Chapter two
Josephine, Four years later
The lights are off when I get home, but I still see that same stupid thrift store curtain in the window. We argued over it so much that I know my sister left it to aggravate me. Ascending the steps, I run my hand along the wall feeling for the loose brick. It wiggles, crumbling under my grip. Once it’s free, I reach in, my fingers dusting the cobwebs that encapsulate the spare key.
Boxes are piled high across the apartment, filling the place with the smell of bland cardboard. It’s a scent I didn’t know I hated until now. The place used to be bright and beautiful, full of life and passion with Vivian’s presence. Now the paint peels away from the walls in protest. The linen curtains still hang there, faded and frayed. Particles of dust float lazily through the air, finding places to rest in the labyrinth of her possessions.
The place is a tomb. My sister’s life is in these boxes, and I didn’t even help pack them out of quiet protest. I pull out a cigarette and light it, inhaling the toxic smoke and blowing it back out into the empty space.
Being here feels like a mistake. I should have found somewhere else to go. I’m a stranger in my own home. I’m not sure what I expected. To feel relieved, I guess. With the window cracked, I look out into the night. Hades’ dazzling gold laced palace reflects the light from the streets of Asphodel, the capital of the Underworld. The buildings have doubled since we moved here, and they’re taller. I’ve been so absorbed in my own self-hatred I feel like I’ve missed it all, and it’s a soul crushing admission.
This is why I couldn’t be here while she packed. I’m overwhelmed by nostalgia, and I don’t want to cry. Outside I can hear the people of our community celebrating, something they find time to do every chance they get.
I spy my tattered chair with boxes piled on the threadbare seat cushion. I move them over and drag it to the window, collapsing into it. Exhaustion is suffocating me. The trip I just returned from was brutal and harsh. I’m not sure how many days have passed since I last slept, but it hardly seems relevant as long as they pass. I stamp out the butt of the cigarette on the windowsill and light another. Only three left in the pack. That certainly won’t be enough to last the night. The sound of boots stamping up the stairs echoes under the door. Irritability slithers through my veins.
There’s a swift knock on the worn wood.
“It’s open,” I call out.
“Ya shouldn’t be leavin’ the door open like this. Anyone could walk in, Jo,” a man’s smooth Gaelic accent interrupts my pity party. Stafford.
“How did you even know I was here?” I sigh, lighting another cigarette.
“Can’t sneak ‘round that easily in this place. Cam saw ya. You’re missin’ the party.”
Cam is my downstairs neighbor. An old man who makes it his business to know everyone else’s business. “There’s always a party to miss around here,” I grumble.
“Ya know Viv doesn’t like ya smokin’.”
“You gonna tell her?”
“Come on, ya know me better than that.” He shuts the door behind him. “Did ya get the job done?”
“Don’t I always?” I roll my eyes and produce the gaudy pearl encrusted necklace, hanging it in my hand for him to grab. It’s still dripping with blood.
“You couldn’t at least clean it?”
“I’m not a maid,” I shrug. “Do you want it or not?”
My body is splattered with dried blood. My hands are coated in it, staining my skin. I look like the undead.
The first man I put under my knife deserved it, and the rest after that did, too. Torture is insidious, but it’s a means to an end. It’s also a sort of therapy for me. It’s a place where I can release my anger and feed the darkness that has latched itself to me since that night.
I’ve always been a bit cruel, despite Killian’s attempts to believe otherwise. I can admit it now. It wasn’t until Vivian and I were upheaved from our lives that we were able to learn who we really are. I had realized that I’d only been a product of what Kate wanted me to be. She used Killian’s love for me against him, manipulating him to bend to her will.
She always wanted control, or a say in what I did. Being free from her was like eating sugar for the very first time. It was when my decisions became my own that I slowly grew to hate her. Vivan’s view is quite different from mine, and I don’t fault her for that. Kate didn’t use her. I’ve kept my mouth shut and used work as my outlet for my frustration. I am finally in control.
He stuffs the necklace into his pocket. “You and I are a lot alike.”
“Get to the point.”
“We both are better off alone.”
A tired grin pulls at the corners of my lips. “Is this your attempt at a pep talk?”
“It’s not goin’ well, is it?” he chuckles.
I sink further into my armchair, crossing my legs. “I’m going to miss her.”
