrated to the back of the bakery, pretending to look at the artwork along the walls as he creates as much distance from the rest of us as possible. I don’t blame him.
“You can’t trespass me. I own this—” Leo’s stops when the bells on the front door chime again, and we all turn to find August and Darby entering together. His face brightens immediately. “My Honeysuckle. How are you feeling?”
“Like a planet.” She sighs as his arm snaps out, tugging her against his chest.
He plants his lips against the top of her head as his hand splays across her ever-growing belly. “Oh, no, baby. You’re not a planet. You’re the whole goddamn universe.”
Darby laughs as Leo spins her so that her back rests against his front, resting his chin atop her head, swaying in place. “How was your session, Auggie?”
August’s eyes meet mine, just briefly. They look clear, and he smiles softly, though I can’t quite make out the meaning behind it. “It was good.”
I force a smile back. He was persistent in his encouragement the other night for me to seek therapy, and my instinct was to shut it down. I won’t tell him—any of them—this, but his words stuck with me the last three days since I fell asleep against his chest.
I haven’t slept in his arms again, haven’t been back in his room.
I called out from work the next morning, my symptoms still pretty severe, but I didn’t allow August to take care of me like that again.
It was too vulnerable, and I needed time to process.
By yesterday morning, I was feeling myself, but we’ve been working opposite schedules, so I haven’t seen him much.
We have a lot we need to address, and both of us keep tiptoeing around it.
“Are you going home now or going back to work?” Everett asks August.
“Work,” he says. “I promised Maggie I’d finish a thigh piece of hers I’ve been working on, but we’ve been busier than expected so I haven’t had the chance, and she’s been asking for months.”
A slow ache builds in the pit of my stomach at the reminder that August spends most of his days touching other women’s bodies, but I know it’s not right of me.
That’s his work, and his art, and he’s professional.
I’m well-fucking-aware just how strict his sense of professionalism is when it comes to his business.
Plus, I don’t have a claim on him. Other than the fact that anyone out there who gets him naked is going to be subjected to seeing my name all over his thigh.
That gives me a sick sense of satisfaction.
“Oh, Maggie, huh?” Leo raises his brows. “How’s that going?”
What. The. Fuck.
August’s eyes flash to mine, assessing, before turning back to my brother. “That’s nothing.”
“Is ‘nothing’ a new code word for fucking? Because Dahlia doesn’t want us to cuss in the coffee shop?”
“I didn’t know that was a rule,” August muses, lips twitching. Like the jokes about him fucking some random girl right in front of me are funny?
I take back my former thoughts, that ache rising to the surface of my being like a molten rage.
I may not have a claim on Augustus Hayes, but I never signed up to be a fucking side piece.
I think back on every conversation we’ve had since I moved in with him, and he never mentioned seeing someone, but he didn’t mention not seeing someone either.
And if he’s tattooing her…
Fuck. Rage clogs my throat, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
I know how intimate inking someone’s skin is when you’re emotionally attached to them.
How vulnerable it is to claim someone’s body that way when it’s also a claim to their soul.
I know what it means to August to connect with a lover in that capacity and… fuck.
I feel sick.
I’ve made regrettable choices in my past where he is concerned, but I never allowed someone else to touch me with a needle.
Especially not someone I’d fucked. Because that’s all it ever was—fucking.
There was no emotion, no care, no love. I didn’t think it was possible to create art on someone’s body when you’re having sex with them without attaching all of those other things.
My family continues to hold conversation around me, and I can feel his stare burn into the side of my face, but I ignore it. Pulling off my apron, I mutter, “Well, my shift is over.”
I have half an hour left, actually, but if Dahlia notices, she doesn’t voice it.
“Do you want to stay and have lunch with us?” Darby asks innocently.
I swallow hard, forcing the emotion in my throat back down. Deep, deep down. I raise my head, faking a smile. “I actually have a date tonight that I need to go get ready for.”
“A date? Really?” That’s August’s voice, but I refuse to meet his gaze. His tone is cold and accusatory. The sound of it makes me bristle, but I hope he’s feeling even one-tenth the way I am right now, even if I’m lying through my goddamn teeth.
“I hope it’s not the filthy, derogatory orgasm guy from a few weeks ago,” Everett murmurs under his breath.
“Nope. He was a total douche, actually. Won’t ever go near that mess again.
” I finally cut my gaze to August, and he’s seething.
Nostrils flaring, there’s a simmering rage in his eyes that I’m certain matches my own.
“In fact…” I flash my teeth at him. “I’m probably going to have even filthier, more derogatory, need-to-seek-a-priest-afterward orgasms with this new guy. ”
“I am standing right here,” my mother mutters.
August looks at me with a clenched jaw and eyes blazing bright enough to set the building on fire. The rest of my family looks at me like I should be committed.
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder, in the direction of the back door. “Well, I better get going.”
“We have to go too,” Everett drawls, watching me with concern. “Everyone tell my girlfriend happy birthday.”
“Happy birthday, girlfriend,” we all mumble in alarming unison.
Leo kisses my head, and my mother hugs me before following the rest of my family out the door—Everett and Dahlia to their weekend away, my mom and Darby off to lunch, and Leo back to the surf shop.
August stays, watching me with that scorching stare. I ignore him, stalking through the doors to the back of the bakery and grabbing my purse. When I return, he’s still there, arms crossed, waiting.
I shove past him and out the front door, taking a right on the boardwalk. He follows, reaching me in a few quick steps. “The fuck was all that about?”