The X-Wood Lighthouse by: Acenth Bowmen
"I'm Evangeline, Evangeline Summers", she answers before taking off at lightning speed, and a wolfish grin breaks out on my face. Watch out, Usain Bolt, you have serious competition. My gaze lingers on the running figure which quickly dissipates into the crowd.
Sassy - Check.
Most likely to not take crap from anyone - Check.
Sarcastic - Check
Indifferent - Check
Playing hard to get - Check
My type - Check. NOT.
According to operation Break Evangeline's Heart (B.E.H), I have to woo a girl who isn't my type. Trying to date someone who isn't your type is like trying not to cry when watching the Fault in Our Stars; an impossible task. According to Max, there's nothing better than a bad girl who's only good for you. Evangeline seems rational yet absurd, indifferent yet considerate. She's a walking dichotomy.
She has this air around her that'll make you intrigued. Besides hating people who pique my interest, I have no intention of carrying out operation B.E.H for numerous reasons. A) it isn't the most appealing way to spend my summer, and B) breaking a girl's heart isn't my priority. I have other pressing matters to solve. For example, finding my brother and figuring out why my father is so interested in a lighthouse.
Hooking up with your best friend's ex (aka breaking the bro code) or finding your brother and throwing your tyrant of a dad behind bars; you chose. Which one is an appealing way to spend the summer? The latter.
My eyes sweep over the overcrowded metro station and the rows of cars outside. Boiling summers in an overpopulated town nestled in the midst of nowhere aren't the exact vacation spot I had in mind. I'm here for my brother, dead or alive, I'm going to find him. The possibility of this all being another one of my father's schemes leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
My call is directed to voicemail, and I sigh in exasperation at Max's lack of response. If you're sending me after your girl, at least keep up to date. My intentions for helping him out aren't clear, but if this boring hell hole isn't entertaining, I'll always have her.
I text Albert to inform him about my safe arrival and head over to the V.I.P lounge. My gaze lands on the familiar brunette and as I reach out to snag her attention I notice who she's talking to; Chance William Miller AKA Miller the Killer.
A strange sensation begins to brew in the pit of my stomach as my eyes rake over the familiar blond and his beaming face. He has no right to be happy. A painful tug at my heart causes a chain reaction of semi-healed wounds to re-open and fading scars to resurface.
The joy plaguing Evangeline's features makes it clear that she's oblivious to the danger beside her. She giggles at his statement and, I clench my fists. You broke more than a heart. You broke a woman and robbed her of all her happiness and, I won't let you do it again.
Guys like Chance prey on naive girls. They'll whisper sweet nothings into your ears with their alluring voice, making you instantaneously fall for them. Then they'll have their way with you, take what they want, play with you and, when they get bored, they'll humiliate you by publically breaking your heart and nonchalantly forget you.
He's the kind of guy you'd give your everything to, the one who'd rip out your heart and ask for nothing in return. You'll give them your everything until you're broken and bleeding. You keep doing that and, when you wake up one morning, they're gone. No note, no explanation, just the realization that you'd been a pastime all along will dump itself on your head like a pile of shit.
Do me a favor and never fall for guys like him, no matter how gorgeous or blue their eyes are. If you do, your life will become crazier than a rollercoaster ride, and honey, it won't be thrilling or enjoyable. There'll be nada you can do to return your life to the way it was. Your 'normal' life will cease to exist because boys like Chance will trample on your definition of normal and introduce you to an abnormal universe where heartbreak is oxygen.
~*~
"I'm Acenth Bowmen. Just call me Ace. May I join you?" After observing NOT stalking them for a while, I finally mustered up the courage to talk to them. I also noticed something fascinating; the way Chance looks at Evangeline isn't identical to the way she looks at him. His gaze radiates a powerful intimacy seen between lovers but, her gaze is platonic.
If I hurt Evangeline, it'll get to him. Maybe I'll be carrying out this stupid operation.
She grins, pointing to a chair and handing me the menu, "go ahead."
"Is this your boyfriend?" A redhead sizes me before expectantly batting her eyelashes at Evangeline, who shakes her head. "He's still locked up in the basement."
Is this what girls do after we break their hearts; lie to their friends about locking us up in basements and preparing a gruesome bloodbath?
The trio erupts into a chorus of giggles causing a few heads to whip in our direction. I guess I'm not the only one left in the dark.
