Rick was trying not to flip out. He demanded we turn around and go home but I just shrugged him off, pressing my foot on the accelerator and letting the roof cover us as we entered the figurative gates to New York. The most damned place I've ever been to. Full of scums and suffering that not even their big fat smiles could hide it.
"This is extremely irresponsible," he was muttering.
"Ugh. Shut up. You sound like my brother. I can't have someone I've fucked remind me of my brother. It's disgusting," I spat in distaste.
No wonder the two of them were friends. They were as uptight and square.
"I should have driven," he said, almost as if cursing at himself.
"You should have stayed away from me."
"Why do you keep saying that?" he snapped in apparent annoyance.
I shrugged. "Because you should have. I'm not the type of person you should care about. It's safer not to give a shit about me, it's what I do."
"God, you just spout bullshit on and on, huh?"
I frowned, glancing at him. "It's not bullshit. Why would I encourage you to care for me when I know I'll end up hurting you?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "This whole enigmatic crap is becoming redundant, Angel. Why don't you just cut the nonsense and talk like a normal person?"
I laughed lightly. "I'm the farthest thing from normal, babe. That's the only thing I can't fake."
"What is wrong with you? Seriously, because I'm just trying to wrap my head around you and every word that comes out of your mouth is just... nonsensical."
"There are a lot of wrongs in me and I assure you, you don't want to see the list. As for wrapping your head around me..." I paused, turning my head to look at him and smiling. "Good luck with that cuz I don't even know half of myself and I've given up on trying to figure it out a long time ago."
His brows creased and I reached over to flick my finger against his forehead, chuckling as he blinked repeatedly.
"You're so..." He paused, looking at me intently. "… weird."
"Weird? Seriously?" I snorted at the wholesome adjective but he seemed to stand by it. "Maybe I am. Most people think I'm a little off the rails. I mean, I wouldn't doubt it if I was dropped on the head when I was an infant."
"You probably were."
I snickered, shaking my head in amusement as I drove. "I probably got hit in the head far too many times or something."
"Or it's the result of long term drug abuse."
My face fell, my amusement disappearing instantly. "That was rude."
"But true."
I pursed my lips, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. "You judge me because you think you know me. You don't. Why would someone willingly destroy themselves for the sake of it?" I said, my voice quiet as I focused on the road. "I don't like it. I hate it so much, being like this, but I have no other choice."
"You do have a choice, you're just not letting yourself consider it," he replied with gentle insistence. "You talked about freedom and how much of a pity it is that people deprive themselves of it. The irony of the matter is, you've locked yourself up in a fantasy where you think you can do anything when in reality, all you do is run away. That's not living. That's not freedom. That's one massive shithole that you can't get out of because you're afraid of living in reality where not everything can be casted away with a line of cocaine."
I scoffed. "I hate people like you. Always talking about shit you know nothing about. Your reality is backpacking across Europe, building a successful career, and eventually settling down with a beautiful wife who will bear you wonderful children that are going to be as perfect as you are. You have the world at your feet. You love your reality because your dreams actually come true and you can be happy. My reality is hell. It's not just going to fancy parties, wearing expensive dresses, and being draped in diamonds. That's only the surface but underneath all that is..." I pursed my lips, holding myself back from spilling at the seams. "Life isn't worth living if it's filled with pain and suffering."
He grew quite, his eyes on me, digging, looking for trouble. He suddenly took my hand and I nearly jumped at the uncalled for gesture. I looked at him and then at our hands, seeing him twine our fingers together.
"What are you doing?" I hissed, pulling my hand back but he merely tightened his hold as he kept his gaze up front.
"You have so much inside you but you refuse to show it," he mumbled as he brushed his thumb against my knuckles. "Being vulnerable isn't a bad thing, Angel."
I let out a harsh breath. "I will not fall apart," I snapped before halting the car, yanking the key out of the ignition and getting out.
