“Is that so?” My voice is laced with humor. It’s amusing that she thinks I’d listen to anything she has to say.
Crossing her arms, she smirks. “Yes, it is. Stop going out of your way to rile Evan. It’s immature and very unbecoming. The McCallister name—”
“Don’t talk to me about my name. It’s only yours on loan.”
I’m sure my answer doesn’t sit well, but I don’t care to witness her embarrassment, so I level my eyes on the smoke coming off the elongating ash between my fingers. If she were smarter, she’d take less pride in having the McCallister name. It comes in handy when shoving authority down someone’s throat. Otherwise, it’s just a reminder of a cruel legacy.
“You’re such an asshole. I don’t know why I thought you’d ca—”
“Me either,” I agree quickly, slipping back into the natural roles we play with each other.
Her eyes narrow on me, and I can see her mean readying on her tongue, but I beat her to the punch.
“Don’t you have a dick to suck? I believe the garbage picks up in the alley around this time.”
“Cocksucker,” she fires at me harshly.
I wince when she says the word and put the half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray, Caroline seems puzzled as I do it, but I smirk.
“What? You reminded me of where your mouth’s been.”
Sneering, she stomps out of the room, and I reach in for another smoke, grinning to myself.
I win.
Donovan
Sixteenth birthday
MY BODY FEELS EFFERVESCENT, AS if all the tiny Mo?t bubbles I’ve been sipping are vibrating inside of me. Heat rises, climbing my spine as I dance, making tiny droplets of sweat bead on my collarbone and my hair stick to my face with every throw of my head. I shake my hips in rhythm to the bass, tossing my arms to the ceiling.
It feels free and wild. I feel free and wild.
This moment is exactly what I wanted, to throw all my thoughts and fights with my mother out of the window and live. I’m so tired of hearing about the consequences. Because it’s all bullshit. I’ve been forced to live with everyone else’s consequences since I was twelve. Like medicine that’s siphoned down my throat against my will. It’s supposed to make me better but instead makes me fucking sick.
She doesn’t care how messed up my life gets, so long as it doesn’t affect her. The idea of negative consequences is just something she uses when things aren’t in her favor. Like how men have stopped looking at her and are now looking at me. Doesn’t matter that I hate it. She hates it more, because the eyes aren’t on her.
The silk from my emerald-green skirt swishes around the tops of my tan thighs, and with each movement of my hips, I run my hands up the sides of my body. Everything feels so good. I want to die in this moment. My hands drag over my hips as I begin to shake them harder from side to side, uncaring about anything or anyone.
Don’t think. Just feel.
Nothing else matters, including me. But the familiar voice echoes in my head as I dance harder, trying to drown it out with the music that fills the club.
She doesn’t care about me. I’m a pawn she uses against my father and everyone else.
I thrash my head back and forth, letting my hair fly with the kind of abandon I wish I felt as whistles and claps erupt around me. My head lowers to take in all eyes that are on me. Men surround the table that I’ve made my stage, all of them waiting for me to move—to keep on with my show.
This is what she hates. She hates that they all love me—only me.
The irony is I only want her love. But all I’m given is theirs. Men. Staring at me, adoring me, caring about what I’m doing. I can’t help that I’m younger. I can’t stop any of them from wanting me. No matter how much that fucking kills her. No matter how much that makes me her enemy. Her competition. Her legacy.
Strong hands slap the table over and over, keeping time to the music, as my bare feet stay planted on the table, rooting me while I sway to the pulse created by my audience. I tip my head back, feeling my buzz hit me harder, and pull me deeper into the moment.
Pills. Champagne. More pills and more champagne. That’s been the map of my night. My