Twisted (22 page)

“Hey. You okay?” he asks with
concern.

“I'm fine,” I say, running a
hand through my wild hair. I guess maybe I should have at least brushed it or
something.

Tate's green eyes scan me
from head to toe, not missing my pale features or the dark circles under my
eyes. “What's wrong? Talk to me,” he says quietly as he sits down next to me.

I'm suddenly feeling
suffocated and annoyed that he hadn't just sat down across from me versus right
frickin
' next to me. Abruptly, I rise to my feet,
desperate for some space. “Nothing is wrong. I just came out here for some
air,” I say, before I turn and head inside to the kitchen. I make my way to
refrigerator and grab an apple.

When I turn, I find Tate
standing there, his expression now worried. “You look like shit. I know this
week has been tough, but it seems like you've gone downhill this week right
along with me. What's going on with you? I know I've been distracted with
Sean's murder but I didn't mean to give you the brush off.”

Damn him. I killed his friend
and here he is trying to comfort me. “As I said, I'm fine,” I say calmly as I
move around him only to come up short.

Noah is standing there. He'd
clearly just woken up because his hair is tousled and he hasn't had his usual
shower. His brown eyes drift over me from head to toe, seeing my disheveled
state. His eyes flicker from mine to Tate questioningly.

I throw my hands in the air
with exasperation. “Can't a girl have a bad hair day without it being pointed
out to her?”

“
Blayre
...”
Tate says.

I spin around and glare at
him, spewing out the first excuse I can think of. “Cole and I are fighting. You
should celebrate. Here,” I say flatly as I toss the apple on the counter before
I brush past Noah and head upstairs, desperate to get away from their prying
eyes. Once I'm in my room, I slam my door shut and fling myself across my bed.
I am acting like a total bitch but I can't seem to rein it in.

For most of the morning, I
hide out in my room for fear of ripping off someone's head. I force myself to
get some homework done and I try reading a book. When that doesn't work, I hop
in the shower and work to make myself look halfway decent.

My stomach is grumbling
loudly by noon and I know I can't avoid going downstairs forever. I owe Tate an
apology. I'm angry at myself and I'd taken it out on him. It hadn't been fair,
especially when he's been struggling with his own issues.

I find the kitchen empty but
as I walk past the window, I catch sight of Tate on the patio talking on his
cell phone. I decide that once he is off the phone, I'll go out there and
apologize for my earlier outburst. I'm in the middle of making a bologna
sandwich when I hear the screen door open and close. I glance up to find Tate
standing there, an odd expression on his face as if he's debating whether he
should try to talk to me or not.

I manage a wry smile. “I have
no intention of biting your head off.”

My brother visibly relaxes.
“Good. I like it just where it is,” he says as he slips his phone in his
pocket. “Want to talk about this thing with Cole that's bothering you?”

I shake my head and pick up
the knife, slicing my sandwich in half before setting the dirty knife in the
sink. “I'm sorry I took my bad mood out on you,” I say as I grab my plate and
walk over to the island to sit down. I have no idea why none of us ever use the
dining room table. It's always left untouched.

Tate pulls out a stool and
sits down next to me, his eyes offering comfort. “I can try to listen with an
open mind when it comes to Cole,” he says lightly.

I had just taken a bite of my
sandwich and I finish chewing before saying, “I'm fine. It was just a little
argument.”

“Now that I think about it,
you've been kind of tense all week.”

“It's nothing, Tate. I'm
fine.”

“You know you can talk to me
about anything, right?”

“Even sex?” I ask with amusement,
in hopes of lightening the conversation.

He clears his throat
awkwardly. “Is that what you want to talk about?”

“No,” I say, laughing. “I'm
just kidding around with you. You practically cringe when the word sex comes
out of my mouth. It's entertaining.”

Tate shoots me a look.
“You're my baby sister, you're too young to be having...sex.”

“I'm eighteen!”

“And you're still awfully
young,
Blayre
.”

I roll my eyes and take
another bite of my sandwich as the doorbell rings.

Tate rises to his feet. “That'll
be Jared,” he says as he heads out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

My mood is better now and I
am glad I came down and talked to him. I hear voices coming from the living
room and I glance up as Tate comes back in the kitchen, a less than pleased
expression on his face as Cole trails behind him.

