Page 76 of Twisted Heathens
Like battery acid or the smoke from a raging house fire.
“I’m fucking cold. Coming in?” Phoenix asks.
He only waits for a second when I fail to respond. Taking my silence as agreement like usual, rather than actually communicating with me. It isn’t his fault. I’d give up trying to talk to me too.
He tosses his cigarette aside and jogs away, leaving me and the rain to continue our unspoken conversation. After another futile language therapy session, I’m coiled tighter than a spring and ready to explode. It always brings up far too many memories that I fight every damn day to suppress.
Rio and his goons sprint past, sparing me from their cruel taunts for once as they fight to escape the rain. I must look insane, drenched to the skin and staring up into the fathomless clouds. Like the opinions of those inferiors matter to me anyway.
I don’t need them to understand.
No one ever will.
Much later, I trail inside, calmed by the ferocious storm that has me shivering. Violent thunder and lightning rattle the picture frames as I skulk up the stairs, intent on a hot shower with my penknife. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s gone half eight.
“Hey Eli! You coming for a round of poker?”
Kade and Phoenix walk down the stairs to meet me halfway, both dressed casually in their sweats. I shake my head automatically, itching to escape and sort myself out.
“Sure, man? We’ll be in the rec room if you change your mind,” Kade offers.
Leaving them to their game, I take the stairs two at a time. When I reach the fourth level, something catches my eye and halts my hurried steps. Brooklyn’s descending from upstairs to her floor, face crumpled and cheeks tear streaked. Who the hell just upset her? I’ll kill them myself.
She freezes, eyes shifty and filled with guilt. “Eli?”
I don’t move. Seeing her so broken is almost too much for me to handle after an endlessly shitty day. I let her come to me, chin tucked down and shaking hands wrapped around her midsection. “What are you doing here?”
I dart my eyes up, indicating the above floor where my room is.
“Oh. Well, I’ll see you later.”
She tries to pass, but I suddenly brace my hand on the bannister. As I block the way past, she visibly swallows, gaze on her feet. “Eli… please. I need to be alone right now.”
Brooklyn’s soaked through, just like me. Was she up on the roof in the middle of a storm? How did she even get through security? The only person I’ve ever seen sneak up there is Rio and his thugs.
Risking a tentative step towards her, I let my fingers trail over the dripping sleeves of my hoodie that she still wears. I haven’t seen her take it off yet.
“Please go,” she whimpers.
I’m drawn in further, her sad expression calling out to me on a fundamental level. When I cup her cheek and run my thumb over her lip, graduating up to the bruise across her forehead, a hissed breath escapes her mouth.
My broken girl. We’re more alike than she’ll ever know. If only she remembered me, and if only I’d had the courage to approach her in Clearview.
Tangling our fingers together, I decide to take action. I can’t stand the gaping hole in my chest that being in her presence creates. I need to touch her. Taste her. Be seen by her, heard by her in any way possible.
“Eli, don’t.”
I ignore her and run my fingers through her wet hair, droplets of water clinging to her dark lashes and trailing over her skin. It’s like there’s an invisible thread between us, tugging on my heart and silencing the demons in my mind. All I can taste is my own desire. Thick, heady, overwhelmingly concentrated.
I tug her along, straight to her door. She reluctantly surrenders her key card and soon we’re toppling inside. That’s where my patience fails. I shove her against the wall, my knee spreading her legs as my mouth attacks hers. She doesn’t kiss me back at first.
“Eli, no. I can’t. You don’t know—”
I interrupt and tangle my tongue with hers, claiming her mouth, swallowing her excuses. I can feel the clash of her teeth meeting mine. Fingers bury in my soaked hair as I grind my body against her, struggling to hold a growl in.
Then she’s shoving me away, sending me stumbling into the desk. Those dark eyes ablaze with indignation and something else. Unintelligible. All-consuming. Bleak. It’s regret—the rain has whispered to us both tonight.
“Why do you all insist on caring about me?” she snarls, barely above a whisper. “Can’t you see that I’m worthless? I’m a fucking failure and a waste of air.”