Heresy, p.9
Heresy, page 9
“Same difference.” Her words are said with a shrug as she snaps the last button into place.
Looking up at me, she shakes her blue hair out so that it falls down her back in developing waves now that it’s drying naturally.
“Plus,” I add because she refuses to stop asking this question every few nights, “I’m glad they haven’t shown up at the club again. We could have been killed that night.”
Confusion twists her expression. “The twin has shown up.”
“What?”
The one-word question volleys from my throat with too much surprise for my liking.
“You’re joking. I haven’t seen him.”
Hopping up and down as she pulls her tight pants into place, Ames laughs.
“Why would I joke about that? But how would you know? On the nights you have stayed for a few hours, you’re always too busy in a back booth somewhere with your nose in one book or another. You wouldn’t notice Jesus himself walking through the club, even if he was raising the dead and turning water into wine.”
“Probably not.”
Attempting a feeble argument, I lean back on my elbows. “But that’s the bartender’s job. He makes the drinks. Why should I pay attention?”
More laughter from her as she runs into the bathroom to do her makeup. Thankfully, she has the process down to a science, and I won’t be sitting here much longer.
Her voice filters out to the bedroom, slightly muffled by the hum of the bathroom fan. “That’s bullshit, and you know it, Brin. You need to look out at the world around you more. Pay attention to your surroundings. Enjoy and live in the present and all that.”
What she’s saying is the actual bullshit.
I do pay attention to my surroundings.
A little too much, in fact.
Not that it’s my fault. I was raised to constantly be on alert for what could be the next threat. As if at any given moment some person is going to jump out at me to slit my throat, mug me or worse.
If you ask my father, the entire world is a powder keg of misfortune and violence waiting to explode, each person carrying around the barely stifled capability of attacking and injuring someone else.
It’s just a matter of time with everyone, according to him.
Sometimes I wonder why he ever let me leave home at all.
Not that I can hold it against him. My mother died as a result of a car crash when I was twelve, and his business partner died of what Dad deems mysterious circumstances. The police reported it as a simple auto accident, but Dad truly believes there was more to it.
He’s never mentioned why he thinks that or who he thinks was involved. Just that he thinks it.
I haven’t pressed him for more information. The less I know the better when it comes to his former business.
But there are still the rules he must have been whispering to me since I was a baby in the crib, the first of which is to trust nobody but myself.
So regardless of what Ames thinks, I do pay attention to my surroundings. Just instead of looking for cute boys like she does, I’m looking for the next disaster waiting to happen.
It’s not an easy way of living, but I assume it’s kept me alive this long.
Still, my father’s rules and my view of myself within this world hasn’t made me a victim by any stretch of the imagination. And I’m not a pushover either. I may keep to myself more than most people and avoid large crowds, but if faced with a dangerous situation or a person trying to take advantage, I know how to defend myself.
That’s what most people don’t realize about me. I may hide from the world, but I don’t allow the world to hide from me, and it certainly won’t sneak up on me.
“You ready?”
As ready as I ever am for another night at the club.
Pushing to my feet, I grab my keys off her bed where I’d dropped them earlier. “Let’s do this.”
The entire drive to Myth is made in comfortable silence. I’m not quite sure what’s going on in Ames’s head. Her thoughts can be a little weird and out there sometimes, so I’m always afraid to ask.
We’re about a quarter mile from the club when she finally lets me in on what she’s thinking.
“You should put the book down tonight, Brin. Mingle. Get to know more people other than those snooty authors you’re always reading.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. A slow, rhythmic click sounds in the car from my turn signal as we wait to take a left onto the side street leading to Myth.
“First, I don’t read the authors. I read the books. Second, they are usually textbooks or required reading for class. You know, to study? That thing you wait until the last minute to do while panicking.”
A faint chortle shakes her shoulders. “Right. That. You should do less of that tonight.”
Jokes on her. I’d already planned on doing less of that. In fact, tonight I have two of my classmates meeting me. Sure, it’s to discuss an upcoming school project over a few drinks. But it’s technically socializing.
“Brenna and Naomi are coming out tonight. They should already be there when we arrive.”
Wide violet eyes snap my direction. “You made friends?” She claps, and I want to smack her. “I’m so proud of you.”
Well, not friends.
Acquaintances.
Classmates.
But maybe they can become friends. I haven’t had much time to gauge them. And since I’m not the type to simply trust every person I meet, it usually takes time for me to open up and relax around people.
The same can’t be said for my friendship with Ames. It seems like the second I agreed to tutor her, she took a battering ram to the front door of my bubble and simply waltzed into my private sanctum before crowning herself my best friend.
Extroverts are like that, unfortunately.
“Yeah,” I agree while not filling her in on the full truth of it. “It should be a fun night.”
She’s grinning from ear to ear as we turn left and are traveling at a safe speed toward Myth. I can’t help but notice I’m going five over the posted speed limit, so my foot taps the brake to make sure I don’t get pulled over.
