Page 1 of Fractured

The tip of my tongue slowly traces my bottom lip, licking a drop of blood splatter. The warm, tangy flavor of iron instantly calms my racing, jittery nerves, and a sense of peace falls over me.

I have no idea how long it will last this time; I’m just grateful for the break in the constant, pulling need to satiate this unknown hunger within me.

I thought I was normal once… well, normal for me. It was easy back then to push off the need consuming me, driving me to darkness. Things changed the first time I was unable to stop myself. There was no going back after the second time. Now that I’ve killed my third victim, I suppose I’m considered a serial killer…

It’s become the drug I can’t live without.

Suddenly, I feel the sharp bite of a knife’s edge press against my neck. My spine stiffens as I pause and think through my options. How did I miss hearing someone walking up behind me?

“Close your eyes and keep them shut. If you turn around, I’ll kill you.”

one

Being here is a double-edged sword and a true testament to my acting abilities. I can’t appear too happy and carefree since I’m supposed to be in mourning. On the other hand, I can’t come off as too depressed or I’ll seem weak. The crowd before me holds the cutthroat successors of today’s American leaders. The future is ours, and we’re already embracing it, stepping into our roles and forging alliances. All while we wait for our parents or those ahead of us to die out.

The low buzz of chatter fills the air as modern pop songs—reimagined into classical instrumental tunes—are playing in the background. A cool breeze brushes my cheek as I perch on the wide wall dividing the Penthouse balcony space from the rest of the common roof area. This corner is dark as the string lights don’t come this far. It gives me enough cover to stay hidden for now.

I suck on the last ice cube from my cranberry vodka as I take a moment to scan the crowd. When I first visited the outdoor bar, there wasn’t much of a variety in alcohol choices. The hired bartender was still setting things up, and I was in a rush to find a secluded hiding place before more people started showing up. At the time, my only options were vodka mixed with some kind of juice, or whisky. It was aged to some number I didn't pay attention to, but the gentleman to my left seemed to find it impressive. I'm not about that drinking-beverages-tasting-like-cedar life, so I went with the vodka and called it a day.

Now I’m faced with an empty glass, having even finished off the ice in hopes I could suck the hints of alcohol from the frozen cubes. I find myself regretting the decision of not grabbing two glasses—hell, three—in the first place.

A full glass of alcohol is calling my name. No, it’s screaming my name, demanding my answer so I can get through the rest of this night. With a deep breath, I know I’m left with no other option but to leave my perch in this hidden alcove.

Tilting my head down and allowing my hair to fall over my face, I step into the crowd, making my way toward the bar. It only takes a moment for my hopes to be dashed, as the excited squeal of unwanted attention hits me. I'm instantly swarmed on all sides by nameless people wanting to gain favor with me. Not a single person crowding me cares about me as an individual. They only see a tool they can use in their ruthless quest to win out over others. Living in Washington DC, I'm constantly surrounded by those who are power-hungry, itching to climb the political ladder. Or the corporate ladder. There’s plenty of those too. Oh, soooo lucky for me, my father is sought after as someone who can help them reach the top of any hierarchy they wish to climb.

I don’t care for politics, but it didn’t stop me from studying political science at Yale while also double majoring in business management. Nothing but the best for Daddy’s little girl. It’s a role I’ve worked exhaustively at performing—Daddy’s little girl that is. I couldn’t risk my father realizing there’s something wrong with me. I’m numb to the world around me. Maybe calling myself emotionally dead is more accurate. And it’s not just a situational reaction either; it’s been my constant for as long as I can remember.

I'm forced to play the role of a dutiful daughter, joining my parents for state dinners and ass-kissing parties from time to time. That’s what led me here tonight. My father asked me to accept the invitation weeks ago. He didn’t want to pass up on an opportunity for me to network with the future CEOs who are attending. Those who will lead their family empire just like I will someday.

I quickly paste on a fake smile and greet those flocking around me. “Remington Halston! There you are! Where have you been hiding?” a smiling, bleach blonde asks with way too much enthusiasm. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Her best friend is glued to her hip and doesn’t give me the chance to respond. “Oh my god! Those heels are gorgeous! Are they from the new Jimmy Choo line?” I glance down to see which shoes I shoved my feet into before heading out the door. My eyes pass over the empty glass in my hand, and I once again kick myself for not grabbing more in the first place.

Sure enough, my strappy black heels are from his line, which doesn’t release for another few months. The privileged life has been good for my wardrobe. I enjoy draping myself with nice things. What else is there to life than being at the top and having nothing but the most extravagant belongings?

Just as I open my mouth to respond, she continues with her compliments. “They look so good with your hairdo. Such an edgy vibe.” My hair is slicked back in a high ponytail. Now I know she is just passing on compliments to try and warm me up. I hate the uselessness of empty compliments.

It’s one of the first things you learn as a child. Compliment someone, and they are more likely to grace you with a smile, and will become your friend faster. It releases endorphins, making the person instantly happier.

“It doesn’t compare to your copper curls, Tiffany,” I gush, remembering her name at the last second. Her best friend is Courtney. While I may loathe pointless compliments, I’ve learned to wield them to my benefit. They’re expected and help me blend in.

The corners of my lips lift in the practiced move I’ve spent hours perfecting in the mirror. Tiffany blushes and tries to brush off the compliment, like she wasn’t expecting one to come her way. She goes on to tell me how she got the curls to hold, and which products she used from her mother’s high-performance line.

I lost interest in the conversation before it even began, scanning the terrace for the bar area. Why couldn’t my graduation have been this weekend instead of last? I could’ve avoided this whole snoozefest. The prattling conversation grinds at my nerves. I need more alcohol to survive tonight. Just enough to numb my impatience with those I’m forced to interact with.

My eye catches on the shining bottles holding my vice. Instantly, my finger begins tapping on the empty glass in my hand. Too bad this isn’t a catered event, with servers carrying trays filled with glasses for those who are trapped in conversations and can’t leave.

Suddenly, I can’t hold in my irritation any longer. My gaze narrows on the best friends before me. “Tiffany, dear. Do tell me how you got past the betrayal.” Her shock at me cutting her off morphs into confusion.

“Betrayal?” she questions with a furrowed brow.

Just because I prefer to keep myself removed from social interactions doesn’t mean I’m not working to benefit my family. My father doesn’t like using information against people, but it doesn’t mean I can’t. Gathering information is a side hobby of mine. When you hide in the shadows, you overhear the most intriguing gossip.

“Well, I’m not sure what else you would call your best friend sleeping with your boyfriend.” My bottom lip droops in a show of feigned sympathy. To add more fuel to the destruction I’m wielding, I give more details. “And in your bathroom at your birthday bash last year, no less... That had to be such a low blow.” My tone is sympathetic and inquisitive. “Just shows how strong your friendship is to have weathered that storm.”

Tiffany’s eyes well up with tears as she looks from me to Courtney, back and forth. Courtney pales and appears on the verge of crying herself. Her eyes are wide, not having expected to be outed in the middle of a party. Tiffany’s shock gives way to anger as her face flushes with rage.

“Oh my gosh. Did you not know? I’m so sorry. I thought it was common knowledge. Please forgive me, Tiff!” I say as I place my hand on her shoulder. Tiffany narrows her eyes with hatred at her friend. Courtney lets out a strained sob and covers her mouth before turning and fleeing. Tiffany follows, hot on her heels. Dance puppets, dance.

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