Page 24 of Rot

We might be similar, we might both have secrets, but we weren’t the same. I’d faced what I was a long time ago, while Elias still wrestled with the truth of it. By the time I was done here, he’d know and accept reality.

There were heroes in this world, good men and women who’d do anything to help their neighbors or strangers in need, and then there were the villains. The bad eggs. The rotten apples that spoiled the bunch and dragged everyone down into the abyss with them. The rot had helped me realize I was the latter, that I’d never be good, and that I didn’t even care to try.

Jordan responded almost instantly to my text, telling me he’d pick me up at four.

Before flaunting it in front of Elias, I decided to let my mother know, first. I wasn’t so much asking her permission as I was simply seeing what she’d say. With my phone in my hand, I walked through the house, going to the basement door in the kitchen. My free hand went for the knob, and I slipped through, taking one old wooden step at a time.

I didn’t expect to hear my mother’s frantic voice on the phone: “What? No, no. You didn’t say that. You told me—” I stopped halfway down the steps to eavesdrop. I’d never heard my mother sound like this.

Well, except for that one day.

“I… I understand. I’ll get the money to you by tonight.”

Money? What was she talking about? And who the hell was she talking to? My eyebrows creased, and I stood there, on the steps, trying to think of who it could be, what her reasoning could be, but I came up with nothing.

My mother let out a frustrated groan—I assumed when she ended the call. I knew it would seem obvious that I’d eavesdropped if I walked down now, so I quietly moved backward, up the steps, and went for the door again. After opening it, I slammed it shut to show my mother that someone was coming down the steps, to give her some time to regain herself. I walked down the steps louder that time.

My mind was awash with possibilities, and when I rounded the steps and found her slumped on her couch bed, I knew it had to be something serious. I didn’t really care, but I found myself asking, “Everything okay?”

My mother ran a shaky hand through her blond hair, slow to glance over her shoulder at me. Those green eyes of hers, much like mine, were heavy with unease. It took her a while to say, “Yeah, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m handling it, Sloane.”

Handling it. As if Penelope Karnagy had ever handled anything well in her entire life. She had the worst track record when it came to handling things; she should know that. Still, I didn’t say anything to that, instead telling her, “I have a date tonight. I don’t know how late I’ll be out. Don’t wait up for me.”

Other children might ask permission. They might have a curfew or a list of places they couldn’t go on their date. I didn’t. I’d never ask permission or agree to some stupid list.

On the flip side of that, other parents might ask questions. Who I was going with, where I was going. That sort of thing. They might ask to meet the boy in question before the date, get his license plate numbers and car details so if anything happened and I never showed up home after the date, they’d have something to go on. But not my mother.

All she did was stare at me, the weight behind her stare trying to press in on me, as if she was psychically trying to hold a conversation with me. Maybe that was her way of trying to get me not to go, but seeing as how she wasn’t strong enough to voice her parental concern out loud, I elected to ignore it.

I turned to leave, not wanting to spend any more time with her than I had to. If it wasn’t already obvious, I pretty much hated my mother.

She was weak. She never tried to be strong. She’d checked out years ago and never tried to check back in as the world moved on and everybody got older. I had no sympathy—but then again, that could be because I didn’t care.

Sympathy. Empathy. Same thing, here. The rot made sure I lacked any sense of right and wrong.

I went upstairs and showered, taking my time in getting clean, washing every little crevice on my body, just in case I let things get carried away. I was curious, after all, curious to feel what it was like.

I dried my hair and changed into a tight shirt that dipped a little low on my chest, along with black leggings that hugged every curve on my body and left nothing to the imagination. After that, I did a little makeup. I hadn’t brought much with me; truthfully, I didn’t do makeup all that well. The blending and layering and all that was never something I’d gotten into. I had other interests growing up.

When it was said and done, I took a step back from the mirror in the bathroom and stared at my reflection. My light yellow hair had soft, gentle waves. It fell over my shoulders, full of volume. My green eyes seemed to be even brighter with some darker eyeshadow around them and thick mascara adding to my lashes. My cheekbones looked more pronounced with a bit of blush. I paired the look with a matte lip gloss, and I puckered my lips in the mirror to a full pout.

Oh, yes. I looked pretty. At least, I thought I did. I supposed I wasn’t a guy with a dick, so I could be wrong, but if I were a guy, I’d definitely want to do me.

Looking at me, you’d have no idea that I wasn’t some normal girl. No one would ever know the thoughts that ran through my head or the fact that the rot was so thick in me my soul was black. For once, I was just a pretty girl—that’s what Jordan would think.

Now, to go across the hall to Elias’s room and ask him if this was suitable date apparel.

I left a bit of a mess in the bathroom, not really caring to clean up. I sauntered across the dark hall, stopping before his closed door. I heard music playing loudly inside; if I had to guess, I’d say he was working out. It was the only time he tended to blast music from his phone.

I didn’t knock; I barged right in to see Elias in the corner of his room, shirt off, doing some bench presses or whatever the hell they were called. You know, the one where they lay down and move the heavy bar with weights up and down over their chest? Yeah, that one.

He didn’t stop when I walked in, maybe because he didn’t hear me over the music. His phone rested on the floor near him, so I’d bet the music was even louder where he was. Because he didn’t get up or look at me, I let my gaze roam over his figure.

Elias’s knees were apart on either side of the bench. He wore athletic shorts, so they stopped right near his knees, allowing me to see just how thick with muscle his legs really were. His torso was covered in sweat, his skin shiny with perspiration from his workout. Every time he lifted that bar, his arm muscles flexed under the strain. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his abs tightening every so often.

He wasn’t bad to look at, not at all. He had muscles other guys could only dream of—but I guess that’s only because he spent so much time in here, by himself, letting off steam.

Because he hadn’t noticed me or heard me, I sauntered over to the window, near the bench and him, turning to lean my backside on the windowsill, staring at him all the while.

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