“Are you okay?” A frown knit Jason’s brows as he shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.
He was obviously doing this for the same reason I was. Retaliation. Alice was mad to dump him for Vaughn.
“All evidence points to that being the case,” I blabbed, releasing a nervous chuckle. “I’m grand, really. This is…lovely. I mean, not your penis.” Penises were not lovely, were they? “Not that I’m saying that your penis is not lovely. It’s just. Oh…never mind.”
“Yup. A virgin,” Vaughn said from beside me, victorious satisfaction laced in his voice.
He was laughing, just like he had when he’d caught my eyelids moving the night It happened. Lava boiled in the pit of my stomach, and with newly found rage, I dropped to my knees and looked at Vaughn.
Alice quickly mimicked my movements, like it was a competition, getting down on her knees and trying to yank at Vaughn’s black briefs. He snatched her hand and kept them in place, not letting her pull them down, his eyes on mine.
I curled my fingers around the edge of Jason’s briefs and pulled them down. I wasn’t going to admit my virginity here, in this room, for Vaughn to laugh at me for eternity.
Jason’s penis sprang out, purple and angry, just inches from my face. I sucked in a shocked breath and reminded myself about the ghosts in Carlisle Castle. If I could handle sleeping in a haunted place all alone in a room, surely I could handle a penis, and not even a disproportionately huge one.
“Len…” Vaughn’s voice trailed off. For the first time, he didn’t sound so darkly amused by me and my antics.
I grabbed Jason’s penis, my entire body shaking with anger and adrenaline. I wanted to do this, to piss Vaughn off beyond repair. To hurt him. To hurt me. I leaned forward, screwing my eyes shut and thinking good thoughts…
Home.
Far away from here.
Home.
Chips with vinegar and ice-cold cider.
Home.
Running wildly in the fields behind my house, letting the grass slap my ankles.
Home.
Working in the studio again.
Home.
Making beautiful things out of ugly things.
Home.
Kissing boys. The right boys. Boys who don’t make me feel like dying.
Home. Home. Home.
“Fuck!”
I felt myself jerked by the collar of my Metallica shirt to the other side of the room. Vaughn was now standing between me and Jason, as a buffer, while I was still on the floor. He pointed back at me, facing Jason.
“What is wrong with you, you pile of oxygen-wasting shit? You could see she didn’t want it.”
“Is this a joke? You just propositioned my girlfriend in front of me!” Jason shrieked, his face bright red and glistening with cold sweat.
“Your girlfriend is not a virgin,” Vaughn yelled.
“And that makes it cool for you to treat her like a cum-bag? Don’t spin this on me, Spencer. There’s only one twisted motherfucker in this room, and it’s the guy who just told my girl she should suck him off in front of his crush to make a point.”
Vaughn threw his head back and laughed while Jason tucked his half-mast penis back into his briefs, pulling up his trousers. With every second that he became more dressed, I felt my heartbeat calming down.
Vaughn mumbled the word crush like the idea was crazy. I was going to kick him in the bollocks. I even had a good angle from my spot on the floor.
“Get the fuck out of here and don’t come near her again. Tell your douchebag, debate-club friends to do the same. They get near Lenora Astalis, they die. Everyone knows she is my property. And take her with you.” Vaughn shoved Alice in Jason’s direction, his face expressionless, and pushed them both out. He slammed the door shut just as the bell rang. I scrambled to my feet, lifting my chin. It was musky and entirely too small in here. I wanted to get out.
Most of all, I didn’t want to look at Vaughn’s face after he’d seen me mortified by a human penis like it was a three-headed monster.
“Your property?” I growled. “Screw you, Spencer. I’d Airbnb myself to sex-diseased gang members before letting you cop a feel.”
“Shut up,” he clipped, turning his back to me again and bracing himself on the desk, clutching its edges with his fingers. He couldn’t even look at me, he was so angry.
Just as well. I was done with him, too.
“I have lab.” I started for the door.
He grabbed my wrist, turning me to him. I looked up, expecting him to appear smug. Triumphant. Happy. Vaughn received blow jobs from anyone with a pulse in this part of the state, and I’d never touched a penis in my life. Today just confirmed that.
How fantastic.
To my surprise, his face was devoid of any emotion—the usual cold, unreadable air I couldn’t crack. A blank canvas.
I guess he wasn’t so mocking when we were alone. Just quietly cruel.
“You skipped a grade,” he said.
What?
I scowled, hoping my cheeks and ears weren’t as red as they felt.
“When?” he pressed.
“Ninth to tenth.”
“Why?”
I’d lost my mother and shut the world down. I focused on studying and making art and staring at my bedroom ceiling, perched in my bed, listening to “Last Night I Dreamt” by The Smiths on loop, smoking nasty clove cigarette butts I’d found behind the rosebushes of Carlisle Prep.
I’d decided falling in love was pointless. We all die in the end. I’d even told Papa so—that I wanted to marry my art, like he did after Mum. Art never leaves. It never dies. It never ceases to wake up one morning.
Ars Longa, Vita Brevis.
Art is long, life is short. I tattooed it on my inner thigh the moment I turned seventeen—somewhere private and intimate, to remind myself all I wanted to give birth to was more beautiful, lifeless things.
“Some of us have goals that don’t include catching STDs and getting high. I work hard for what I want.”
“You stayed in England when your dad and sister moved here. Why?”
Because of you.
But that was only partly true. Going away felt like leaving Mum behind.
I said nothing.
“What made you come here? Why now?”
Papa had twisted my arm. Besides, loneliness had nibbled at my insides, like cancer. I’d put on war paint, hoping it’d be enough to keep Vaughn away. As it turned out, he took this as an invitation to battle and geared up for combat.
“What about boyfriends? Girlfriends? Social life?” His fingers around my wrist tightened into a bruising grip.
I wanted to cry. Not because he was hurting me, but because I liked it. I liked that he wasn’t treating me with kid gloves because I’d lost my mother. I liked that he was experienced and unfazed by sex. I liked that he was stunning, cold and promising like Christmas morning, and I had his undivided attention, even if it was the wrong kind of attention. And I was absolutely horrified to find out a part of me wanted him to bend my wrist harder until the dull pain became a sharp one.
I shook my head. My personal life was none of his business.
“No social life.” He tsked. “Fine. How’s the internship project going? What are you handing over?”
Why did he care? He’d just invited me to see someone sucking his cock. I looked the opposite way, at the wall, ignoring him. The less I responded, the more he’d grow tired and bored of me.
“I started working on mine yesterday,” he informed me. “The composition was a bitch to figure out.”
Was he making small talk?
“There’s no way you’ll be able to turn it in on time,” I said.
We had to hand in our submissions for the internship fairly soon. My project was done. I just had some fine-tuning to do.
He shrugged.
My heart began to race. This was good. This meant he was behind, and I had more of a chance to snag the spot.
I swallowed, trying to hide my glee.
“Don’t worry. Even quarter-finished, your father will choose my project over yours any day.”
I said nothing to that, so he continued.