The sandwich is left
forgotten as my eyes widen. “Cole. What are you doing here?” I'm surprised that
he'd drop by like this because he rarely came to the house unless it was to
pick me up.

He gives me a quick smile.
“Hey. Your phone was off and I was in the area,” he says lightly.

Tate mutters something under
his breath and leaves the kitchen to give us privacy. I know my brother though
and I know he hasn't gone far. He's more likely in the living room by the door,
eaves dropping.

“Be careful what you say,” I
mouth to Cole.

He nods. “Come out with me
for a while?”

I find myself hesitating. He
saw my scars last night and I'm worried about it. I am also still annoyed he'd
left me alone in his room last night.

“Please?”

After rising to my feet, I
dump what's left of my sandwich as I decide going out is better than slowly
losing my mind here. “Let me just go get my stuff,” I say.

“I'll go wait outside.”

I nod, because with Tate in
the house, that was a very good idea. Especially after I had just told Tate
that Cole and I were arguing. As Cole sees himself out, I run up to my room to
grab some money and my phone. Just as I turn it on, it chimes in my hand. I
read the incoming text message. COLE: 
Grab one of those outfits I
bought you. I'm taking you out tonight.

Excitement shoots through my
veins. I am looking forward to getting out of the house for the entire day and
evening. I quickly dump my school books out of my backpack and grab an outfit
Cole bought, along with the boots I have yet to wear.

When I open my bedroom door
to leave, I find Tate standing there, his hand up—ready to knock. His hand
drops and he frowns at me. “I take it you're going out with him?”

“Yeah. You don't care, do
you?”

“You just told me earlier you
were fighting.”

“And now we're not.”

His eyes shift to my backpack
slung over my shoulder. “What's in the bag?”

“You're nosy today. It's just
a change of clothes. Cole is taking me out later tonight.”

“Don't forget your curfew.”

“About that...”

“My house, remember?” he
reminds lightly.

“Fine,” I say with a resigned
sigh.

“And by the way, next time
you're caught sneaking out after curfew, I am taking your keys from you and
you'll be on laundry duty for weeks,” he threatens.

“Got it,” I grumble. Those
were not idle threats. And I'm not quite sure what's worse. Losing the car, or
having to do men’s laundry on a daily basis because their dirty laundry piled
up faster than the small garbage in the kitchen. It was like navigating a mine
field whenever I tried to squeeze my way into the laundry room to do my own.

Tate nods. “Good. I'll see
you later.”

“Bye.” I rush for the stairs,
anxious to get out of the house for the day and when I emerge outside, I find
Cole sitting patiently on his motorcycle.

“Where are we going?” I ask
curiously as I walk over.

His green eyes shift to the
house behind me. “You'll see.”

I climb on and catch sight of
Tate in the living room window, arms crossed as he watches us. I am going to
have to watch what I say about Cole for now on because whether Tate likes it or
not, Cole is now a permanent fixture in my life.

As we leave the apartment
complex, a fake ID in my back pocket thanks to a guy that owed Cole a favor, we
walk towards his motorcycle in the parking lot.

“Where to now?” I ask, a
little bounce in my step at the idea of going clubbing tonight with Cole. My
day is definitely perking up. Cole hasn't brought up my scars and I am hoping
that meant he feels it wasn't worth bringing up.

Cole climbs on the motorcycle
and waits for me to climb on behind him. “I thought we'd grab some lunch on our
way to the lake.”

I lean forward to peer at him
since he hasn't started the motorcycle. “What's the occasion?” He's being
awfully sweet today.

His eyes meet mine. “I fucked
up last night when I left you alone. I didn't think you'd wake up so soon. And
after last weekend, I owe you some real fun.”

I nod, feeling better that
he's acknowledging that I am hurt by his actions from last night. At least that
saves me from having to bring it up later.

Cole starts the motorcycle,
and we pull out of the parking lot and grab some sub sandwiches before heading
for the lake, one county over in Orangevale. He takes me to the same place we'd
gone to last time and we spread the sheet on the grass and sit down to eat our
lunch. We're both quiet as we enjoy the scenic view of the lake and the slight
breeze that brushes against our skin and hair.

