Chapter Four
I stumbled into bed at three-thirty in the morning, my feet on fire from standing all night in heels. I didn’t know when the high of the drugs wore off, but at some point, Nickie held my hair while I vomited in the club’s dirty toilet. She had to wash my hair in the sink where chunks of my dinner from earlier got caught when I missed the toilet the first time.
Not my finest moment.
Standing just under the threshold of my room, I tossed my heels on the carpeted floor, the warmth of the rug seeping between my sore toes. Leaning against the doorframe, I thought of Nickie, and our earlier argument faded like graffiti on the concrete in the city, washed away until something new replaced the mess.
We never resolved anything between us, we just continued to dance around our issues. A friendship that had lasted for years yet hung by the thinnest thread. If it wasn’t for Jeremy buffering most of our squabble, I didn’t know who would live to see another day.
But I continued to stay, because ten-plus years of friendship seemed harder to throw away, especially when they’d seen you at your lowest low compared to the highest high.
Pushing myself off the doorframe, I somewhat stumbled and hit my knee hard on one of my bedside tables as the sound of my insulated water bottle crashing to the floor made me jump. Cursing loudly over the pain, I tried to undress, struggling to remove articles of clothing, but I couldn’t reach the stupid, tiny zipper down my back, which irritated me more.
Eventually, I gave up and left my dress half unzipped and rolled on my bed.
Incredibly thankful for my blackout curtains, I passed out right away, only to wake an hour later to nightmares of ugly creatures lurking in the shadows in the alleyways of New York City. The clicking sound repeatedly replayed in my head as I struggled in my dream, trying to escape it from coming after me. Its long claws scraped across the brick walls as the gooey substance drifted along, creating a path where it once walked. But it always ended the same, with something or someone dressed in that red fabric destroying the gruesome thing.
Reaching for the silver flask under my pillow, I took steady sips, waiting for the waves to stop rocking the boat and fall back to sleep.
A few hours later, my mother hovered above me as if she were at a funeral service, praying over the dead.
“Ah! Can you not do that?” I said, wiping the drool from my cheek.
“I wouldn’t have to if you just came home at a reasonable time,” she said.
“You said it was okay for me to go,” I reminded her.
“Yes, I also said…” She paused, her eyes bulging from their sockets. “Remi, what happened to your arm?”
She reached for the wound, and a hiss escaped my mouth from her touch. “I tripped, that’s all.” Leaning away, I felt the sting again.
“That looks too bruised for a trip.” She tried to get another closer look, but I blocked her with a pillow.
“Linda,” said my father sternly. He leaned casually against the entrance of my bedroom, his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“Robert, have you seen her bruise? It’s huge.”
He looked at me over his reading glasses. “Jesus, Remi. What happened?”
“I told you, I tripped. It’s fine,” I huffed.
“On what? Where did you land?” Mom questioned.
“You never gave Aiden this much flack for going out.” I rubbed away the exhaustion from my eyes.
“Aiden got over it once we picked him up from the hospital after his stomach was pumped,” Dad reminded me.
“Robert,” muttered Linda.
I remembered that night all too well. I thought my brother was dead for the first twenty-four hours until my parents wheeled him out of the elevator. The bruises covering his arms and the deep gash across his left eyebrow, almost touching his eyeball, scarred me for life.
My fingers found the flask hidden underneath my pillow, guilt rising in my throat. “I’m a little bit more responsible than him.”
Dad pushed off the doorframe. “Yes, Remi, you seem to surpass the hospital visits. Now, clean yourself up and join your mother and me for breakfast.”
My parents retreated to the dining room while I was left cleaning up last night’s mess.
Finding the water bottle I knocked over just before bed with the lid still screwed on tight was a bonus. My heels were flung across the room, and I had no recollection of tossing them in that direction. Excessive makeup wipes were scattered across the little rug near my bed. Black eyeliner smudged in bold swipes and bent fake eyelashes stuck to one wipe like glue. Red lipstick was smeared down my arm; I wasn’t surprised I didn’t use the makeup wipe to get it off. My mini Gucci cross-body purse was wide open, with its contents dumped on one side of the bed. Either I searched for my stupid phone again, or I got the urge to shop online drunk and couldn’t find my platinum card. It wouldn’t be the first time I did that.
It occurred to me that my parents cared very little about the mess when visiting me. They must be in a perfect mood today. Which could only mean one thing; they scored a massive sale in their company.