He stepped out of the car, looking at me in that way that I was growing to hate. I ran a hand through my hair, yanking off the tie it was constrained in and letting the purple strands cascade over my shoulders, framing my face.
"Don't make a sound," I said before crossing the street.
He frowned, following me through his eyes as I marched over to the iron gates that went around the obnoxiously large mansion like a barricade.
I hated this place. Hated how empty it was. Hated all the memories. Hated every fucked up shit it covered. Hated all the suffering I'd endured under its roof. I hated everything about it. One day, I was going to burn it to the ground while drinking a bottle of champagne and it would be the best day of my fucking life.
I stopped when I came face to face with the gates that I've been going up and down on ever since I middle school. I unlaced my boots and threw them over the gate before curling my hands around the bars and hoisting myself up. The gates shook, the sound of it filling the empty street.
Rick was watching me as I climbed my way up, his eyes wide. I huffed out a large breath as I sat atop the pillar, preparing to jump. The ground was fifteen feet away from where I sat and I went for it, rolling myself as I landed on the ground.
I pushed myself up, cursing as I flexed my limbs to make sure I hadn't broken anything. I gestured for Rick to do the same and for a moment, he looked at me as if I was crazy as he stood on the other side of the gate.
"If you were going to be such a pussy, why even bother coming with?" I muttered in annoyance.
Turning away, I marched down the pathway that led to the main kitchen. I pushed one of the windows open and it gave away easily. The maids had long taken it as a necessity to leave the window open for me.
I glanced up at the CCTV camera at one corner, catching it move to focus on me and I saluted whoever was manning the graveyard shift. I heard a grunt come from behind me and turned just Rick was pushing himself off the ground. I pressed a finger to my lips and focused on the security pad.
I turned, reaching further and feeling my palm on it. I pressed a button and a faint light came. I put my thumb onto the pad, counting for seven seconds before extracting my thumb from it and carefully inputting the code.
A moment later, I heard the locks disengage as a faint beep welcomed me. I pulled my arm back as I turned to face Rick who was looking at me with wide cautious eyes.
"Pick up our shoes."
He obliged and I pushed the door open, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. I stepped aside, letting him in first and he took a tentative step forward as if he was entering a lion's den. I rolled my eyes and shoved him inside.
He stumbled on his feet and I grabbed the back of his jacket to still him while I carefully shut the door. I engaged the alarm again, turning to see Rick gaping and ashen faced. I held back a laugh.
I maneuvered my way along the kitchen through memory, passing through the racks of pots and pans with ease. I peeked through the circular window on the door, barely seeing a thing through the darkness.
I didn't know if Father was home but I would be surprised if he was. He only came home on Sundays. Mother was either fast asleep after fucking some boy toy or was away on another vacation with said boy toy. Either way, I didn't give a shit. They didn't anyways.
I turned to Rick, grabbing our shoes and placing them on the floor before taking his hand. His palm was clammy and I was sure he wasn't breathing.
"Relax," I whispered.
"Don't tell me to relax when we're breaking and entering," he hissed lowly.
I rolled my eyes. "Nobody's home."
"Are you sure about that? What would ha-"
I kissed him just to shut him up. I've wanted to do that every time he ranted my ear off.
A groan rumbled at the back of his throat and I pulled away. "Nobody's home," I whispered. "If somebody was, there would be more guards patrolling the property."
"But what if-"
I kissed him again. "What ifs and if onlys are reserved for those who are too afraid to chase after the sun and are left howling at the moon," I whispered, my lips brushing against his as I spoke. "Let's chase after the sun, Frederick."
"It's night time. There is no sun so your logic is flawed."
"Then let's howl at the moon together, you and I."
"Are you still high?"
"No. I just don't want to be alone tonight."
He was quiet for a brief moment and then he sighed, taking my hand. "Lead the way then."
I gripped his hand, guiding him out of the kitchen and towards the great hall. He was dragging his feet like an idiot and if I had the strength, I would have carried him on my back to save us some time.