As Cole finishes his
sandwich, he crumples up his wrapper and puts it in the empty paper bag next to
him. “Are you still mad?” he asks as he leans back on his hands, his eyes
observing me.

I think over how best to
answer his question as I sip my soda. “I was when I woke up and found you
gone.”

“Yeah, you leaving the party
made it pretty obvious. You're not mad we had sex, are you?” he asks as he
watches me intently.

I have to be careful with
what I say. I may not have instigated it but I'd definitely been a willing
partner. “I wish it would have been under different circumstances when I was
more alert and sober. I thought it would be different.”

“The first time was going to
suck either way,
Blayre
.”

My mouth falls open. “That's
a crappy thing to say!”

“I didn't mean it like
that
.
I'm talking about the fact that it was painful for you and it would have been
just as painful whether you were completely sober or wasted. You should be glad
it's behind you because now you can enjoy it without stressing over it.”

Typical guy answer. “Let's
just leave it be,” I warn.

“Sounds good to me.”

I find myself staring out
over the lake. I'm going to miss wearing shorts and lounging by the pool once
the temperatures drop in November. I hear they drop to mid-sixties or a bit
lower but I guess I can't really complain. Fifties and sixties were way better
than dealing with single digit temperatures in Minnesota.

“Did you do that stuff to
yourself?” Cole asks quietly, drawing my attention back to him abruptly.

My entire body tenses. I
thought I was home free.

“I saw all those cuts and
scars. Obviously you're not going to just sit there and allow someone to do
that to you, especially
there
. So it must be you. Why?”

Instead of looking at him, I
pick at some lint on the sheet. “Can we not discuss it?”

“You can't even admit it, can
you?”

My eyes jerk up and I meet
his gaze. There is no disgust or judgment in his eyes. Just curiosity. “I like
to cut myself when I am upset. Happy now?” I ask darkly.

“Does this have to do with
your aunt and uncle?”

“I've said all I am going to
say on the topic.”

Cole puts his hands up in the
air in surrender. “Okay, I'll drop it.”

Soon after our day at the
lake, my life turned into a repetitive cycle of drugs and sex. Everything
happened so fast... I just figured that with my virginity gone, there was no
point in denying Cole what he wanted. As for the drugs, well, that one's
obvious. I looked forward to the high it gave me and I welcomed the relief—the
escape from all the bad stuff. I tried a couple of other drugs, even a few of
the hard-core kind, but it became evident that ecstasy was my drug of choice.

Cole and I got high
together and I found that Cole was really fun to be around. An ecstasy loaded
Cole meant a light hearted and playful Cole. We danced, we partied—and of
course had sex. It turned out he'd been right on that last one, sex was very
enjoyable.

I remember losing myself
to Cole's lifestyle. I grew numb to the guilt and to everyone around me but
him. I didn't realize any of this until Noah brought me back to reality again a
few weeks later.

It is Halloween weekend and I
have no plans whatsoever. I'm already bored, and I've been home from school
less than an hour and the weekend hasn't even officially started yet. Cole's
out of town for the weekend running errands for Ethan. This leaves me to my own
devices for the first time since I helped Cole and Blake rob the convenience
store.

Life has gotten a little
easier with help from Cole and the drugs. Staying busy helps me get through
each day and I've slowly began to live a little again. I will never forget what
I did, but I am somehow managing to live with the guilt.

A while later, I give up on
trying to read a book and instead head for the kitchen and peer in the
refrigerator. I am starving. As I'm scanning the contents, I hear the garage
door open and a car pull in. Tate works tonight which means Noah's home.

A second later Noah ambles in
through the door that led from the garage, a backpack slung over a broad
shoulder. He notices me and surprise flickers across his face. I've made it a
point to rarely be around the past few weeks because it just seems easier that
way. Apparently, he wasn't expecting me to be here. “Hey,” he greets lightly as
he sets his keys on the counter.

“Hey.”

He nods to the refrigerator
door I am still holding open. “You're letting all the cool air out.”

I glance at the fridge and
shut it before turning back to him. “I was thinking of ordering pizza. You game?”
I ask tentatively. This should not be awkward with Noah but it is and I have
nobody but myself to blame.

“How about I make dinner,” he
suggests, a hint of caution in his voice.

“Can I help?” I need
something
to do.