“I’ll have to run downstairs during one of my breaks so I can meet them. You know, feel them out and make sure they’re approved for my bestie.”
“Right, right,” I answer, wondering how in the hell I’m going to keep her from knowing these friends are actually just something for school.
I don’t have a lot of time to wonder that because we close the distance to Myth within a few minutes, the lot practically full so I have to park in a spot far from the front door.
After killing the engine, I pull the key from the ignition. “We’re only ten minutes late tonight. Granger should be happy about that.”
Ames laughs. “He’s never happy about anything.”
She’s not wrong about that. But it doesn’t hurry our steps as we cross the parking lot and wave to Patrick when he opens the door for us.
As usual, Ames runs off to prepare the rest of the way for work, and I’m happy to spot Brenna and Naomi already waiting in a booth for me near the dance floor. I motion for them to give me a second as I approach the bar to order a drink.
“Your usual?” Harrison asks, his eyes meeting mine, crinkled at the corners.
“Actually, I’ll have some alcohol with it tonight.”
Surprise bleeds into his expression. “Growing up, I see. What’s the special occasion?”
Normally, I’m a plain soda only type girl, but I figure it’s safe enough to have one girly drink tonight and water for the rest of the time. That way Brenna and Naomi don’t feel weird for being the only ones drinking.
“There isn’t one.”
I try to think of what I want to drink but come up empty of ideas. “I don’t know what I want. I’ll take whatever has an umbrella in it.”
My order was mostly a joke, but Harrison takes me seriously, turning to whip me up something before I have the chance to stop him.
I shrug and glance around the club. There are some familiar faces of the regulars who are here almost every night, but for the most part, there’s no crowd yet.
It’s Friday, though, so that’s likely to change within the next few hours.
“Here you go. One blue Hawaiian, on the house.”
My gaze snaps back to him then down to the Olympic size swimming pool he’s placed in front of me.
“It’s huge.”
How the hell can any person drink that much alcohol? The damn glass is bigger around than my head, the pink paper umbrella barely clinging onto life by the rim. Ice cubes float around like miniature icebergs, their glossy surfaces bobbing just above the line of bright blue liquid as if waiting for the Titanic to come by so they can sink it.
If I accidentally trip and spill the drink, I’ll need a life raft to make it to safety for fear of drowning in the tsunami.
And after drinking it, I won’t just be intoxicated, I’ll need an ambulance ride to the hospital to have my stomach pumped and IV hydration.
“I asked for a drink, Harrison, not a dog’s water bowl. What am I supposed to do? Stick my tongue out and lap it up?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “There’s a straw.”
Poking at the tiny pink straw with his finger, he uses his other hand to shove the drink my direction.
I shove it back, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“There’s no way. I can’t drink all of it.”
“Then don’t,” he insists, shoving it back. “But it’s free, and it won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t finish it.”
Cornered by his argument, I accept the drink. It takes two hands to lift it, nervousness a heavy blanket over my shoulders as I turn and carefully navigate the other patrons who are moving this way and that, either to the dance floor or the bar.
Somehow, I manage to reach my table without spilling the drink on my shirt, relief flooding me to set it down.
Both Brenna’s and Naomi’s eyes widen to see the size of it, Brenna smiling a Cheshire grin as Naomi takes a sip of her much more manageable drink choice.
“I know you said we were meeting over drinks, Brin.” Brenna’s voice does nothing to hide her amusement. “But I didn’t think you were ordering for all three of us.”
Naomi chuckles, and I roll my eyes.
“I had no idea it would be this big.”
“Sure you didn’t, sweetheart. It’s okay. We won’t say anything.”
I plop down into my seat and carefully place the drink on the table in front of me. Taking the first sip isn’t a terrible decision, though. For as ridiculously large as it is, the drink is rather good.
I glance up at my two classmates and offer a pleasant grin.
“Thanks for coming tonight.”
They eye each other before turning their curious stares back to me. Naomi is the first to speak up.
“Is that normally what you wear when you come here?”
I glance down at my frumpy T-shirt and jeans, rubbing my hands down my thighs as if that will iron out the wrinkles in the denim.
Sure, I’m not wearing stylish, sparkly tops that attract the eye like they are, and my hair isn’t done up or my makeup on point.
The thing is that I don’t want to attract attention. It’s when you catch the eye of every person around you that the wrong one notices you as well.
If I blend in well enough, I never become a target.
At least that’s what Dad taught me.
Or like I’m pre-designed…
Stereotypical and boring.
And great. Now I’m feeling shitty about myself again.
Letting out a sigh, I look between them and offer a wobbly smile. “We’re here to work on a project, right? I didn’t see the need to change out of what I was already wearing.”
Another telling glance passes between them, but they drop the subject without saying a word and we begin the process of ironing out the details of the project.