"Quiet. You're going to wake Lucy. That old hag hates it when I bring guys over," I whispered as we reached the banister. "Stairs."
I reached a hand out to hold the railing, taking the first step and the most deafening sound of creaking came when Rick did the same.
"Tiptoe, idiot."
I felt rather than heard him take a deep breath as he followed my movements. When we got to the second floor, I paused, listening to any faint sounds from the right wing of the mansion where my parents' rooms were. Nothing.
We repeated the process. Me telling him to be quiet and him leaving creaking sounds in his wake. Twice, he nearly stumbled.
"One more flight of stairs. The pool is on the rooftop," I said when we reached the third floor.
"Are you sure we-"
"Sshh."
"Stop shushing me. I don't want to get shot for trespassing."
I rolled my eyes. "You Americans are too obsessed with guns."
"You say that as if you're not American."
"Cuz I'm not," I muttered as I continued to lead him through the halls. "Born in Germany. Moved here when I was four."
"Jude never mentioned that."
"All Lastors are born in Germany. It's a tradition my great-grandfather insisted we uphold, in honor of our predecessors. Now, shush."
When we reached the fourth floor, I led the way to the steps heading up to the rooftop. I heard Rick let out a low whistle as he took in the glass ceiling that sheltered the entirety of the roof, offering a clear view of the dark sky above our heads. The moon was full, shining down at us and sharing her gloom as she lit up the darkness.
It was beautiful; the sky, the moon, the man standing beside me with a look of awe on his face.
"Damn. So this is how the one percent lives," he muttered almost to himself.
I rolled my eyes, dragging him towards the bar. "Sit."
I went towards the intercom perched up against the wall, pressing the fourth button connecting me to the security room.
"Ma'am," a gruff and disgruntled voice said.
"Lights. Pool."
Just as I turned to face Rick, the lights underneath the vast pool that spread from one side to the other lit up.
His eyes widened as he looked over his shoulder. "Jesus… you people sure know how to embody luxury."
I scowled. "Are you mocking me?"
"I'm in awe, Angel."
I scoffed. "It's just a pool."
"That's an ocean," he said, pointing at the pool.
I rolled my eyes, "It's an unnecessary waste of money that could have fed thousands of people who are dying out of scarcity around the world," I spat before turning away from him. "Drink?"
"Should you really be drinking right now?"
I tilted my head, my brows furrowed. "I appreciate the company but if you're going to be a prick, I'd rather you leave."
He sighed. "I'm not trying to be prick. I'm just..." He paused, looking frazzled as he dragged his hands through his hair. "Scared."
"That you'll witness my death?"
He clenched his jaw, a somber look appearing in his eyes. "It's a sight I never want to see. Tonight was already too much."
I held his gaze for a moment, tapping my fingers on the counter. "I'll have one glass. Either join me or watch."
He pursed his lips. "Alright. One."
"What do you want?"
"Uh... beer?"
I nodded, placing one tall glass on the counter before going to the fridge. I took a bottle of Westvleteren 12, placing it on the counter and filling a bucket with ice for him.
I shuffled through the cabinets, pondering on what to make for myself when I found a bottle of Canadian whisky. I hunted for some bitters along with vermouth to fix a Manhattan. Mother was always ordering the servants to make her a glass of it. Seems to it she was still committed to her cocktail of choice.
I grabbed a cocktail shaker and started mixing the drink, faintly aware that Rick was watching me.
"Want some?" I asked as I took out a low glass.
"No."
"You hungry? I can call the kitchen."
"I'm good."
I carried on with stirring the drink, pouring it into the glass with one lone ice cube at the bottom just to cool down the drink. I went around the bar, hopping up on the stool beside him and lighting up a cigarette before taking a sip of my drink. He was still watching me.
"What?"
"Hm?"
"I hate being stared at. What is it?"
