Badly Behaved

So far, nobody has given one of merit.

It was too dark to see...

By now, most everyone has gone home, and my sister and Tanner have just pulled up, but I don’t make it to the curb before Scott is slipping in front of me.

His eyes are pinched tight at the edges, but his touch is gentle as he grabs my left hand, my heels dangling from my right, and pulls me into him.

I lift the corner of my mouth and his free fingers glide into my hair.

I tense, my body hating the feeling of another’s touch there, but my mind screams it’s no big deal, that it shouldn’t be. He either doesn’t notice, or he pretends not to.

“Thanks for being my date tonight,” he says.

I nod. “Kind of funny, how I only texted you last night and you still didn’t have one.”

He smirks. “I had one, just had to wait for her to realize she did too.”

A low laugh leaves me, and I tip my head slightly.

“I was hoping you’d stay, planned for it really,” he admits.

“Yeah, I think you’ll be busy for a while.” I motion toward the firetrucks still lining the street, finishing up whatever it is they have to do.

He nods, and when he leans in, my chest clenches.

I close my eyes, ready for it, desperate to erase the last lips that landed on mine, but my head decides to turn away without permission, and my eyes fly open when his mouth freezes on my cheek.

Slowly, he pulls back, a quizzical narrow of his eyes, but he shakes it off, drops my hand and licks his lips. He forces a grin. “See you Monday.”

“Yep.” Smile.

I step around him, slide into the back seat and Tanner shuts the door behind me.

My sister starts talking and I slice my eyes to hers. I tear open my purse, pull out, and slip my earbuds into my ears, cranking the music up as high as it allows.

I don’t even know what’s playing. I don’t hear it, but I don’t hear her either.

She blinks, a frown tugging at her brows as she drops against the seat, skating her eyes past mine every few minutes.

When we walk into the house, I head for my room, but her soft hand lands on my elbow and I just can’t.

I whip around, tearing my earbud from my ear.

“What Monti?!” I shout, tossing my shoes to the floor. “What the fuck do you want?! You want to ask how I am, how it went, what the fuck happened?! Why I shed the dress Mom sent me and wore one a guy who likes to fuck with my head gave me?! Go ahead, sister! Ask!” I scream, stalking toward her, but when she says nothing, I get angrier. I shove at her chest and she stumbles back. “Fucking ask! Talk! Say something!”

Her face falls, a blanket of remorse covering her from head to toe, and tears fill her eyes. “J...”

My teeth begin to chatter, so I clamp them shut, and it aches. My jaw, my muscles. My entire fucking body.

She reaches for me, tears pooling in her eyes.

I slap her clear across the face, revel at the shock in her eyes, and tears roll down her cheeks.

“You’re seriously going to cry?” I scream, shoving her as she goes to cup her cheek and she falls against the wall. “Are you pretending like you feel bad for being the shittiest sister on the fucking planet? The worthless daughter who couldn’t even do her fucking part?!” I seethe, my limbs shaking, but something behind my ribs cracks so I try to crack something in her.

I stand tall, clear my face of all emotion and take a step back.

“You’re as pathetic as Dad was. Weak and useless.” I try to take a breath, but my lungs refuse the air, so I force a quick, “Go cry for someone who gives a shit,” and back away as quickly as I can and get the hell out.

I lock myself in my room and the walls begin to spin.

Swatches of gold and glamor funneling around, cutting off my airway and leaving my lungs starved.

I drop to my knees, my head falling into my hands as moisture threatens to slip from my eyes.

But I don’t let it.

I can’t.

Because who the hell do I have to cry for, myself? In pity over a situation I created?

Maybe I’m the one who is pathetic.

And damaged.

And so so screwed.

My door stayed locked all night and day the remainder of the weekend. I played music at deafening volumes that did horrible things for my massive hangover, and if Monti tried to knock, I didn’t hear it. If the doorbell rang, oh fucking well.

But it’s Monday now, so I have to smile and move along like all is well in this fucked-up world of spoiled rich kids and the shit we deal with behind closed doors.