Stain (13 page)

With resigned sigh, I let her. “Not too much.”

“Shush, just trust me.” She carefully applies the lipstick to my mouth before pulling back with a beaming smile. “Damn, I’m good. I knew this was your color. Go look.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I’ll take your word for it. Ready?”

“Yup, let’s get out of here,” she answers, slipping inside a pair of expensive red-bottomed black heels.

Chapter 15

Aylee

The white Mercedes parked in the circular driveway is an early birthday present from Mallory’s MIA father. It arrived about a week ago just in time to soften the blow of what would ultimately be his absence. This is the latest extravagant gift from Gregory Peters. A corporate attorney who has gone through a much publicized divorce with Mallory’s mother after it’d been discovered that he’d had an affair with a client. Needless to say, Darla Peters has come away with a fortune, but deep-seated psychological issues have force her into seclusion where, according to Mallory, she pops pills and bathes in alcohol all day long. She pretty much ignores Mallory, allowing her to do whatever she wants. It’s kind of sad when you think about it, and I know it hurts Mallory more than she lets on, but according to her, she has the best of both worlds. She has the parental guidance without the unnecessary baggage that goes along with it while conveniently tapping into the Daddy ATM whenever she feels like it.

“How’d you get your car fixed so fast?” I ask, slipping inside the passenger seat after she unlocks the doors.

“Your dad pulled a few strings and got his mechanic to take a look at it for me.” Mallory swiped another car the day after she got the Mercedes. She’s an atrocious driver. And in typical Tim fashion, he goes out of his way for other people but refused to fix the chain on my bike when it broke twice last year. Adjusting her rearview mirror, she puts the key in the ignition, starts the engine, and flies down the street. She takes the ramp onto the highway and goes from zero to seventy in six seconds flat. I’m used to her driving this erratically since getting her license two years ago. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gripping the inner door handle for dear life or that I’m not nervously peering behind us, almost certain a hidden police car will drive out of the woodwork any minute to pull us over. The exit to our destination comes quick, a few turns later and we’re driving down Route 127. Separating the factories and auto shops lining the road is Corwin River, infested with trash and reeking of sewage.

Turning the volume down, I glance at her, “Where exactly is this party?” My brow knits as she turns on a barely lit dirt road. “I thought we were heading to someone’s house.”

“Nope.”

I wait to see if she’s going to provide any more information. She doesn’t. My eyes return to the view outside as she pulls behind a massive red-brick building that’s mostly broken windows with a small sea of cars parked in the dirt lot in front of us. There’s a crowd, teenagers like ourselves wearing white rabbit masks as they make their way inside a dark entrance. Though with a quick second glance, I do spot a few older people that look over twenty-one.

“It’s a Wonderland rave. Alice in Wonderland theme, I guess,” she says, coming to the same conclusion I do. She doesn’t give me a moment to process our surroundings or allow me to talk to her about safety and staying together when she opens the car door and bounds out like an eager puppy.

“Mallory, wait!” Running in heels is the worst thing I can possibly do but I don’t have much of a choice at this point. I catch up to her just as she’s entering the dark interior of the building. There’s an enormous man standing in the partially lit, graffiti-filled hallway. We pay the entry fee and he hands us the same white rabbit mask everyone else is wearing. We proceed farther inside with a small group directly in front of us. When they open the heavily-scratched and dented, rusty metal door we step inside and instantly we’re transported to another world. It’s a world comprising of hypnotic neon strobe lights piercing through the darkness, pulsating to the hard, pounding bass blasting through the subwoofers. It’s a world of euphoric chaos, where lust and sex converge in an arousing orgy of debauchery. My eyes bounce everywhere, unable to focus on just one thing. I feel completely overdressed, and even Mallory’s dress seems modest compared to what the gyrating mass of sweat-stained teenagers are wearing. Which is essentially almost nothing.

