Home > Bad Boy Blues(8)

Bad Boy Blues(8)
Author: Saffron A. Kent

Ah, so she’s going with emotional blackmail.

“Got it,” I say, going the casual route.

“Your mother loves your father very much.”

Jesus.

She doesn’t know when to stop, does she?

I look at the floor, trying to hold on to my patience. I’m not very good with it. Never have been. Not even at the best of times, and this isn’t the best time.

“All right, here’s the deal,” I begin, telling it how it is. “I rode my bike most of the night last night to get to this piece-of-shit town. I’m running on very little sleep. My father’s reaction on seeing me for the first time in three years was to ask if I finally came to my senses and crawled back to apologize and ask for money. All my mom said to me was that if I was planning on staying then I needed to play nice and not upset my dad. I needed to show up at the party, drink champagne, smile at people I don’t give a fuck about. All just to show the world how happy they are to have me back.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I should’ve left the moment she came out with the party plan. Anything to make my dad look good. But like an idiot, I stayed. And now I’m cagey. I’m impatient and I’m this close to going on a fucking warpath. So stop talking and let me pass.”

Does Nora listen to it? No.

She gives me the stink-eye, holds onto her tray like a shield and continues like she never heard me. “And you love your mother very much. That’s why it took one phone call, just one, for you to get back. And that’s why you didn’t leave when you should have.”

I grit my teeth and look at the ceiling for a second. “You’re fired.”

She cracks a smile. “Okay. But unfortunately, you won’t be here tomorrow to see if your dismissal took or not. So at least let me get to the point.”

“And what the fuck would that be?”

“My point is that no matter how much you deny it or outright reject it, we’re designed to love our parents. That’s just how it is. It’s unfortunate. Some people don’t deserve our love but that doesn’t mean it will go away.”

“Well, I was designed differently. Now, I gotta go.”

Finally, my words register with her. Her face crumples and I feel a twinge in my chest. I ignore it. It’s not my fault she put her faith in me. I can’t take the fall for people’s mistakes.

Nodding, she says, “I just want you to know that I called you because I didn’t want you to regret not being with her. Years later, I didn’t want you to look back and question your choices made with anger.”

“I won’t.” I don’t know why but I go ahead and add, “I’m not gonna stay in a place where I’m not welcome. I did that for the first eighteen years of my life and it wasn’t pretty. Besides, she doesn’t need me.”

“I know. I know you have bad memories here. I know you don’t owe your mother or your father anything. But as I said, it’s unfortunate. We’re destined to love the people who give us life. I knew you’d want to be here as her son. Not because she needs you. With all due respect, I don’t care what she needs. I only care about you.”

Sometimes when she says these things, I wonder if it’s because she really cares for me or is it because she gets paid for it.

I shake my head and grit my teeth. Even so, the question comes out, “Who’s been taking care of her?”

“I am. Along with a couple of other staff members.”

“And Dad? What’s he doing all day?”

She shrugs. “Meetings. Work. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it.”

I smile bitterly. “Like always.”

“At least stay until the tests come back,” she urges again.

“I fucking hate this place.”

“You’re going to hate yourself more if you don’t stay. I don’t want you to hate yourself. You do that plenty anyway.” I go to say something but she cuts me off. “If you still don’t like it, no one is capable of stopping you, Master Zach.”

“Zach,” I snap. “If you want me to stay here, just call me Zach. And no one can know why I’m staying. I don’t want it plastered all over.”

“That you’re a good son?”

“Don’t test me.”

“Understood.”

I sigh and letting go of the door, I walk back to the bed. My backpack falls to the floor. “And leave the tray.”

Suddenly, I’m ravenous.

I stare hard at the sky that, for all intents and purposes, should be black. It’s fucking midnight. But it looks blue.

Dark, dark blue.

I hear Nora setting the tray down and then retreating from the room. Just as she’s about to close the door, I turn around and ask her, “What’s she doing here?”

Nora frowns. “Who?”

My nostrils flare as I take in a deep breath. My body feels tight, wound up. I need to get out of here, even if I’m not going anywhere.