“She’s happy,” he offers, leaning against the wall across from me.
“I’m happy for her. I really am. It’s just weird.”
“It’s been four years. It would help ya if ya moved on.” His tone is gentle and his emerald green eyes are full of sympathy.
“I have moved on,” I snap.
Stafford raises his arms defensively. “Whatever ya say, lass. Why don’t ya come down an’ join us? Show everyone how fine ya are.”
I know what he’s doing. He’s cornering me and it’s working. He’s appealing to the part of me that always has to prove something. I shoot him a nasty look and he grins, his gold canine teeth flashing in the moonlight.
“Wash up first. Wouldn’t wanna scare the children,” he laughs and leaves me sitting there stewing in my own anger.
I sigh with exasperation. It has been four years to the day since that shitty night where we lost everything. It seems like no one remembers, but I guess Stafford does. It feels like I could sigh every minute for the rest of my life and it would never be enough. The piece that dislodged inside of me never returned, and there is a hole where Killian used to be that has made me ruthless. It’s the only thing I know for certain. It has been a constant war between love and reality.
I drag myself from the chair into the shower, and watch the pink tinted water run down the drain, washing away another night of bullshit. Even this has become a little monotonous. Stafford is right. I need to socialize. My friends will make me feel better.
I can hear them outside grilling and hollering. The Remnant as a whole, are a secluded bunch, full of laughter and love, but we’re tight knit even in our off-shoot community in Asphodel. Some are defectors who didn’t agree with the customs or wanted to see the world. Others were looking for a better life with less starvation and sickness. The rest were born Remnant but have never seen the Republic. I listen to their jovial cheers through the open window, letting it drive me.
Standing in front of the steamy bathroom mirror, I examine myself, glazing over my scars. The night of my accident they were bright red, hardly healed. Now they have faded to a bluish gray, tired of their own existence. With a giant sigh, I try to stop my mind from running. This is why I never fucking sleep.
I roughly wipe the towel over my skin and throw it at the mirror. At least I didn’t try to shatter it at the sight of myself this time. I’ve lost count of how many mirrors I’ve broken in the throes of my incessant thinking. It’s been a task keeping it from Vivian. The next time it happens I can just live without the mirror.
I plait my wet hair into a braid, throw on some clothes, and head downstairs. It won’t be long before Stafford sends someone to come find me if I hide away.
Vivian’s going away party is in full swing outside. Everyone is milling around, drunk as hell. I already feel lighter. Vivian is sweaty in the humidity and very, very intoxicated.
“Jo!” she shouts, attracting unwanted attention.
I give her a tight hug. “Hey, Viv.”
“I didn’t think you would be back tonight.” She furrows her brows, spilling some of her ale.
“I didn’t either.” I look around wondering how many drinks it will take to make me truly indifferent. How ironic that we’re throwing her a going away party tonight.
“I see you thinking. Stop that.” She shoves my shoulder. “Here. Drink it and forget how tortured you are.” She puts her mug in my hand and holds it to my mouth, forcing me to drink until it’s empty.
The ale burns going down. It’s Caleb’s home brew, which means that I’ll be drunk in no time. Caleb and I work jobs together sometimes when Stafford wants it to be clean. I’m the tribulation and he’s the mercy. His wife, Fiona, approaches.
“Vivian! Josephine!” She wraps her drunken arms around us both. “I’m gonna miss ya.”
Thank the fucking Universe I missed the point in the night I refer to as The Inquisition, where Fiona and the other women pepper me with personal questions.
“Jo will still be here.” Vivian leans her head on Fiona’s shoulder.
“O’ course. We’ll take care o’ her. Don’ worry,” she slurs in her accent.
“Josephine,” Stafford calls out, gesturing for me to join him.
Vivian giggles. “Oh no, here it goes.”
I walk backward, feigning innocence. “What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what it means!” she shouts.
“It’s your going away party, don’t you want it to be a memorable one?”
Vivian rolls her eyes and returns to her soulful conversation with Fiona.
“Well, well, well, look who decided to show up.” Caleb gives me a toothy grin. His eyes are glazed over, and his cheeks are red.
I brush off my hands. “Someone had to come out-drink you after that week.”
“Oh, ho, ho. We got a live one, boys,” Stafford shouts. “I’ll assume we have to do your stupid ritual before the games begin?”
