11. Hendrix
Hendrix
C ontrary to belief, Saint’s room is nothing like the red one I imagined. There’s not a photo or magazine of naked chicks, a spare set of panties or bra hanging over the bed, not even traces of body parts from any of his victims.
In fact, besides my two small boxes and duffle still unpacked on the floor, it’s nothing short of immaculate.
Too immaculate for an eighteen year old guy if you ask me.
The gray bedspread is made up neatly and folded on a queen sized bed, posters of Giants and Yankee players spread throughout the walls. Even his hats, jerseys, and Jordans are color coordinated and lined up in succession along the inside of his closet.
A very large closet.
To complement the very large space he’s taken up shop in since he no longer has a roommate. It’s clear this room was never meant for students.
Maybe a dorm head. Or faculty members.
Shit, given it has its very own fireplace, couch, and a small kitchen, I’d say it was once meant for a headmaster.
I can’t get over the decor, though.
It’s so…typical teenage boy.
And Saint is anything but.
Rounding his bed, I find Saint’s football helmet taking the place of a lamp at the center of his nightstand. I run a finger over it, the surface so smooth I wouldn’t be surprised if it was polished by hand.
After a few more seconds of decoration examination , I plop down on the mattress, Chucks still on my feet as they swing onto the mattress. Looking around the space, I take some time to figure out where to unpack all my shit.
Two weeks is a long time to not have regular access to my things. So, as much as I hate the idea of being here, I guess it’s another room worth making somewhat my own.
Even at ten o’clock.
I’m just finishing piling the last of my clothes on a shelf when heavy knocks come from the door.
“Seriously, Hen?” Archer bursts in the second I open the door, not allowing me to greet him or Bex as they storm inside. “Have you lost your ever loving mind?”
“Obviously,” I drawl, slamming the door shut.
Bex looks around. “Holy crap, the tidiness is not at all what I was expecting.”
“Have you not seen his previous room?” Archer retorts with expert sarcasm.
“Or watched American Psycho?” I try my hand at it too.
Bex shrugs. “Obviously, but I guess Crayton’s mess outweighed Saint’s organization.”
“But not his fucking crazy,” Archer shoots back, then his furious eyes land on me. “What the hell are you thinking, Hen? Have I taught you nothing?”
“Oh, you taught me plenty.”
“Really? So when I said ‘stay the hell away from Saint as much as you can’, you interpreted it as what? Get nice and cozy in the confines of his cage?”
With a disgruntled huff I stomp over to the bed and drop onto it. “I had no other choice, Arch. It was this or go to Washington…and it’s not like you or Bex have anywhere for me to crash.”
Archer’s parents are sweet, but I doubt they’ll be willing to let me live with them for two weeks.
As for Bex, well, she’s got her own trips to focus on.
“If I wasn’t gonna be with Crayton tomorrow, you know I would.” Bex frowns, proving my point. “But you could always stay with Mom and Roman.”
“And be stuck listening to your parents having sex?”
They both wince.
I hit the side of my head with my palm. “Exactly.”
“Then you should’ve gone to Washington,” Archer bites out, a little harder than what I’m used to.
“Or they could’ve just let me stay at a damn hotel.”
His voice softens, but there’s reservation behind it. “I’m sure they had their reasons not to, Hendrix.”
“The fuck you on, Arch? Why are you siding with them?”
“I’m not,” he argues, sitting next to me. “It’s just…this is way too dangerous. Saint doesn’t let anyone in his room unless they’re friends or fucking…and even that is limited.”
“I’ll be long gone before he gets back, Arch. From wherever the hell he is.”
Bex holds up a finger. “Levi told me Cyprus.”
Archer and I pin her with a silent seriously .
“What? It’s possible. These guys have houses everywhere.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Archer stresses to Bex, then to me, “This is still a bad idea.”
Bex follows right behind. “I don’t know, babe. I think Arch is right. Even though your mom refused…maybe you should go to a hotel.”
“No…she should not .”
My brain. It hurts.
“Oh, please. June will get over it, Arch.”
Archer looks like he wants to argue, but for whatever reason, doesn’t.
“Hotel, huh?” I cross my arms. “And tell me, Rebecca Dawson, where do you suggest I hide the body of the Italian following me around?”
She grumbles a “shit” then plops down on the bed too.
“Yeah. Shit. Which is why this is the most logical solution.”
I leave out the little tidbit of it also being the most convenient.
“Do not do anything stupid, Hendrix,” Archer grits out. “Please.”
“When have I ever?”
“Uh, that’s easy, feeding Saint’s weird obsession with you, making him jealous, pissing him off, assaulting the only girl he fucks on the reg.” He pauses, holding up a finger. “Oh, yeah, and hunting him down in a dungeon with a fucking taser.”
“ Stun gun ,” I correct.
Archer’s rebuttal is cut off by Bex when she adds, “Don’t forget calling his sister a whore.”
“He called me one first!” I throw my hands up in the air. “Plus, I’m making up for that shit with Theory.”
“Oh, okay, then yeah. Saint will totally be cool with you poking through his belongings, then.”
“I am not—”
Archer curves a brow and I want to pluck every single hair off it.
“What? I’m serious! You think I want to stay here?
You think I woke up yesterday and said to myself ‘Yo, Hendrix! Here’s an idea…
let’s pray for some idiot to burn down the girls’ dorms so you can spend the rest of the summer in your new psycho stepbrother’s sex pad?
’” Before Archer can answer, I add, “Spoiler alert…I didn’t. So quit being a dick.”
“Alright, alright…” Bex’s attempt to de-escalate is cut short by my memory, and the reminder of never getting a call back or explanation from Archer.
Only from Bex an hour later, who didn’t know much more about what happened in the girls’ dorms than what the news had been saying.
Started around three in the morning.
Building mostly empty.
No sign of foul play.
Still an ongoing investigation.
Shifting to face Archer, I tell him, “Speaking of the fire…you still haven’t told me how you ended up in trouble because of it.”
Archer’s face pales, saying enough about his innocence, or lack thereof.
Damn, universe.
One existential crisis at a time.
“Well?” Bex presses.
He works his jaw. “All I know is that they suspect a student did it, okay? Nothing else.”
“Yeah…and I have rainbow unicorn hair for pubes.”
“Horn and all,” Bex jumps in.
“ Easy now… ”
She shrugs a shoulder.
“In case you dumbasses forgot, I was with you last night.”
“Exactly my point, Arch. You went home after the party. So how the fuck are you in trouble and who started the fire?”
“It hasn’t even been confirmed that anyone did.”
It takes everything in me not to karate chop his throat.
“Fine. I’ll humor you, bestie. All speculation. Now tell me why your parents are pissed.”
“For the same reason you are—they don’t believe me when I say I don’t know what fucking happened.”
Guilt may be a slow eating parasite—but mine sure is the fastest.
Bex must be feeling the same because she says, “Sorry, Arch.”
I apologize too, bringing him in for a hug, surprised when I find it harder to reach around him.
“Geez, man. You bulking up?”
“Maybe a little.” He smirks, and I release him to stand.
“Alright…I’ll let this fire shit go for now because I got bigger psychos to fry, but you better spill the tea if you find out anything else.”
Bex dances her fingers together. “Or maybe we can investigate ourselves.”
“Yeah, well, count me out.” Archer holds up his palms. “The parentals got me on a tight leash now that I’ve been pegged as the family liar.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“His is even tighter.”
Oh, please. The guy is so old he can barely hold a conversation.
It’s not time for insults, though.
“I guess that means a slumber party is out of the question?”
“Yeah, uh, sorry Hen. I’m not looking to sign a death warrant right alongside you.”