Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Britton
I’ve been in one place too long and I’m getting itchy. My skin feels like it’s squeezing my skeleton and I know that I’m about to do something stupid to nullify that prickling, tingling sensation. Out of my peripheral, I watch LoneStar as he stands up and heads into the clubhouse.
Why does my body yearn for a man who clearly wants nothing to do with me? He’ll sit with me for a few minutes, talk shit and share barbs with me, then he heads off as fast as his feet can carry him in the opposite direction of where I am.
I’m goddamn pathetic.
My dad claims I was born in the wrong generation, says I’m a hippie at heart, and I can’t debate that with him or tell him otherwise, because it’s the truth. I’m a roamer, always looking for the limelight, wanting it to shine down on me.
There’s so much to do and see in the world and I want to see and experience it all. It’s become a passion, and obsession. Therapists would have a field day with me, trying to figure out why nothing has me wanting to stay in one place.
I don’t need counseling, I know why that is.
It all boils down to my mother, a woman so selfish that she made sure to shove it in my face that I ruined her.
The bitch, the female who birthed me, dreamed of being a Hollywood Scarlet.
She fell in love with movies when she watched Gone With The Wind when she was a child, and wanted to be adopted into the O’Hara family, which is why I call it a Hollywood Scarlet instead of a starlet.
I’ve always enjoyed wordplays on things, and she was the first one to receive one of my puns.
Honestly, she wasn’t as amused by it as I was.
The woman has no sense of humor.
She had hopes and dreams, then she found out about me.
I wasn’t a gem in her womb, I was the ‘fetus’ who destroyed her goals and ambitions.
A virus that her body never rid itself of.
She never physically assaulted me, my dad would’ve hired a hitman if she had, instead, she emotionally and verbally attacked me.
She beat me down to the point that I don’t want to give anyone a chance to seep their way into my heart.
I can’t let myself care about anyone because if the one person who should be predisposed to loving you can’t, how can somebody else? So I put up barriers that I reinforce on a daily basis.
The only person I’ve let get past my defenses is Jersey. And that only happened because she was persistent and never took the word no for an answer. A lot of that is due to her own childhood traumas—she finds someone who makes her feel safe and she latches on to that person like a leech.
I’ve come to enjoy her company.
She’s quiet, observant. She can be clingy, but not overly so.
What she is, is misunderstood. If someone was to take the time and look beyond the mask she wears, they’d see a beautiful human being who only wants to feel protected.
I’ve become her shield, which is why I’m here with her long enough to help her get settled in.
Once everyone accepts her and sees the real her, I’ll bounce.
I didn’t lie to her about that when she asked me to tag along.
The longest I ever stayed put was in college, where the two of us bonded over late night snacks, the mean girls club, and the jocks who all thought they were the Kens and Barbies of the campus.
All plastic dildos and tits—at least that’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it.
“What do you think?” Jersey asks, breaking through my musings.
“About what?” I ask, tuning back into the conversation.
“Britton,” she whines, giving me her doe eyes.
“Jersey,” I whine back, impishly pouting. “You know I’m spacey, girl, so don’t go whimpering at me when my thoughts take over and go sideways. I can’t help it that my mind is full of curves and doesn’t stay on the straight and narrow path.”
“What’s going on with you, anyway? You’re more antsy than usual,” she claims, staring at me as if I’m a bug under her microscope.
“Don’t try to examine or analyze me, Jersey. You’ll give yourself a migraine,” I tease.
“You’re going to leave soon, aren’t you?” she asks, her question coming out as a whisper.
“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know,” I say, groaning. “You know I’m a free spirit.”
“Yeah. I was just hoping you’d be happy here,” she states, looking depressed which has my hackles rising.
“Jersey,” I hiss, giving her a scolding look. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to gaslight me and make me feel guilty. I told you I’d stick around for as long as I could, and I will. I get that you’re not ready, so I’m staying… for now.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, the tear leaking down her cheek giving me the shivers.
I do not do tears. Of any variety. I come across as cold, frigidly so, but I can’t help that, I’m a product of my making.
Another thing I can thank my incubator for.
The bitch. Emotions of any kind were not tolerated or allowed, and if I showed any, the punishments were swift and inventive.