Having both parents work in real estate and owning their own company meant less time seeing them at home, but it also meant double the losses if something fell through the cracks.
And I would hear their silent anger throughout the whole penthouse.
I found the strength to get my stiff body out of bed and head to the bathroom. I was pretty damn lucky to have my parents, especially for them giving me a free pass this summer to do what I wanted before the first semester of college started. You’re talking to the incoming freshman of Columbia University, class of blah blah blah; this was my Grams’ idea. Her will stated I would attend, everything paid for with her money, including room and board. Aiden received her convertible; I got a free ride to fucking college.
I won’t lie, the satisfaction of watching my mother hear the will read to her when she was banking on her daughter attending Yale or Harvard was priceless, but that didn’t ease my frustration with my deceased grams.
It explained her sudden interest in having me apply to all those colleges. I loved her, but she did me dirty.
With the last makeup wipe tossed in the wastebasket, I ditched my clothing, which required a copious amount of effort to unzip, including the black handkerchief around my arm, and took a shower, getting last night’s sweat and club smell off my body. I began to wash my hair, wincing when I lifted my arm to find the tender wound in shades of purple and red.
“Shit,” I hissed.
Trying to avoid the water hitting it, I cleaned myself, getting lost in my head again. I could enjoy college, join a club, or become part of a sorority. The possibilities were endless. But the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Because the very last thing I wanted to do was join the mundane life society had to offer.
I stepped out of the shower, dripping from head to toe, grabbed a towel, windshield wiped the mirror, and saw my reflection. My summer tan was glowing; you would never know I turned into Casper during the winter. Bloodshot eyes and a swollen bottom lip reminded me of last night’s events.
Kal. God, he was so handsome and mysterious, and who the hell was texting him, interrupting our make-out session? Regardless, his last words left me a little disappointed. I’ll see you around. Yeah, right; the chances of me seeing that pretty face again were slim to none, especially in New York City. All I had left to remind me were sore lips and faded memories.
Replacing the welcome thoughts of Kal pressed against me in the alley, horrifying images of the terrifying creature lurking in the shadows left me chilled and wondering what the flask had been spiked with. Then my dream suddenly flashed in snippets, like a broken memory, and I had to use the sink for support to get my wits about me. There was no scientific explanation, no concrete proof that what I saw last night existed. I got caught up in the high of the drugs and the feral emotions of Kal. There’s no way in hell what I saw was real.
I dashed from the bathroom, retrieved the flask from under my pillow, and took a sip. The whiskey took everything bad away, and I refused to let whatever lurked in the shadows haunt me forever. Breathing evenly through my nose, counting backward from ten, I took one more sip. Eventually, my unsettled nerves calmed, and I was able to put the flask away in exchange for a hairbrush.
I untangled the blonde mess I called hair, dried off, and put on some sweats and an old T-shirt. I went commando because I tended to forget to wash my undies and our housekeeper was on vacation for the week.
I trekked down the stairs and slid into my usual seat across from my brother, Aiden. He was on his way to the University of Maine, or as I liked to call it, Hicksville, USA. He chose a school far from my parents and society so he could be part of a pyramid scheme selling marijuana out of his dorm room.
At least he stopped drinking.
“You look rough,” he pointed out.
“It’s the glow after a hangover,” I said, grabbing a piece of toast.
“Is that what you’re telling yourself these days?” he teased.
I chucked a piece of crust at his forehead. “Shut up.”
“Guys, not at breakfast,” warned Dad over his cup of coffee.
Aiden brushed the crumbs off his shirt and gave our dog, Tito, the crust. I could hear his little Corgi mouth chomp on the burnt piece underneath the table.
My mother walked in carrying a platter of waffles and fruit. “I forgot how much I love to cook.”
“Should we fire Rose?” my dad suggested, looking over his newspaper.
She took her seat and gave him a warning look from the other end of the table. “No. Her help is much appreciated. But maybe some nights, I could let her go home early.”
He hid behind the paper again with a smirk. “Good call.”
“I wanted us to enjoy one last breakfast together before all my children went to college,” said Mom.
“You sound like we’re moving across the world.” Aiden laughed, helping himself to some waffles and fruit.
“Maine is far,” she stated.
“I wish I went far for college,” I mumbled, piling up my plate. I wished I never went at all, but if I had a choice…
Mom pursed her lips in a tight line. I could tell she was holding back her distaste for my chosen school.