"I'm Sierra, by the way", the redhead introduces before glancing at the rose gold watch adorning her wrist, "and I have somewhere I need to be. Ciao."
Evangeline waves her goodbye before turning to me, "you're not lost, are you?' I shake my head at her question and, she smiles, "aren't you going to order something?" I nod and, her brows furrow, "why are you so quiet? You weren't this mute at the metro."
I snicker. What do you want me to say? How I'm currently plotting Chance's murder? "I'm just wondering, apart from being sexy, what do you do for a living?"
Her eyes momentarily widen and, I swear, I heard Chance growl. She forces an uneasy chuckle, "cringe." I guess I sound like a forty-year-old hitting on a sixteen-year-old. "I feel like it's fate you know; this is the second time we're meeting today." I trace the scratches on the plastic table.
This is such a massive fail that I'm surprised it isn't in the Guinness Book of World Records as yet. Low blow Ace, low blow. I should've taken up Max's offer for a flirting lesson. Girls throwing themselves at your feet is different from being able to flirt them into your bed.
"I didn't peg you for someone who'd believe in fate", she bites back, tilting her head to the side. While she studies my face, I mirror her actions; pools of light viridian contradict the dark locks pinned back with bobby pins. Faint freckles dust the bridge of her nose, and her sun-kissed skin glows under the sun.
"You've got something on your face", I lie, leaning forward and stroking her cheek. She freezes under my touch, normally, most girls do. My finger lingers on her face for another second until I'm sure she can feel the cliché sparks girls love to brag about erupt across her skin. Instead of leaning into my touch, slender fingers darts upwards, blindly rubbing the sun-kissed skin, and I struggle to conceal the surprise lacing my features; she's not affected, or is she playing hard to get? "Oh, never mind, it's just beauty other girls would kill for."
My words obviously set off a reaction of some sort because next minute, she's crossing her legs, folding her arms, and pinning me with an exasperated scowl. Totally not playing hard to get. "We're just eating ice cream together; coincidence, honey. Coincidence, coincidence isn't fate", she repeats, tossing her hair over her shoulder and finishing her milkshake.
"So we both ended up buying ice cream from the same place; it's obviously fate. I mean there are, like what? Five other ice cream parlors here, plus we just happened to bump into each other."
By now, most normal girls would've made a spectacle of themselves -keyword: normal- giggling all over the place, turning a million shades of red and jotting down their numbers on tissues. "Are you implying that I purposely bumped into you and am playing hard to get because I'm vying for your attention? Or are you implying that you're a stalker who's been following me because you're obsessed with me and have a million pictures of me plastered across the walls of your room? Or are you showing off your wealth: two out of six of those places are run by the Bowmens. We bumped into each other, I rattled your head off, and we meet again, big effing deal."
I nearly choke on air. Firstly, how isn't Evangeline a rapper? Secondly, why isn't she on a debate team, and thirdly, what's with all those scenarios? You're making me seem like an obsessed psycho, Wattpad character, and bruising my ego all at the same damned time. A little easy on the insults, please. " Go out with me?" I deadpan.
Chance gapes at me; his spoon is suspended an inch away from his mouth. Teddy bear brown eyes study me before moving to the brunette beside me. I can't help the smirk threatening to break out at his reaction.
I expectantly raise a brow at her, waiting for an answer.
"I'm pregnant", she nonchalantly remarks, and this time my jaw glues itself to the floor. Chances' spoon falls to the floor with a loud clatter causing me to flinch. She shrugs at our reactions, almost perplexed as to why we're so astonished, "what? I thought we were saying impossible things."
Chance clears his throat; it's evident he's trying to swallow his laughter, "Jesus H, Ev, I had a mini heart attack, totally not ready for my godkids."
I ignore Chance and focus my attention on the poker-faced subject. Max is right, she's different, or she's playing hard to get. Either way, she's piqued my curiosity, "you're interesting, Evangeline Summers. Go out with me."
She scowls, "what am I? Your biology textbook? I'm seriously wondering if you're sick." Honesty is the best policy but if that doesn't work, do I have to use an unreal amount of flattery?
"Of course not", I reply. Do I look sick? Am I pale? That's my reminder to go out more instead of sitting cooped up in the office.
"Are you insane?"
