Page 31 of Pray for Scars
Chapter Eight
“We’re going to a party tonight.”
Sid turns to glare at me from her perch by my bedroom window. The curtains are pulled back and she can see the pool in the backyard, the forest edging it, the patio furniture that it’s going to be too cold to use soon.
She tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear, turns back out the window. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, her hands tucked back into the pockets of my hoodie.
“I’m not going.”
I laugh, straighten from the doorway, walking into the room. She turns again to look at me, cocking her head. Her eyes trail down my bare chest, lingering on the scars on my torso. I’m still sweaty from working out in the gym, and I see her bite her lip as she looks at my hips, my black sweatpants low on my waist, hands in my pockets.
She still won’t tell me what she saw.
I won’t tell her why we did the ceremony.
As usual, we’re keeping secrets and hoping the other bleeds first. So we can lick the wounds. Taste the trauma.
She licks her lips and I feel my chest tighten. Her eyes slowly travel back up my body to meet mine. “I mean,” she shrugs, “unless this is another party where I get to fuck your friends?”
I smile at her. “Sure, if you want.” Then I turn to go, to head downstairs and get shit ready for tonight. Which means make a few phone calls, make suremyguards will be at Liber.
Free.
I can still feel her eyes on me, and as I walk out the door, I glance over my shoulder, meeting her gaze. “But if you see my dick in another girl’s mouth, just,” I shrug, “look the other way, okay, baby?”
“What happened to your face?” she calls out softly after me.
I still in the doorway, run my hand along my jaw, resisting the urge to touch the cut under my eye from my father’s ring. Even my brothers haven’t mentioned it. They know.
I shrug. “Not your problem,” I answer her.
* * *
“Why’re you bringing her?”Atlas asks me as we sit on the back-porch steps, looking out over the lawn, the covered pool. A breeze floats through the trees, making its way to us and I dig my hand into my hoodie pocket.
In the other, I take a drag on my cigarette, watching as the sun sinks down behind the forest, bathing the world in pink and orange.
I’m ready for the night.
I despise the fucking day.
“I can’t exactly leave her here,” I answer him, as if it should be obvious. Itisobvious.
He laughs, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him bring his beer to his lips. He swallows, sighs. “You could,” he says carefully. “Tie her to your bed.”
My fist clenches in my pocket, and I inhale on my cigarette, exhale a cloud of smoke before I turn to look at Atlas, his backward cap on, dark eyes on mine. There’s a smile on his lips because Atlas is always smiling.
I know what that means.
It means he’s hiding more fucked-up secrets than the rest of us. He’s become a master at burying his own pain, and with a smile like that, it means there’s more of it than I probably ever want to know about.
We’ve known each other since we were born.
But each of the 6 have molded us in different ways.
“Why do that when I can take her with me and play with her?”
He frowns, brows pulling together. “Uh, so she doesn’t run again? So you don’t get too close again?” He shakes his head, pulling up his cap, then settling it back on. “You know when this is all over…it’s not going to end well.”
