Repent (The Disciples 3)

Turning the corner toward my house, my stomach drops.

My dad leans against his piece of shit truck, smoking a cigarette, the phone to his ear, and I know what’s gonna happen.

For her, I’ll take the beating, but this will be the last time.DOLLY

Seventeen years old“Hey, can you look for me?” Morgan pops her head out of the bathroom stall and hands me the pregnancy test.

“Um, gross.” I roll my eyes and reach for a paper towel before I take it.

“God, please say no. I can’t handle another abortion.” Morgan flushes, pulls her short skirt down, and exits the stall.

“What?” She looks in the mirror and frowns, then leans close as if to check her lipstick.

“Why are you so casual about this?” I point to the stick and look at her. She stares back like I’m some strange, disgusting creature.

“Well, I guess because I’m not judgy. Jesus, some best friend you are.”

“Morgan.” I lean on the counter and look at her for any real sign of emotion that would make me feel like she’s not a crappy person.

Nothing. I see nothing. No regret. If anything, I sense an angry vibe that I’m even daring to question her.

“You got one six months ago,” I snip back, and I’m done. I was in a shit mood earlier and Morgan is adding to it.

“Wow.” She reaches for her purse. “Still fighting with Edge, huh?” She casually goes through it looking for something. With her long, manicured nails, sporting a perfect pink color, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

It’s like a lightning bolt strikes me—as she goes to light up in the teachers’ restroom, it dawns on me that I don’t like her.

Morgan is the most popular girl in high school. I’ve worked hard to become her best friend. And all that time, I’ve spent hours and years doing things that, at the moment, kind of make me sick.

“Hello?” She snaps her fingers in front of my face and I slap her hand away. Turning to look at myself in the mirror, I can barely stand my reflection. Not that my image is bad, far from it. Yet somewhere, I lost myself or my way.

Blinking, I rub beneath my eyes to wipe away some of the eyeliner, which ran a little. I’m copying the Elizabeth Taylor-Cleopatra look this week. Next week I’ll try something else with my eyeliner. My dark chocolate hair is shiny and healthy. Edge loves to run his hands through it, so I keep it long.

I’m petite, which sounds way better than “short.” But to be honest, I love being small. It feels good standing next to Edge who is now close to six three.

I glance at Morgan. Her long blond hair needs about four inches taken off. Too much bleaching has made it look brittle and trashy. Add her big, fake, pink bubble gum lips and the whole thing looks stupid. I don’t care that it’s all the rage to get your lips injected so that you can look like Angelina Jolie; some people shouldn’t do it. Morgan’s one of them.

She probably thinks she looks like Paris Hilton with fucked-up lips.

I cock my head. Why the fuck am I friends with her?

“Check, bitch. I can’t look.” She goes to hip bop me. I glare back and she must sense I’m not in the mood for her games.

Her eyes narrow. “You’ve become a real drag. It’s not my fault you don’t have the guts to tell him about Homecoming.”

I hate her.

She’s right, and I still hate her.

“Fine,” she whines. “If you’re not gonna fuck Edge… fuck Troy. You’d better get some dick soon.” She smiles, and her big white teeth remind me of a vampire: a blond scary monster with fake everything, even her brain.

I’m sick of her, and I despise Edge at this very second. He’s been missing in action again. Ever since we started our senior year, he’s here less and less.

Jason, Axel, and David all graduated last year. It’s becoming obvious he doesn’t even care if he gets a diploma.

Meanwhile, all I’ve been doing is working my ass off to get all A’s. I’m in so many stupid groups I have no time for anything. I know he blames me for not wanting to spend time with him, but I’m planning for our future since he seems incapable.

Stupid club. It’s the bane of my existence. Always has been, but now it’s taken a hold of Edge in a way that is scaring me.

He’s full-on involved with the Disciples. I complained last night on the phone and he said I have no one but myself to blame. See? I hate him.

Every time we fight, he tries to pin it on me, saying that he’s giving me space. I’m not stupid. What do I need space for?

I know he still hasn’t forgiven my dad for that horrible day. Even though so much time has gone by, we can’t seem to move past it.