My scars run deep, you may not be able to see them from the outside, but they’re there. Loud and motherfucking proud.
“Don’t do that, Jersey. Don’t thank me for being a friend,” I chide. “I’m not sure which one of us is more screwed up.”
She snickers before saying, “I think it’s a toss up.”
“No truer words have ever been spoken,” I acknowledge, causing her to shoulder bump me. “Our folks are assholes.”
She looks off into space before averting her attention back onto me.
“Yes, they are. I still can’t understand why a mother would birth children that she doesn’t want.
Adoption would’ve been kinder. At least that would’ve given us a fighting chance of having parents who cared.
” Her story is just as heartbreaking as mine, if not more.
At least I had a father who was present, hers was not.
If I was an assassin, they’d be my first solo kill.
Their abuse of her ran far deeper than mine did.
“Our mothers should’ve been spayed,” I murmur, stating a fact. “Both of ours suffer from psychopathy.”
“That’s a damn good diagnosis,” she blathers. “And what’s your take on my father, Dr. Britton?”
“That he sucks and should have his balls chopped off,” I honestly answer.
Her father wasn’t an abuser, but he was dismissive, turning a blind eye to her mother’s malfeasant deeds.
Keep the Dalmatians away from Jersey’s mom, she’s Cruella DeVille in the flesh.
Too bad she’s not animated so I can shut her off.
The woman showed up on campus several times.
Every damn one of them she showed her ass and made Jersey’s bullying triple in degree.
No lie, the woman walked behind Jersey with a ruler.
Every time my friend slouched, she’d tap that damn wooden rod on Jersey’s shoulder and tell her every shortcoming she had.
It wasn’t only demeaning, it was synonymous with every villain you ever read or watched on television.
The rumor mill got a kick out of it and it circulated through the grapevine like wildfire.
Not only was she a nerd, shy, and wore out of date clothes, but not even her mother liked her.
“Wish someone would’ve thought of that before he hooked up with my mother,” Jersey grouches.
“But then you wouldn’t be here, and where would that leave me?” I point out.
If anyone were to hear my argument, they’d think I was deplorable and only friends with her for my benefit, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
But with my girl, if you make it about her or say anything in a positive light, she retreats, thinking she’s unworthy.
Which she’s not, but there’s no convincing her of that.
Maybe one day, someone better with words will come along and make her see that she is worth more than she believes she is.
“Not having to be somebody’s shield when it comes to life,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.
“Hey,” I say, frolicsomely bumping her shoulder with mine. “You’ve gotten better, Jersey. Stop being so hard on yourself. The world is your oyster, we just have to break open that shell you’ve placed around yourself so everybody else can see the pearl that you are.”
“You have an obsession with jewels, Britton,” she retorts, a smile breaking out across her face. Finally! I hate that she’s always down in the dumps, waiting for someone to give her a thumbs up. It’s something we’re working on.
“Can’t deny that, they’re shiny. I like things that have a little bling to them,” I muse.
“I’m gonna miss you when you leave,” she murmurs.
“I’ll only be a phone call away, Jersey. We’ll talk every day,” I vow, swearing that she won’t ever feel alone as long as I’m alive. Taunting her, I say, “And there’s always FaceTime if you’re missing my face.”
“And airplanes for the holidays,” she adds.
“Which we’ll spend together. We’re family,” I remind her.
We made a blood pact that neither of us will wallow during the holidays, drowning ourselves in self-pity and loathing, we’ll spend them together. After all, not all families have blood ties, sometimes those you choose are better than those you didn’t.
“Family,” she whispers, scanning the field and watching the men and women interact.
My point has been proven with them. They chose each other, they weren’t forced on each other, and it’s something both of us long for, but neither one of us will try and melt into.
Rejection isn’t something either one of us are good with.
We take that shit personally. I don’t like being slighted.
I have a tendency to lash out when that happens, and it’s not pretty when I do.
So for our sake, and the safety of others, we’ll stay in our glittery bubble, counting on ourselves and each other to fill the void left by our parents and peers.
Fuck ‘em, they don’t know what they’re missing because Jersey and I, we are awesome.