“Of course.” I raise my chin with haughty expectation.
He pulls a bottle of clear liquor from the makeshift bar and pours us each three shots.
“How does it go now? One for the night?” We drink.
“One for our inhibitions.” I grin, slamming the next. Stafford winces after the shot.
“An’ one for the Fates,” Caleb interjects, stealing Stafford’s last shot.
Vivian shakes her head at us. “Wow, Staff’s drinkin’? I’ll place my bet now.”
“Get the table!” he shouts.
“So soon?” I give him a sly grin.
When we decide to have drinking competitions, we lay out shots of whiskey, and go shot for shot until someone quits or throws up. Then the winner continues. I am the reigning champion.
Once the table is brought out, the night is a whirlwind. I drink, and drink, and drink until Stafford steps in as the final challenger. He can hold his liquor. He lasts so long that my vision starts blacking out, and we’re leaning on each other to stay standing.
“Should we agree that it’s a tie?” he slurs.
I groan, pouring another. “Never.”
“I’m out,” he sighs.
The crowd that has gathered cheers. I bow, and Stafford catches me before I fall on my face. As everyone dissipates, socializing, I stumble over to a hay bale, sit, and prop myself against it. I dig into my pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes I had forgotten about. Stafford comes over and grunts when he slings himself to the ground next to me.
Vivian charges over, narrowing her eyes. “You’re smoking again.”
“Moving stresses me out.” I shrug and light two, smoking them both at once just to piss her off.
She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “You’ve made your point.”
“I’ll have one o’ those.” Stafford snatches one of them out of my mouth and takes a hit.
“Staff, don’t encourage her,” Vivian admonishes him.
“Gosh, whatever will I do without my moral compass?” I ask him.
“You migh’ not make it.”
“I suppose I’ll just have to stumble onto a bunch of dicks until I figure it out,” I sigh dramatically. Stafford snorts.
“That’s not funny, Jo.” Vivian tries to hold her composure and not laugh, but a smile breaks through.
I flick the cigarette. “It is, and you know it.”
“What do ya plan to do with your newfound freedom?” Stafford asks.
“Who knows,” I shrug. “Maybe I’ll get a hobby.”
“She’s going to die,” my sister frets.
“Don’t ya think ya might be bein’ a li'l bit dramatic, lass? Josie is perfectly capable o’ handlin’ herself. In fact, I’ve seen ‘er handle four grown men on ‘er own,” Stafford says cheerily.
“Don’t remind me,” my sister huffs.
“Since it’s our last night out—” I begin dramatically.
“It’s not the last night ever.”
The air is thick with humidity and full of trouble. “Might as well be. Moving in together is where fun goes to die.” I reach up and try to pat her head.
“You’re ridiculous, and you’re drunk.”
Stafford shoots her a warning glance. “Give ‘er a break.”
“Someone has to reel her in,” Vivian argues.
He clears his throat. “Maybe not tonight.”
Vivian squints, trying to read something on his face.
“He’s just talking about the anniversary of death, and the destruction of our lives.” I hiccup.
“Shit.” She eases herself down next to me. “That’s today?”
“Tis.” I nod. “Staff, grab us more shots.”
“O’ course, lass.” He pats my knee and heaves himself up.
“I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s best if you forget. I’m happy for you, Viv. This is just another night.”
“But it isn’t.” She leans on me. “Give me one of those.”
I hand her the pack, and she grabs one and lights it. I raise my eyebrows.
“In memoriam,” she says. “Killy liked his cigarettes.”
“They remind me of him.” I stare into the cherry, seeing the fire that consumed their bodies. “I always think I’m over it, but every year I get in a mood.”
“If Bella died I would lose my shit. You’ve kept it together pretty well.”
“I haven’t.” I laugh, thinking about what I did earlier tonight. The thief wore the necklace like a fucking trophy.
“We all do strange things to preserve our sanity,” she offers. I shoot her a look. “Not all of them are healthy,” she clarifies.
“Shots for the lot o’ us.” Stafford passes me a tray and sits back down with us.
Vivian holds one up. “To Killy.”
“Fuckin’ bastard,” Stafford says with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
“And to Kate, for being such a conniving bitch,” I add. Vivian purses her lips, but she doesn’t correct me.
The more I drink the more I forget, until I remember nothing at all.