Everyone is dancing, swaying to the hard, driving EDM song rumbling through the floor. I keep close to Mallory in fear of getting lost in the crowd, but I’m looking at everything, absorbing everything. The air is stale, overcharged and overheated with a myriad of smells that’s intensely overwhelming. A guy steps directly in our path sporting the same creepy rabbit mask almost everyone else is wearing. The fact that he’s not wearing a shirt makes it possible to see the massive set of butterfly wings strapped to his back. The rainbow tutu skirt hides all that needs to be hidden, while thigh-high leather boots accentuate his slim legs. He has a multitude of glow stick necklaces around his neck, while a rainbow of caricatures glowing prettily in the dark decorates his torso.  

“Hey, bitch, ‘bout time you got here!” Invading Mallory’s space, he steps close enough that he can be heard over the music all the while pulling his mask up over his head to reveal a grinning face. Henri Kingston is the indiscriminately brash, boisterous, and often times catty friend Mallory picked up last year in drama class. I’m not a fan of his, namely because when he and Mallory get together it rarely ever ends well. Henri can always be counted on to make Mallory’s habitually bad decisions worse.

Mallory pulls away from me to leap into his waiting arms with a squeal. “I wanted to pick out the perfect outfit! What do you think?” Stepping away, she does a turn.

“Fierceness, bitch! Love the heels!”

He glances my way with a tight, fake smile. “You’re here, too!”

Pursing my lips, I say, “Yup.”

“I’ve got candy!” That’s the end of our conversation as he focuses his attention back on Mallory pulling the string of a small, black pouch from around his left wrist. Tugging it open, he holds it up to Mallory’s excited face. “It’s the purest shit you’ll ever taste.”

“Molly?”

“Better, SKY. Cleaner roll.”

A surge of unease trickles in my veins as I watch my best friend pop a little pink pill. The entire interaction between them is so casual that it casts a shade of surrealism to the scene. “I need a chaser.”

“Snow?”

Mallory giggles, nodding her head. “Oh yeah.”

I will myself to speak, although I’m sure my concerns will be ignored. “Mallory…” The same caution that I constantly live by permeates my voice. “Let’s slow down for a bit and dance, okay?”

She turns to me with a smile, “We’ll dance. I just need to head to the bathroom for like a second. Just wait for me up there.” She points to the steel scaffold just above us. “I’ll come get you as soon as I get back.” Henri pulls her away before I can say anything and she follows giddily behind him without a second glance back.

“Fuck.”

I don’t swear much but I think I’m justified in my current situation. In this instant, surrounded by an orgy of intoxicated people, with the earthquake of the pounding bass line vibrating through my chest and the multihued laser lights picking me out from the crowd, I feel completely and utterly alone and lonely. Like a lost little child, I squeeze my way through the throng in hopes of finding the
parent
that forgot I was there. But Mallory isn’t my parent. She’s a friend who’s found something better to occupy her time. I should be angry and maybe a part of me is, but it doesn’t rival the mire of self-pity I find myself sinking into. My walk up the steel steps is blurred by hot, stinging tears I refuse to let fall. It isn’t as crowded up here, but all the same, I find the corner with the least amount of people and huddle close to one of the building’s support beams, wishing and hoping I can disappear inside its frosty, concrete interior. Feeling an increasing sense of detachment from it all, I peer down at the crowd for an impossible stretch of eternity wondering if it’s will alone keeping me from hurtling myself over or the metal bar I’m leaning into. There’s no answer. But there’s suddenly someone’s weight against me. Pressing into me. My heart jumps, and two sharp gasps crackle from my throat as my eyes widen in disbelief. Paralyzed by terror, I can only stand there at the feel of the thickness prodding against my backside.

“God, baby, your ass feels so good.” My ears ring as rancid, alcohol-drenched breath steams hot along the shell of my ear. “Bet it’d feel even better with my dick in between your cheeks.” He extends both his arms on either side of my body, his hands gripping the iron railing to completely cage me in. I slowly look up and stare straight ahead, my body in a trancelike state. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re going to beg me for more.” He moves his hips, grinds his erection against my butt cheeks. Still, I don’t move. “You going to scream for me, baby?”