"Oh." He blinked for a moment. "Uh, your hands. It looks worse than before."
I glanced at my hand, seeing the healing cuts and bruises on it. "I got into a fight last week."
His eyes widened and he looked at my hand again. "Looks like you won."
I chuckled, licking my lips as the taste of the drink lingered. "Heard he needed facial reconstructive surgery when I was done with him."
"Wait, he?"
"What? You don't think I can take down a guy?"
"Depends," he said, raking his gaze over my not at all impressive skin and bones frame. "Do you fight dirty?"
I smirked. "Is there any other way?"
He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "What did he do to warrant such aggression from you?"
"He owed my friend some money," I said, taking a drag from my cigarette. "He also called me a freak, if I remember correctly."
"So you tore his face apart?"
I shrugged. "When you act like a piece of shit, you get turned into one."
He shook his head, letting out a breath. "Christ. You really need to get help for your anger management issues."
My jaw ticked. "You saying I gotta talk to a shrink?"
"It could help."
"Fuck that. I've had those quack doctors fucking with my head since I was fourteen. Tryin' to play mind games with me and labeling me aggressive when I won't play along." I scoffed, taking a sip of my drink. "All they do is take your money and pretend to care. They might as well be a fucking bank."
"You are quite aggressive though." I glared at him but he merely shrugged. "You've held a knife to my throat and bruised my jaw. I'm entitled to say that."
"You were hurting me," I bit out. "You don't get to hurt someone and expect them not to hurt you back."
"I was being honest with you, something that I assume most people are too scared to do with you. If I hurt you, I'm sorry. But you know deep down you needed to hear those things."
I pursed my lips, looking away from him. I hated it, how right he was. His words, no matter how much I tried to ignore them, kept coming back to me. He was right about me running away from my life by ruining it. He was right that I couldn't be sober for a day without falling apart. He was right that all I did was pretend to be strong when in fact, I wasn't. He was right about everything but most of all, he was right about me hating what I've become. All I wanted was to end it because I couldn't stand living like this anymore. It made me sick, that I've become this person. I never intended to be like this but at some point, I had lost control and I was too fucked up to do anything about it.
"Angel Lastor," I murmured quietly. "What do you think of when you hear that name?"
"Aggressive," he answered after a moment of thought. "Dangerous. Manipulative."
"When you look at me, what do you see?"
His brows furrowed slightly and he just looked at me, his eyes taking in every inch of the pretty face that most people considered as my only positive attribute.
"Angry," he murmured. "Lost. Tired. Miserable."
"Now put all those things together. What becomes of it?"
He pursed his lips, his face growing grim. "A mess."
"And what happens when a messed up kid grows up in a world where people's perception of her becomes the foundation of her identity?"
He sighed, reaching for my hair and tucking the loose tendrils behind my ear. "Tell me."
My lips lifted into a small smile. "Chaos."
"Chaos," he echoed.
I nodded. "When people think you're every bad thing in the world, you tend to cause chaos without trying."
"But it's not you, is it?"
I shrugged, tilting my glass around and watching the liquid move. "I like to tell myself that it's not but I've been playing the idea people have of who Angel Lastor is for so long that I've become her."
"You hate it, being this Angel Lastor character people have concocted."
"With a burning passion."
"Then why not be yourself instead?"
I lifted my eyes to his, smiling. "It's easier to be other people's fantasy than to be someone I don't even know."
He frowned. "I think that's the most tragic thing in the world."
I arched a brow. "Really? Not famine? War? Poverty? Genocide? Cancer?"
"Don't do that," he said, shaking his head. "Don't disregard yourself just because you're not a humanitarian crisis. You matter, Angel, and I think it's tragic that you've let someone take away your identity."
"What makes you think someone took it away?"
"Because you don't just lose your identity. It's the very core of your entire being and everyone instinctively clings to it when they are suffering. Without it, they lose any will to carry on. I know that because when my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, she desperately clung to her identity. Her fierce optimism and stubbornness makes her who she is and I strongly believe that if she wasn't who she is, she wouldn't have survived," he said with unabashed admiration.