The night moves rather quickly as we discuss what roles each person will be taking to complete a research paper on German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche’s role and influence in contemporary philosophy, including the criticisms and accolades he received by the public, his viewpoints and lifestyle, plus the subjects and style of his particular line of thinking.
For me, the project is simple. I’ve always enjoyed Nietzsche’s work and have read his stuff since high school. However, you would think from my classmates’ reactions to the material we discuss that they’ve never heard of him and have no interest.
If we were undergrads, I could understand their lack of intimate knowledge of Nietzsche.
Philosophy majors in undergrad typically take it as a springboard into other graduate programs, such as law. Many don’t want to run through the course of the standard pre-law bachelor’s program and turn to other degrees to stick out as something different for their graduate program applications.
But not to be overly familiar with Nietzsche in a graduate philosophy program is a little odd to me. I keep that thought to myself, though, and continue prattling on about what I know and what areas I think would be good for my classmates to explore.
After a few hours, both Brenna and Naomi have finished their drinks and are making excuses to leave.
I’d hoped we could all hang out a little longer, allow the conversation to drift into other subjects such as our personal lives or their boyfriends or whatever else they’d like to discuss, but they look tired after my exhaustive lecture on the subject of classwork.
They are insistent about ending the night, and maybe that’s my fault. I tend to be long-winded on the subjects that interest me, and I don’t have much luck leaving the discussion open for lighter conversation.
They’re obvious desire to leave quickly doesn’t bother me, though. It’s not like I’ll be completely alone. I have some books out in the car I can read until Ames is ready to go.
We begin saying our goodbyes, my drink still three quarters of the way full when Ames runs up to our table, a devilish curl stretching her lips.
“Hey, I can’t stay to chat, but I have a ride home tonight. You’re free to hang out with your friends here or even go somewhere else if you want. I know Myth isn’t your favorite place.”
Brenna and Naomi make excuses again why they need to return home, both feigning yawns and claiming they’re tired despite the early hour of the evening.
My heart drops into my feet a little at the excuses, but I smile regardless. Ames, however, shoots them both a look that makes it apparent she isn’t buying their bullshit.
She opens her mouth to tell them what she’s thinking, but I grab her arm to silently stop her. A pissed off expression turns my way, but she quickly drops it to meet my eyes with sympathy.
Ames knows it’s difficult for me to make friends. I’m not like everybody else. They all have something unique and interesting that shines about them, while I’m just … me.
“It’s fine, Ames. I’m a little tired myself, so I think it’s time I get home and go to bed. I have a lot of studying to do this weekend for a test on Monday.”
She’s not buying my bullshit but nods her head regardless. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Smiling at that, I say my goodbyes and manage to leave the club before Brenna and Naomi. My steps are a touch quicker than normal because I feel embarrassed about being shoved aside, my arms circling my midsection as I approach my car.
Climbing in, I buckle my seatbelt in place then check my mirrors. Everything is as it should be since I’m the only person who drives the car, but it’s one of Dad’s rules, and I’m fastidious in keeping them.
In my household, safety is the number one concern.
Satisfied that everything is in place, I jam my key in the ignition and turn it.
Except … nothing happens.
Not a click.
Not a buzz.
The lights come on but nothing else.
The engine does nothing.
My brows tug together in confusion, and I try the key again a few more times.
Still nothing.
Oh, for fuck’s sake...
This is the last thing I need tonight.
Throwing my door open, I hop out of the car and round the front end. It takes a minute for me to find the latch, but after popping that, I lift the hood to take a look at the engine.
Nothing appears out of place, so I begin checking wires and hoses, hopeful that something came loose and I won’t be searching for a new battery or worse, a new part, tonight.
Dad taught me a few things about cars, enough to get myself up and running should anything standard go wrong, but my battery isn’t completely dead, and the engine doesn’t smell like burning oil or melted rubber. All the wires and hoses appear to be in the correct places.
I don’t understand.
Cursing under my breath, I slam the hood back down.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
I have the money for a jump service if necessary. Even a tow truck if it’s a serious problem, but that will wipe out all the extra money Dad puts in my account for monthly bills.
Maybe if I call him and explain the situation, he’ll take care of whatever expense is needed to fix this.
“You okay? Looks like you could use some help.”
I turn at the deep voice, expecting to see Patrick since he’s always outside watching the parking lot, but my attempted smile drops into a deep scowl the instant I lock eyes with him.
The Jackass.
Of all the nights for this bastard to show up, it would be tonight when I have no hope for a quick escape.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I roll my shoulders back and cross my arms over my chest.
He steps closer, his charming smile plastered in place. I can’t deny he’s gorgeous, but it takes more than physical appearance to be a beautiful person, and from what I’ve seen peek out from beneath those blue eyes, he’s as ugly a person as they come.
“You look like you’re having car problems?”
Oh, really?
No, I just had the hood up for shits and giggles.
