“Meraki, you were and still are the most beautiful woman in Halsin.”
“Wow, that’s very—such an honor.” I didn’t mean to sound snarky, but honestly…
“Bitch, I literally live here and I’m hot as fuck. Take the compliment. Plus, this town may be small and shady, but we have some nice-looking people here.” There’s no lie in that. Aside from every other attractive person, there’s the issue at hand right now.
Nikolai Davis.
Niko, for one, is second generation. His mother is half Maori, who are the indigenous people of New Zealand. His mom moved here when she was two years old and has never gone back, but she tried her hardest to educate Niko and his brother in what she could, including baking and cooking. Niko’s father is half Greek and is the vice president of The VII Knights MC. He’d speak in his native tongue all the time even though he had lived in the US all his life. Niko, Ari, and their father would have conversations in Greek and I’d just sit there and watch in fascination. Niko knows Maori too, but they never spoke in Te Reo as often as they did Greek, and then after the incident, everything changed.
Back to my sassy best friend. “Hmm, is that why you’re still single and refuse to date literally anyone?”
She pauses again. “You’re bitchy today. Okay, okay, but we’re not talking about my dating life, or lack thereof. We’re talking about you and Niko Davis, and the fact that you and his other best friend have been pretty fucking cozy since as he disappeared—”
I sigh, falling onto the floor to stretch my legs out. “What Luca and I have is comfortable and platonic. He is still welcome to date other people, as am I. It’s just when he’s home, we—you know…”
Cece snorts. “Oh, I know what you think it is, but honey, Luca? That man… I don’t know, Mer. You need to be—”
“—I want to go out tonight.” I distract her before she starts ranting off about Luca again. She has never been a fan of Luca, even when we were kids. “Luca gets back tomorrow, and since Niko has thrown me for a loop, I need to go out, get drunk, dance and sing, put on a show and forget everything that is going on through my head right now. And besides, I haven’t danced in months.”
And I also know that any discussions of us drinking, dancing, clubbing will shut her up. When I was a child, I was always told that I was a natural entertainer. I just never knew I would grow to do it the way I do some weekends…
“I’ll be there at ten.”
As easy as that when it comes to Cece. “See you then.”
It’s Friday today, which means no classes tomorrow. It’s the time I get to dance and sweat and release all my troubles I’ve felt throughout the week.
I open my podcast app and click on Failure Has a Home with Me. That’s her podcast name, I found. I finished Episode 1:1 so I tap on 1:2 The stars will light your way home.
“If you’re expecting a story to be told from a hero, you should probably stop this podcast right now, because that’s not what I am. When I was sixteen, I worked for people who did things to people. I helped. I liked it, and there are times when I think back to those moments and smile. So… let’s go back. Again, if this kind of content is upsetting to you, don’t continue. You could try to get me arrested, but you’d have to find me first. If you’re like me and have a kink for the weird shit, continue.”
I don’t stop. I have three hours before I have to meet the girls, and my attention is piqued. What could this woman possibly have done in her life that was worse than what I’ve seen?
“I was born into a wealthy family, but I had a poverty-stricken soul. I was eight years old when I witnessed my first murder. It was in the forest that backed to our mansion. I wasn’t supposed to be out wandering, but my mother was late coming home and my father was still working. I was bored, so I wandered into the forest late at night and found myself huddled behind an old tree, watching as my father’s friend drove a knife into the skull of my brother. Any other child would scream. Run. Feel frightened. I sat there and watched in silence as he continued to dive the knife into my brother’s lifeless body. Now, my brother was sixteen, much older than I, and he was the least favorite person of mine. Not only did he sneak into my bedroom most nights and make me do things to him—we can get back to this at a later date, but honestly it’s not important and I don’t want your pity—but he would also torture me when he thought no one was watching. Scars marred my skin from where he’d put his cigarettes out, and bruises riddled my body from where he had grabbed me too roughly on one of the many nights he’d visited. That didn’t matter—I know you’re thinking, ‘well there it is. That’s her damage.’ Only that’s not true. I understand how some people believe in nurture over nature, but not me. I was born damaged, because when he would do those things to me—I liked it.”