“Sure. Let me go clean up and
I'll be back,” he says before he heads for the hallway to go up to his room.

I walk over to the sink and
wash my hands. I've forgotten how much I enjoy spending time with Noah. It
dawns on me that I've really missed him. I had literally centered all my
attention on Cole the past few weeks and had let go of everything else in my
life. Now I'm starting to feel bad about it.

“What are you in the mood
for?” Noah asks as he enters the kitchen a moment later, his body language now
relaxed.

“Whatever you want.”

He walks over to the
refrigerator and opens it, scanning the contents. “There's chicken and
hamburger thawing. Which would you prefer?” he asks, looking up so he can read
my lips.

“Hamburger.”

He pulls the hamburger out and
sets it on the counter. “How about porcupine meatballs, brown rice, and a
salad?”

“Sure.” Eating healthier
isn't all that bad when Noah's doing the cooking. His meals are almost always
good. I can't understand why Tate just doesn't cave and admit that healthy food
can actually be quite tasty. I watch as Noah starts pulling stuff out of the
refrigerator and cupboards. I wait until he's facing me before I ask, “What
exactly are porcupine meatballs?”

“It's meatballs with rice and
whatever else you feel like rolled up in with the meat. I usually throw in
tomatoes, a little green pepper, and mushrooms.”

“Sounds good.”

“You want to chop the
vegetables while I start mixing the hamburger, eggs, and bread crumbs?”

We work together silently but
efficiently. I find myself relaxing and feeling content. While Noah rolls the
meat and vegetables into balls, I pull out lettuce for the salad, and grab a
sauce pan for the gravy Noah said he was making to go over the meatballs and
rice.

By the time dinner is ready,
we find that it is sprinkling steadily outside. We end up clearing off the
dining room table and decide to eat there so we can face each other. Once I
have plates and silverware on the table, Noah brings our meal over while I grab
napkins. When Noah returns with a beer for himself and glass of lemonade for
me, I thank him as we settle down to eat.

As usual, the meal is
delicious.

Noah looks at me curiously.
“No plans for this evening?”

“No. Cole is out of town.”

“You haven't been around much
lately,” he comments as he takes a drink of his beer.

“Things are good between me
and Cole.”

“I'm glad you're happy.”

“What about you?” I spear a
piece of meatball with my fork. “What have you been up to?” I ask before
slipping it in my mouth and chewing.

“Just concentrating on school
and work.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Always.”

“Does your deafness cause any
issues for you at
Soloman's
?”

“Not really,” he says. “There
are a lot of regulars there so most of them are aware I’m deaf. Those that I
have to explain it to are usually pretty understanding.”

“That's good. How do you know
when to get up in the morning since you can't hear an alarm?” I ask with
interest as I spear another piece of meatball with my fork. These meatballs are
fantastic.

“I wear a watch that
vibrates.”

I nod, thinking that I like
how easy going he is about his deafness. It's a part of his life and he's
pretty comfortable with it. “You don't go out very much, do you?” I've noticed
this the past several weeks. After catching him with the pretty blonde that
first night, I'd thought him to be quite the player and probably a partier.
Evidently, that's not the case.

“Not as much as your brother,
but I do get out every so often when I'm not working.”

“Do you work tonight?”

“This is my night off.”

“Then you should be out with
your friends.” Not that I want to hang out here all by myself but Noah has to
get bored sometimes.

“Nah, they're headed to a
club tonight and that's not my scene,” he says as he chews on a meatball, his
eyes on my mouth as he waits for my response.

“Why not?”

Amusement flickers in his
gaze. “Dance clubs aren't usually where deaf people hang out.”

“So don't be like typical
'deaf people',” I use air quotations to get my point across, “and do your own
thing.”

“I've tried to do the club
scene but women generally want to dance and that just turns into an
embarrassing fiasco. It's easier just avoiding it all,” he says with a shrug as
he sips his beer and watches my response.

I can't help but frown. “So
that's it? You give up because you're deaf? From what I can tell, you've always
controlled your disability, not vice versa.”

“Thanks,
Blayre
,”
he says dryly.

“I'm not trying to offend
you,” I insist as I set my fork down. “It's just I've noticed you never let
deafness get in the way of anything you do. It's just dancing.”