Dad folded his paper and began to pile his plate with waffles. “Columbia University is a wonderful school to get into.”
“Please, Remi is literally down the street. It’s more of a vacation for her,” interrupted Aiden.
“You don’t think I can handle being on my own?” I asked. I loved being in the city, but college… not so much.
“Nope. Not a chance,” admitted Aiden.
“You’re an asshole—”
“Robert!” my mom called.
Dad sighed deeply into his hands. “Can we please just have a nice time together? Just once?”
I looked down at my food, trying to keep my cool.
It was no surprise to my family that New York would be my home until the day I died, another reason why Grams’ will almost made my mom break her favorite coffee table.
“Besides,” Aiden said in between bites of waffles, “Remi couldn’t go two seconds without her posse.”
That sent me over the edge. “You couldn’t go two seconds without getting arrested, but here we are.”
My mother had, at this point, walked away from the table, and my father was inhaling his food, ignoring our childish banter.
I got up, which left Aiden hanging on his rebuttal, but I wasn’t going to give him a chance and headed to the kitchen, where my mother sat on the stool at the island, looking over the mail. She looked so small on the chair, her blonde, curly hair tied back in a ponytail. There was a time in her life when she was young and wild and had done some of the same reckless things her children had, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she fought with her siblings as well. Sometimes she forgot the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, watching her shoulders slump with a deep sigh. Even though saying sorry was at the bottom of my list of favorite words, she was still my mother, and at times I took things a little too far.
“Would it kill you two to just be nice to each other?” asked Mom, the hurt in her voice clear as the morning sky.
Was she right? Of course. Would I admit it? No. My silence was an obvious sign of my stubbornness, which led her to toss a pile of mail aside. “Columbia sent you more mail.”
I stared at the pile. “Thanks.”
“Aiden leaves tomorrow morning. We have dinner reservations tonight. Please behave.” Without another word, she left the room, the mail scattered all over the counter.
Not hungry anymore, I picked up what was mine and went upstairs.
Taking the carpeted staircase two at a time, I retreated safely inside my room, crawling back into bed. Family gatherings were overwhelming; I was part of the problem, but so was Aiden.
Dropping the mail on my bed, I looked over to the picture frame of Grams and clutched it in my hands, admiring one of the most influential people in my world. Features that any model would kill for, her smile was wide with freedom, her light hair blowing in the breeze on a field in northern Vermont. Her death took a toll on me; I stayed underwater in despair for a while, afraid to resurface to let the pain in again. It was sudden and left me hollow until recently. Until a small silver flask became my companion.
It’ll be a year this December, and I never got to say my final goodbye.
If she were here, I knew things would be different.
I kissed the picture and put it back, letting the emotions in for a moment before shoving them back down.
I sifted through the mail, consisting of pre-qualified credit card crap, a copayment bill for a hospital visit when I sliced my hand open on a can lid two weeks back, and then a thick white envelope from Columbia. Tossing the junk aside, I tore open the welcome package, another painful reminder of my future. It amounted to a multitude of pamphlets offering all types of services, info on tutors, library access, and lists of sports I could join. A pile of junk I would be sure to set on fire at Peter’s place later tonight.
I reached inside to see if anything was left, discovering an average-sized envelope at the bottom. Strangely, it seemed heavier than the welcome package. With nothing written on the front, I proceeded to open it, finding a scarlet card with a large letter S on the front. The card was thick and had vines of an engraved rose intertwining with the S.
“What the hell is this?” Flipping it over, the back showed words written in an elegant scribble addressed to me.
To Miss Remi Marie Watson,
We are pleased to have chosen you to be inducted into the Order of the Scarlet Quill. It is the highest honor to be selected, and you are the perfect fit to complete our last spot in this exclusive society.
Below is the date, time, and location for your induction. We hope you can come and accept our invitation.
Date & Time: September 23rd at 7 pm.
Location: Cathedral of St. John the Divine.
Attire: All black.
I sat back against my bulk of pillows and gawked at the card, distinctly remembering I’d ripped, burned, and flushed anything regarding clubs or sororities down the fucking toilet, and they still sent me this shit. I chucked the fancy piece of rubbish at my trash bin, hitting the rim, and it landed underneath my desk. Rose would dispose of it later.
“No, thank you,” I muttered.
No, thank you, indeed.