“Cleopatra Paige.”

I don’t think I’ve ever said her full name out loud and I don’t think I will after this, either.

Her name’s like her.

Loud and dramatic and a fucking handful. Or mouthful. Whatever.

I can see Nora’s confusion but she still replies, “She works for me. She’s on the cleaning staff. Is this about what happened at the party? She’s never done anything like this before. In fact, she’s experienced. She used to work –”

“At the diner on the south side. I know. How long has she been working here?”

“About six months.” Looking at me shrewdly, she adds, “She actually lives right here. In one of the cottages.”

My fists snap close. “Why? What happened to her house?”

Maybe it’s the intensity in my voice or maybe it’s my rigid stance, but Nora takes a second to look me over. And I don’t like that.

“She lost it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Last year. Along with her parents,” she explains. “Maggie, she made a case for her and I took her on. She has nowhere to go.”

I don’t think I’ve ever clenched my teeth so hard. I’m about to fucking smash them with the force.

She has nowhere to go.

Nowhere. To go.

And she came to the worst place in this town.

“She’s not my best employee. She’s loud and I don’t get the whole messy blue hair thing but she’s been doing okay. Should I be aware of something?”

Her voice reaches me through a tunnel, a deep and dark tunnel, and somehow I manage to answer her. “No.”

“It looks like you know her.”

“I don’t.”

“But –”

I let my anger show on my face. “I think you should go.”

Nodding slowly, she leaves.

As soon as the door is shut, I pick up the keys to my bike.

For three years, I was free. Free of this place. Free of my parents. Free of all the things that they made me feel: anger, hatred, loneliness.

But apparently, I’m back and there’s one very important difference.

She lives here too, the girl with blue hair. The girl who bore the brunt of all my hatred and who I haven’t stopped thinking about since I saw her the first time when I was twelve.

And if I had known that, I never would’ve come back.

Because I don’t want anything to do with her and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

He came to me in my dreams last night.

Like he used to be back at St. Patrick’s. As I tossed and turned on the bed, in a state of half-wakefulness, I realized I’ve seen Zach grow up.

I’ve seen him as a smart-ass middle schooler with spiky hair and a wrinkled and dirty uniform who always ended up in detention. Even though at that age he was shorter than all the teachers, he’d still tower over them with his fuck you attitude.

And then, he grew taller. He literally shot up overnight and got bigger than everyone else. Practically everyone had to tilt their neck up to look at him and meanwhile, he barely spared them a glance.

I saw him as he was in the school hallways. Large and careless. Rulebreaker with his tie flipped over his shoulder and the top two buttons of his uniform shirt loosened. He never had his books with him. He’d be empty-handed, always. Like his memo got lost in the mail that it was supposed to be a school and you were supposed to carry textbooks.

And then, I saw him watching me.

He’d watch me get humiliated with a blank face. Sometimes when I fought back and called out insults, his lips would twitch. Sometimes they’d stretch and he’d smirk. Like I was put on this earth to be his amusement.

I saw him on his bike. His hair and tie flying in the wind and the smoke coming out of his mouth courtesy of his cigarette. The revving of his bike is engraved in my brain.

So yeah, last night, I saw flashes of his life, entwined with mine.

I was glad when the morning came and I had to wake up.

As I run to work, I’m actually looking forward to a day filled with menial tasks. Just so I don’t think about him and that he’s back.

He’s really, really back. And he knows that I’m here.

I’m so inside my head that I don’t watch where I’m going and right at the entrance of the staff room, I bump into someone.

“Hey, you okay?”

It’s Ryan. He’s from my old neighborhood, and I’ve known him all my life. He’s worked at The Pleiades as a chauffeur for about two years now.

I clutch the fabric of his suit jacket on his bicep. “Whoops.” I chuckle. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t see where I was going.”

He smiles. He’s only a couple of years older than me and I’ve always thought that his presence is comforting.

 “It’s okay.” He steadies me. “Are you feeling okay? You know, after what happened last night.”

At his reminder, the cut on my palm pulses like someone is sticking their finger right in the center of the wound.

   
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