Everything in me screams to get away. To escape. “No.” That’s all that comes out. A terrible, pitiful sound escapes from the fissures of a body that’s already been broken. Left exposed, the demons drag Tim’s presence into the moment, and his shadow, his weight, and his body replace the one behind me.

“My little flower.”

His words. Those revolting three little words play on a loop inside my head like a broken music box. My nightmare comes to life. It breathes down my neck. It touches me with oil-slicked hands. It bleeds violently into my reality, rendering me utterly powerless.

Please…no.

I don’t know how but someone hears my internal plea and in the seconds it takes for me to inhale a shuddering breath, the body of my assailant is gone.

When I turn, it’s to see my rescuer holding my assailant by the front of his shirt, his back bowed dangerously and half hanging over the iron railing. There’s the barrel of a gun firmly fixed against the side of the stranger’s head.

“You good?”

The raspy growl of the voice edged with a pitch of gruffness draws my eyes to the person speaking to me. In that precise moment, a strobe light focuses on him, casting immaculate features in haunting blue laser light, giving him this unworldly appearance. He’s a familiar face in a sea of strangers. The furthest thing from a friend, and yet, the overpowering rush of elation that spirals through me at the sight of his brooding face nearly knocks me to my knees.

Maddox.

An incredibly large, incomprehensible part of me wants to jump into his arms, hide my face against the sturdiness of his chest, and thank him for what he just did. But the very thought of being so close to a guy when I was just assaulted by one keeps me rooted while a flood of trepidation swishes like ice water through my veins. It’s a paradox, the inconsistency of emotions raging a war inside me.

“Hey.”

That one hushed demand has me meeting his gaze. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, a bit more firmly now.

With a shake of my head, I reply, “No.”

“Good,” he says, and then turns his attention to my assailant while still speaking to me. “How long do you think he’ll stay in the air before his body smacks into the ground?”

“Fuck, man! Shit. I’m sorry, all right? Didn’t realize she was your girl!”

“Aylee?”

My eyes fly to his face and though he just said my name, he’s still not looking at me. But from where I’m standing I have a good view of him and he looks completely unfazed by what’s happening. By what he’s doing. He sports the same hard, incisive expression he had when he’d held the sledgehammer to the Infinity driver’s throat last week. “He won’t stay airborne for long.” I find myself replying with an astounding level of coolness that rivals Maddox’s own. “The impact of his body hitting the concrete will be worse.”

“I’m thinking we test that theory. I’m kind of curious now to see just how gravity works. Extra credit toward our astronomy project.” The guy screams in protest when Maddox pushes him a little further over the railing. Sick fascination has me wondering whether he’ll actually do it. When our eyes meet again, I find my answer.

“How about we get extra credit without committing murder? I’ve done it plenty of times before,” I utter.

I see his mouth twitch. “Commit murder?”

I’m not at all surprised he can find humor in this. I’m slowly learning Maddox Moore is a little off that way. “Get extra credit,” I correct. “You should let him go.”

It does something strange to my insides when he actually complies and tugs the guy back from the edge and steadily brings him onto his feet. But he keeps the gun exactly where it is against the guy’s head. “You should apologize for putting your filthy fucking hands on her.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. I’m sorry for touching you!”

I know it’s not sincere, I know he’s only doing it because he’s under duress, but I don’t really care. It makes me feel good to see this jerk grovel, it feels amazing to hear him apologize for invading my space. For putting his hands on me without my fucking permission. Without thinking, without any form of hesitation, I walk up to the perverter, raise my booted foot, and kick him as hard as I can in the balls. His eyes widen as he doubles over in pain. When Maddox releases him, he crumples to floor into a fetal position, cupping a hand between his tightly-clenched thighs. I have no pity for him.

All I can think about is him doing this to some other girl who wouldn’t be so lucky as to have anyone step in to help her. I look down at him and I raise my foot to kick him again. It’s like the haze I fall into when I’m cutting. I forget where I am. Nothing else exist except to see how perfectly I can execute my internal emotions and turn them into something physical. Kicking this man is my anger being executed. The anger feels so good. For once in my entire life, I’m given a small chance to feel powerful. To be in control of something other than my razor blade.