I sighed, resting my chin on his shoulder. "You adore her, your mother."
"Very much," he admitted freely as he carried on brushing my hair with his fingers. "Even though she constantly annoys me with her incessant nagging."
"I lost the two people I adored the most in the world to cancer. I watched them slowly whither away. It wasn't just their organs that were giving up. They were too, which didn't make sense to me then and it still doesn't now. They weren't the kind of people who would easily lose hope but they just laid there, willingly waiting for death to come. They were no longer the strongwilled, kind, generous, fierce, and patient people I once adored so much. They'd become weak, mean, selfish, and intolerable people who didn't care that they were hurting me. Cancer didn't just take away their lives. That damned disease took away every good thing that made them so fucking beautiful and I wanted to tear the world apart at how cruel it was."
He had an inexlpicable look in his eyes. It was different from the look he always had, it was like he'd found what he's been looking for.
"Stop staring," I said, unnerved by his gaze.
"I just realized something."
"What?"
"Your identity isn't lost," he murmured, smiling. "Just buried somewhere behind the wall from the debris of your broken heart."
I drew back, caught off guard by his words. He smiled as if I was amusing him.
"You love with unrelenting devotion. That's a part of who you really are and I think your true self is very beautiful. I hope someday I might meet her."
I shook my head. "I've made too much of a mess of myself to be beautiful."
I looked away from him, tilting my head back to look up at the moon and marveling in its beauty.
"This is what true beauty is," I whispered, a small smile on my lips as I gazed up at the sky. "Untainted. Perfect. Every inch so magnificent that you'd wonder if she was even real. At first glance, you get caught with her beauty. Captivated with the light that she brings to the darkness surrounding her. But no one could truly appreciate the depths of her beauty unless you understand it. I wish I could."
He sighed. "Your habit of using metaphors is very inconvenient, do you know that?"
I laughed, tipping my head back as I downed my glass in one breath with a wince. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, taking in the feel of the amber liquid as it glided down my system, burning my flesh from the inside.
"I hate myself," I found myself saying as I opened my eyes, focusing my gaze on the moon.
"What?"
"I hate myself," I repeated. "I think you should know that."
I sighed, swallowing hard, craving for another drink. I hated myself even more.
"Why do you hate yourself?" he asked, his voice quiet, reluctant. Confused.
I smiled at his question, a hundred reasons coming unbidden through my mind as my demons whispered them to me.
"What's there to love?" I said instead, laughing lightly. "I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict. You said so yourself, my addiction is taking over my life and I'm in a massive shit hole that I can't get out of. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate what I see because the girl looking back at me is just a face. A face that's haunted me for so long."
I screwed my eyes shut, grimacing. I shouldn't be around someone when I was way off my head.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You brought me here."
"You could have told me to drop you off somewhere."
"Did you really expect me to let you drive all the way here alone? You could have gotten into an accident, or worse."
I shrugged. "Why should you care? We only fucked once."
"You don't have to fuck someone to care about them, Angel."
"Still, you shouldn't care. You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
"And that's enough to make you care?"
"Apparently."
I chuckled humorlessly, shaking my head. "You're really too good to be in my life right now."
He suddenly grasped my jaw, making me look at him. "There's nothing wrong with having something good in your life."
His sincerity made me smile, and I was high and drunk enough to be tempted to take his offering of himself. But reason still remained in my fucked up head.
"You could be good for me, I admit that, but I will be the worst thing to ever happen to you. You must admit that," I murmured, turning my head and pressing my lips against his palm. "This much is enough."
I pulled away from him and hopped off the stool, stripping my clothes off.
"Help yourself with anything," I said before heading for the pool, making a loud splash as I dove into the water.