His eyes lift from my lips
and he gives me a sardonic look. “Just dancing? People dance to music—music I
can't hear. There for, I am a shitty dancer.”

“Have you tried dancing with
a girl?”

“Yes.”

“At a club?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Did she dance close to you
or just in front of you?”

Noah sighs. “
Blayre
, you are literally talking this topic to death,” he
says as he takes another drink of his beer.

“Well, dancing is like sex
and from what I saw that first night, you clearly have sex,” I point out.

Noah's brown eyes widen and
he chokes, spewing beer from his lips before he covers his mouth, coughing. He
looks up at me, his eyes watering slightly as he clears his throat. “Did you
just say what I thought you said?”

“Yes. If you're dancing with
a partner, you take your cues from her, right? Couples move according to their
partner. Like sex.”

Noah just stares at me.

“What?”

He slowly shakes his head and
his eyes gleam. “I'm suddenly finding this conversation very entertaining.”

“Back to my original
question. Did she dance close to you?”

This earns me a look of
exasperation. “You're the most determined woman I know.”

“I'll take that as a
compliment.”

“She danced and I just stood
there because I couldn't hear the music and I didn't know what to do.”

“You need to have higher
standards and start going after women with an actual IQ versus judging them by
their rack,” I say as I shoot him a look.

Noah suddenly smiles widely.
“Would you like my opinion in return?”

“Your opinion on dancing? I
already know it.”

“No, on your boyfriend.”

“Ha-ha. Fine, I'll quit
bashing your exes.”

Noah turns his attention back
to his plate and continues to eat.

Meanwhile, I study him. He's
a confident man, you can see it in everything he does. It bothers me that he
would avoid going out with friends because he feels insecure being in the
clubs. Suddenly an idea enters my mind. I begin to grin and Noah happens to
glance up at me and catch sight of it. “You and I are going clubbing tonight,”
I announce.

“You're under age.”

My grin widens. “My fake ID
says otherwise.”

Noah looks at me doubtfully
and then scowls. “You have a fake ID?”

“I do and if you tell Tate,
I'm going to sneak into your room one night and shave your eyebrows off,” I
threaten.

He gives me a mock look of
outrage. “You would sneak into a handicap man's room and assault him with a
shaver?
Blayre
.”

“Handicap my ass. And trust
me, if I was going to assault you, you'd know it.”

“Maybe I will tell Tate after
all,” he muses.

I can't help but laugh. “So,
are we going or not?”

“Not.”

“Okay, I'll just go by
myself,” I say as I lift my glass to my lips and take a sip.

“I don't think so.”

I shrug, setting the cup
down. “Well, you said you won't come with, so that leaves me on my own because
I am
not
staying here all night with nothing to do.”

Noah is not looking too happy
now. “This isn't funny anymore,
Blayre
. You're not
going to a club by yourself.”

“No offense but I don't need
your permission.”

His eyes narrow as he studies
me. “I'll go with but that means no alcohol for you, deal?”

“Will you try dancing with
me?”

“Do I have to?” he asks with
a grimace.

“Yes. Just one dance, I
swear. Please?”

“And you agree not to drink?”
he presses.

“Agreed.”

“Tate will never hear about
this,” Noah warns me.

I grin. “My lips are sealed.”

I spend extra time getting
ready while Noah showers in the first floor bathroom. I find myself excited to
be going out with Noah. It would be simple fun with no alcohol or drugs, and I
realize I am more excited about tonight than I have ever been when it comes to
parties and even clubbing with Cole.

Since we are going to a club,
I dress up in a purple clingy shirt, a cute black skirt and the black boots
that Cole seems to have a thing for. I'm not big on makeup, but tonight I apply
a little bit and opt to leave my hair down.

By the time nine rolls
around, I head downstairs to find Noah in the kitchen, patiently waiting on me.
He looks fantastic in his designer jeans and the dark polo shirt he's wearing.
His eyes run over me briefly. “You look really nice,” he say lightly.

“So do you.”

We head out to the car and
drive to the club in a steady rain. Noah's chosen a club where he's hoping we
won't run into anyone that he or Tate knows, since he's concerned Tate might
find out about our outing. He had also warned me earlier that we would be
leaving by ten-thirty. He's only willing to give me an hour and a half and I
figure that's better than nothing.