"Definitely not", I state. So that's what Evangeline is going for; she's asking me if I'm mental enough to ask a person I barely know out on a date. But this is how the real world works, we hook up with random strangers we meet at the bar and kiss strangers in closets at parties and grind on the dancefloor with drunkards we'll never see again. What's the big deal asking someone I barely know out? Hasn't a barista ever jotted down his number on a spare tissue and handed it to her? Hasn't some dude ever walked up to her and thrust a piece of paper with his number in her hand?
"Why would you ask me out when you barely even know me. For all I know, you might be a serial killer who seduces naive women with that pretty face of yours and then locks them up in the basement before sadistically killing them", she yells, garnering the attention of people sitting around us. Chance flashes me a smug look, and I grimace not because I was publically rejected but because Chance was sitting right here. And the motherfucker knew that this would happen. "Let's go, Chance", she orders, grabbing him by the forearm and slapping a couple of twenties on the table before marching out.
With absolutely nothing left to do inside the parlor except receiving sympathetic looks from the customers, I head out and hop into the car. Evangeline's defensive outburst might have a lot to do with Max. Their breakup and the events leading to it might've inflicted serious trust issues on the girl, and I bet he knows about it. I dial Maxs' number, and this time he answers, "Hello, Max Heesters here, love you Ace, but I'm not ga-" I cut his useless ranting off, "your ex is acting like a defensive, traumatized bitch, all thanks to you."
"Took you long enough to realize that she'd either A) reject you or B) use you to get over me. . . or for clout or for five seconds of fame." I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends in frustration, "congratulations on passing. A is the correct answer", I mock, and he snickers.
"How does it feel to have your ego bruised? Is it painful? Traumatizing? Horrendous?" I click my tongue in exasperation at his attempts to get a rise out of me.
"Why did she even reject me?" I inquire. I'm literally everything any girl can ever ask for; I'm the fairytale Prince Charming, the bad boy, the boy you'd bring home to your mother, and the perfect package.
"You asked her out when you barely knew her, and sure, people do it all the time, but she is archaic. I agree it's hard for a girl to say no to a face like yours; worst case scenario they'd say that they'd think about it."
I examine my face in the review mirror, for once in his life, Max Heesters is right. I am gorgeous and filthy rich. I run my fingers through the wavy blond locks gleaming under the sun like slabs of gold. I smirk at my reflection, "how could any girl bluntly reject perfection?"
I study my flawless face. I have zero imperfections -whoever said that no one is perfect is talking utter BS- so why did a mediocre girl reject me? My skin is blemish-free, and so clear that dermatologists are lining up to know my skincare routine. My eyes are the most captivating shade of blue, and my hair is more dazzling than any slab of gold gleaming in the sun. With a jawline sharper than a knife, an IQ higher than Einsteins, and a bank account fatter than Mark Zuckerberg's. I'm the epitome of perfection.
"Anyway", Max interjects, "let's commence with Plan B. You have to flirt with her, take her out to the most expensive restaurant in town as FRIENDS, buy her expensive things and become the romantic of the century. Make her fall for you, go mad for you, to the extent that she only thinks about you and obeys you. Brainwash her into believing that you're the only one for her and when she's at her happiest. Game. Over. Dump her", he jeers, and confusion transforms my face into an ugly scrunch.
"I thought that was Plan A."
Max snorts, "plan A was to ask her out the first time you saw her with a BS story that you'd fallen head over heels in love with her at first sight and couldn't wait to marry her. But I forgot that you can't flirt to save your damned life."
"She was disinterested. Girls would be giggling all over the place and throwing themselves at me if I merely looked their way. Yet I was sitting beside her, touched her like twice, fed her BS pick-up lines she deemed cringe and conversed with her, but she rejected me."
Max sighs, "forget it", he mummers, his voice softening. "I overheard your dad talking to Felix", he redirects the conversation, and I sit up straight, concentrating on the words pouring out his mouth, "did you hear anything important? Did that bastard hurt him?"
Max is privy to the emotional and physical abuse all of us had been through, he knows the truth about Mace and all my half-siblings. "They were talking about a murder."
My breath hitches as my mind flickers to the possibility of my older brother being murdered, "who's murder?"
I cross my fingers, swallowing the lump in my throat. I have to be strong for mom and Felix. I will avenge Mace for what dad did to him, but I can't with a cloudy judgment and a hazy mind.
"All I heard was a murder on the 4th of July 1989 in the X-Wood Lighthouse. I'm guessing whoever died on the 4th of July has a connection to your father and ultimately to you and Mace."