Page 34 of Quiet Rage
“I didn’t start it.” Her dad did. “I’m just telling you. Either drop out on your own, or you’re gonna be forced out. One way or the other. I’m trying to do you a favor.”
Her eyebrows shoot up before a soft laugh bursts out of her. “Doing me a favor? Thank you so much. But guess what? Going to school is the only hope I have of getting the hell out of thistown forever. At first, I thought I was only doing it for Dad,” she mutters through clenched teeth. “But now I know I’m doing it for me. If I want a future, this is the first step. I’m not letting anybody get in the way of that. Including you,” she adds. It’s like acid is dripping from her voice, burning through me, sizzling my skin and everything underneath.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“It wouldn’t be the first one.”
She doesn’t get it. It’s enough that I can see myself flipping the table, maybe throwing it through the fucking window. Would that clear things up? Would she understand then?
“Last chance, Dragonfly.” It’s not easy to speak, shaking like I am, trying to control my breathing before everybody in this shop knows exactly how suddenly my rage can explode.
“Why?” she whispers, eyes going watery. “That’s the one thing I’ve wanted to know from the beginning. Why? Why did you do any of it? Why do I have to drop out of school? What the hell did I ever do to deserve any of this?”
“It’s not about deserving.” If it was, it would be her father getting all the punishment. “There’s shit going on that’s above your pay grade. And all I’m trying to do is follow orders.”
“Orders? From who?” She scoffs and shakes her head. “Who do you think you are, anyway? What makes you so special that you get to walk around and tell people they can’t get an education?”
“I never said you couldn’t get an education. You just can’t get it here. Would you trust me?”
“Now why the hell would I do that? You’re going to come at me and make this ridiculous demand, and I’m supposed to trust you?”
I’m losing my grip here. Bitter, burning fury is building like lava in a volcano. Ready to explode. “Do it on your own, or I’ll have to force you to do it. Because I’m going to make your life hell.”
“Exactly how would that be any different from what you’ve already done?” She raises the cup—gaze never leaving my mine—and takes a long drink before setting it down. “Are we finished here?”
We are, and it sickens me. I shove my chair back forcefully enough to make the legs squeal against the floor. A few people turn their heads to look at me as I stand up, glaring down one last time. I could snap her neck. It would take nothing, and she would deserve it for what she’s put me through. Here I am, trying to help her, and all she can do is refuse that help. She might as well have spit in my face.
Fuck this. Some people can’t be helped. “You brought this on yourself,” I mutter. One last reminder as I walk away, shoving the door open hard enough to break the hydraulic arm that keeps it from slamming. It bangs shut behind me hard enough to make people on the sidewalk jump, but I ignore it, marching straight to the truck, then slamming the door closed once I’m inside.
Forget it. Some people aren’t worth it. She’s one of them. This is all my fault, letting myself get too close to her. After everything that’s already happened, she still thinks she can win. Like she’s untouchable.
Maybe that’s my fault, too. I let her believe it because I never had the balls to take things all the way. I should’ve left her in the closet. This could all be over by now.
I don’t know where I’m going, driving down rain-slick streets at random. Home is the last place I want to be. The Archer’s Den is second on the list. I’m not really in the mood to hang out with friends, but Briggs is having a party. My phone is blowing up this very minute as I come to a stop at a red light.
Preston: Are you coming tonight? It’s been a while.
Easton: We had to set up the keg without you. When are you showing up?
Carter: I got the joints all rolled and ready. It’s that good stuff that knocked you on your ass last time you smoked it. Hurry up, or it will all be gone.
And those are just the last three messages I’ve gotten. There are plenty more, and they remind me of the life I had before all this shit corrupted it. It’s like taking a step away from what reality has become, getting a look at the full picture. My best friends don’t have the first fucking idea what’s been happening lately. Like I have this whole secret from them.
I’ve had a lot of secrets from them. There are certain things a guy doesn’t tell anybody he wants to keep being friends with. The kind of stuff he knows he can’t come back from. Like accepting the gun Dad pressed into my hand and pulling the trigger because he said so. Because nobody denies him if they don’t want to pay the ultimate price.
Briggs’s house will have plenty to drink and plenty to smoke. I could use a night to disconnect. To forget. It might be the closest I can come to letting go, if only for now. The idea iswhat convinces me to steer the truck in a familiar direction. By the time I get there, there are cars pulling in, people carrying bags of booze and snacks, calling out to each other, waving, girls hugging like they didn’t just see each other at school earlier today.
I have to take a second after I park to get myself in the right headspace. I can’t walk in there with all of this at the front of my mind. They’ll be able to read it on me in no time.
Once I feel a little more in control of myself, I get out, head straight up to the house, and then seek out Carter. “I knew this would get you to show up,” he laughs, holding out two joints. I tuck one behind my ear and spark up the other, then grab a beer from the fridge. This is what I should be doing. Enjoying my night, living life. Not thinking back on committing murder for my own father or obsessing over a girl who’s too fucking stupid to know she’s been beat.
I keep waiting for the familiar, pleasant numbness to take over. Hit after hit, beer after beer while people have fun all around me. They’re laughing, they’re taking pictures, they’re hooking up. And all I can do is try desperately to disconnect. I can’t feel anything. I don’t want to.
“Where have you been lately? You’re all distracted.” Briggs drops into a chair next to mine in the dim, crowded living room, shoving me in a friendly way. “I barely recognize you; it’s been so long since I’ve seen your face.”
“The cafeteria table isn’t the same without you.” Wren follows him, holding a pair of red cups, before Briggs pulls her into his lap. One of the drinks is for him, and he takes it, draining it before setting it aside so he can use both hands to hold onto her.
I don’t know what to say. I guess there’s nothing to be said. The way they’re looking at each other, I don’t think either of them would hear me if I tried to explain. So I don’t bother, taking another long hit off the joint and wishing I had never come here tonight. I don’t need a reminder of what they have.
