My Sweet Bully

Harlow and I stand still for a second, neither one of us reacting to the orders being shouted. I’m frozen, unable to really grasp that this is actually happening.

Shit. This isn’t fucking good.

“Hands in the air, and drop to your knees!” A second light pops on, blinding me.

Blinking rapidly, my hands go up, and I’m on my knees without pause. The two cops are hidden behind their car doors, guns drawn on us.

What the fuck did my brother do?

Harlow growls, a dark and evil growl, from deep within his chest. “Don’t say a fucking word, understand me, Max? Lawyer up, don’t fucking say shit!”

My brother is shoved to the ground, and I hear the metal cuffs as they’re latched around his wrists. His eyes turn to slits as two cops yank him to his feet, and put him in the back of the car.

Our eyes connect as my arms are pulled down to the small of my back, and cuffs dig hard into my wrists. The metal burns my skin as I’m torn to my feet, and led to the back of the other cruiser.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Not like this. Harlow said it would be easy, that we’d be in and out. Now, I have no idea what’s coming next.

But, I do know one thing, shit is about to change.

1

Prairie

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you—”

The words fade into the back of my ears, soft and faint as I stare off into dancing orange flames. They flicker and pop, moving back and forth. I’m drawn in, like a moth to the bulb outside the door on a muggy summer night. Mesmerized.

My heart starts to beat faster and faster as the flames move with each breath I exhale. The tips wave side to side, chasing the oxygen, and I can suddenly see the boys. Vivid, like a movie.

Both their faces burn in the candle, just like that night when the sky lit up with red and yellow flashes, and black smoke poured into the air.

It started out as one, just one boy, with one set of intimidating eyes. They were the biggest, greenest eyes I’d ever seen. He looked terrified of everything all at once; the fire, the sounds of crackling and combustion—of me across the street. The fear as our gaze met melts down his face, and his jaw drops open wide.

Another boy runs up beside him, the second boy looked older, but not by much. Taller, He was wearing a big smile on his face at first, and a look of satisfaction as his eyes scan the sky behind him. That smile, that smile isn’t built on anything good. I had never seen such darkness in a smile before. It scared me instantly.

His smile fades quickly as he follows the first boy’s glare, and spots me where I stand. The corners of his lips curve down, and rage begins to spill from him like water from a fountain. I can feel it from where I’m standing, the way it grows on him like mold, spreading quickly.

It sends a chill down my spine as his eyes hold me in place. I can’t move, my legs are anchored to the ground as if he’s holding my ankles.

We all stand still, twenty feet away from each other, and no one says a word. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but it feels like forever.

Sirens echo through the trees, moving closer and closer as red and blue lights start to mix with the orange flames, ending our unconventional introduction.

The angry boy shoves the other one, and they run off into the darkness together, disappearing until we meet face to face again in the courtroom.

“Happy birthday dear Prairie, happy birthday to you!” The room explodes around me, bringing me back to the present, erasing their faces as I force a smile, and blow out the candles.

My mother grips my shoulders from behind, leaning in and resting her cheek against mine. “I can’t believe my baby is eighteen.” Kissing my cheek, she playfully cries in my ear. “Eighteen, my heart hurts, but I’m excited for you, I really am.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I’m doing my best to be happy and show my appreciation for the small party my parents have put together for me.

There’s a small bunch of pink and gold balloons tied to two of the chairs at the kitchen table. A banner is hanging across the entrance that says, ‘Happy Eighteenth Birthday!’ A small square cake is sitting in the center of the table, with a giant pink eighteen and gold flowers. Next to the cake is a gift bag with a bow and curly ribbons, and tissue paper poking out of the top.

My parents mean well, I know they do, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong, but it just isn’t the same. Things are different.