I swam to the floor of the pool and sat there, only surfacing when I felt my chest constrict from the lack of air. I let myself float on my back, closing my eyes as I took in the tranquility of solitude but the sound of water splashing broke it for me and I remembered I wasn't alone. I kept my eyes closed, hearing him nearing me until I could feel his breath over my head.
"Stop doing that," Rick snapped in apparent annoyance.
"Doing what?"
"Saying things and then just walking away."
I chuckled inwardly, straightening and turning to face him. I smiled, bringing my arms around his neck as we floated in the middle of the pool, the moon shining down on us, on him.
His eyes bore into mine, hands holding my hips and pulling me closer to him until our skin brushed. My lips parted as a soft breath escaped me, the heat of his body bringing an unfamiliar warmth to me. He lowered his forehead to mine, our lips almost touching. I trailed my fingers down his face as I took him in. Every inch. Each indent. Every feature. He was so beautiful and I knew, inside he was as beautiful.
I sighed. "You're so beautiful."
He smiled. "You're not so bad yourself."
"I don't mean physically," I said, pressing my palm against his chest and feeling his heart beating frantically. "Here. You're so beautiful inside."
He frowned. "Are you going to start being weird again?"
"I'm admiring you. I don't meet many beautiful people." I felt my control slipping as he inched closer and I sighed. "You should know better than to keep tempting me."
He tightened his grip on my hips. "Stop me then."
He pressed his lips to mine, firm and relentless. I let out a harsh breath, gripping fistful of his hair as I lost complete control of myself. Despite how undeserving I was to be wanted by this man, I accepted it selfishly as I held him to me.
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to him and guiding my legs around his waist. His kiss was unforgiving, leaving me breathless and reveling in my wanton desire for him. He pushed the straps of my bra off my shoulders as his lips drifted to my neck, trailing sloppy kisses on my skin.
The reluctance and uncertainty that once hindered him was gone as he led me to the edge of the pool, setting me down a step on the stairs.
I leaned back, watching him through hooded lids as he lifted my leg and began to kiss my ankle, trailing his lips down my calf and to the inside of my thigh. His heavy breaths burned every inch of skin he passed, and yet I was shivering as if he was chilling me to the bone.
"Rick..." I whispered, biting my lip when I felt his fingers brush against the waistband of my underwear.
He lifted his eyes, meeting mine as he lowered his lips to my lower abdomen. His teeth grazed against my skin, biting lightly and teasing me. Slowly, he kissed his way up my torso. I couldn't hide the pain that came when he started kissing my scars.
"It hurts. Stop," I whimpered, pushing him away instinctively.
"What? Where?" he asked in a rush, concern replacing the lust in his eyes.
I wrapped my arms around myself, flinching away when he reached for me. "Don't touch me."
"I'm sorry. I thought you wanted to," he said, heaving out a breath and closing his eyes briefly. "I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry."
"No, I didn't mean-" I paused, biting my lip. "Just don't touch my scars. It hurts."
He frowned, his eyes dropping and looking at those things, his gaze wracking me with anxiety as he looked at me intently, inspecting each scar carefully as if he was tryin to memorize them. When his eyes met mine, they were filled with sympathy that made me sick to my stomach.
"Tell me what happened."
I shook my head, turning away from him. "I'm tired. Let's go. You can sleep in my room."
I got out of the pool and padded towards the closet where they stocked the towels and robes. I took a robe, shrugging it on and tying the belt. When I turned, Rick was picking up our clothes from the floor.
"Leave them," I said. "I'll find you some clothes to wear in Jude's closet."
I took out a towel and a robe, handing them to him before heading for the door. As I came down the stairs, the corner lights lit up. I glanced at the camera perched up at the ceiling.
Someone was always watching. They could see my life through the screens in front of them. They've seen everything. Heard everything. Every single debauchery and abuse that's ever occurred under this roof, they were a witness to it. And yet, not one of them cared. Why should they? I'm nothing but a worthless bastard.