Prologue
Life is tricky. Complicated. Unfathomably and incomprehensibly messy. Every facet of who you are stems from the way in which you react to the rocks life throws at you. The potholes that appear in your path before you have time to blink, and before you know it, you’ve been thrown off the road, spinning out of control, and doing everything in your power to keep the world from flipping upside down on you. That is life. It sucks. It is the most unfair and inconsistent thing that will ever be. And yet, often times, the uncontrollably fast-moving rollercoaster that we call life, the dark, the disturbed, the lonely, the messy pit of darkness that it can be… is the beauty of it.
Chapter One
Tori
I enjoy days like today more than any other. My brother isn’t home, my sister is caught up doing God-knows-what with her devilishly handsome boyfriend, of whom I do not think about at all hours of the day, and my parents are out of town for some kind of surgeon retreat. I don’t know what. All I heard was, “Your dad and I have to go out of town for a few weeks… we’ll be back after… lasagna… freezer…” then checked out of the conversation. Is it my fault her monologues are so torturously long that she can’t hold my attention for more than a few seconds at a time?
Today is one of those rare gems in May—it’s warm, and the afternoon sun scorches my skin. I’m propped on a lounge chair, enjoying the first nice day we’ve had in a while, and just as my eyes drift closed, a person-shaped shadow forms above me, shading my entire body.
Seriously? How long has it been? Forty-five minutes and my peace and quiet is already being interrupted? It’s rare for a day in early May to be this warm, and personally, I’d like to enjoy it in the sun. I was hoping my siblings wouldn’t be back for a few hours… or ever, if I were being honest.
I grit my teeth menacingly, wondering who I’ll have to yell at this time in order to get some time to myself. Whether I’m in the living room or the kitchen or my car, I can never catch a break. Usually, it’s my younger brother Dylan who irks me the most, always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, and cracking jokes with the sole intention of getting under my skin. He irritates me to the point of exhaustion. Just last week he snuck into my room and upended my entire closet because he had “nothing better to do.”
Personally, I think he gets off on making my life as miserable as possible.
“You’re blocking my sun,” I advise, shimmying lower on the lounge chair. I have dibs on this specific one because it’s positioned closest to the afternoon sun and requires the least amount of work to move.
There’s no reply. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed long enough the sun-stealer will leave me be.
Time ticks by. Minutes. Hours. Centuries—okay, maybe it’s only been a few seconds, but I can’t take it any longer.
Ripping off my sunglasses, I shoot up in my seat. “Does anyone in this house—holy shit!” I screech. Above me looms a life-sized cutout of Jeremy Dean—the only cutout I don’t already own, that is—the bass guitarist of my all-time favorite band, 13 Days of December, positioned at just the right angle to piss me off. Jeremy Dean also happens to be the bandmate of my sister’s boyfriend, lead singer of said band, Carson James, of whom she didn’t tell me she was dating until I found out from the freaking late-night news station. But I’m over that. Completely moved on. Doesn’t even phase me.
I clutch my hand to my chest, letting my sunglasses clatter to the ground.
Laughter erupts from the kitchen, and my siblings stumble out, wheezing for breath as I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at them.
“Did you get it?” Dylan asks, straining to see Rylee’s phone. She nods her head, tilting the screen toward him. He bends backwards, cackling at the visual proof of why I hate my family.
“You should have seen your face,” Dylan cries, dropping beside me on the lounge chair that is not big enough for two.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” I say dryly, leaning to pick up my sunglasses. I silently pray they just stopped home for a quick little prank and will be out of my hair in no time. “I thought you two were gone for the day.”
Rylee exchanges a glance with our little brother, sucking in her cheeks to hide a smile. “Carson insisted on throwing you a party. He rented a hall and everything.”
My lips quirk upward. A party? For me? Thrown by none other than Carson Andrew James? I mean, I guess I could suffer through one night of partying instead of going out with my college friends like I’d planned…
“Invite Megan and Quinn?” I plead, batting my long lashes. I know exactly how Rylee feels about my college friends, but I also know that no matter how much she dislikes them, they’ll be at the party nonetheless. She only met them a few months ago because they wanted to meet her—it seems my sister has become somewhat of a celebrity since she started dating Carson.
Still, my stomach flops a little at my request, knowing a big part of me only wants them there because she doesn’t. There has always been this side of me that revels in Rylee’s misery, and I feel all the guiltier for not only being this way, but openly admitting it to myself without attempting to change. She and her celebrity boyfriend planned a party for me after all, and here I am trying to make her suffer for it.
Both my sister and Carson still feel exponentially guilty about keeping their relationship from me for so long, and who am I to stop them from wallowing in their guilt? The truth is, I’m over it—mostly—and have been for a while. But if she insists on planning little surprises for me here and there, and giving me chances to spend time with her superstar friends… well, I guess I can’t do anything about that, now can I?
My sister’s hopeful grin is replaced with a less enthusiastic one, and that’s how I know I’ve gotten to her. Still, she agrees, trying her best to hide how she really feels.
Dylan doesn’t even try to mask his eye roll. “Really? They’re so annoying.”
His guilt is harder to manipulate, probably because it wasn’t him shacking up with the could-have-been love of my life. He still knew about it, though, and couldn’t be bothered to tell me. Where Rylee keeps her mouth shut, Dylan speaks up, completely unafraid to call me out for being, well, who I am. And I know he would have made a more unpleasant comment on any other day to push my buttons—just not today. I smirk in satisfaction.
“What time?” I ask, feigning boredom.
Dylan watches me with a look I can read like the back of a book, while Rylee continues to act unaffected by my behavior. She’s trying so hard to be better to me since we’ve worked out our kinks. “Six thirty.”
“Well, then, that means I have four hours and twenty-six minutes left to enjoy some quality sun time.” I make a shooing motion with my hands, hoping they’ll take the not-so-subtle hint, and get lost.
They both exchange a look at my dismissal. A look I pretend not to see, as per usual. Our family is like a rusty machine, we still function, but we also overlook the things that piss us off about each other the most to keep the peace. I ignore their shared glances and secret-keeping, and they don’t bother to point out when I’m being rude—well, most of the time. My siblings are thick as thieves and think I’m the annoying, ungrateful one. They also think I don’t give much thought to anything. If they only knew how calculating I really am. How not a single word leaves my mouth without being processed by my brain, ensuring it’ll have the effect I want, that my face will give off the exact reaction I want people to perceive. I let people think they catch me off guard, when in reality, I hold the cards. Every. Last. One of them.
As Tweedledee and Tweedledum head back into the house, I rescue a raft that was submerged under a pile of pool noodles and boogie boards, trying my hardest to shake it off in case any spiders decided to make it their new home between last night when I sat on it and this morning.
As I’m settling into the raft, careful so only my feet touch the chilly water and my raft doesn’t tip, I see a shadow pass over me on the deck. I should have known better than to think I’d actually be left alone. In this house, it’s always something.
Heavy rock music erupts from the speakers mounted on our patio, scaring me so bad my raft rocks on the water. I grab each side to steady myself and hold on until I’ve regained my balance.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, eyeing my brother, who is the king of bad intentions and mischievous smiles, just like the one he’s eyeing me with right now. “Dylan… Dylan, I’m warning you…” He pretends not to hear me, though, and continues walking along the pool’s edge threateningly. “Dylan!”
Just as his name rolls off my tongue—though rolls isn’t really the right word, is it? More like his name is shot from my tongue. Blasted—he springs off his tree-stump legs, landing far enough away that he doesn’t hit me, but close enough so his cannonball drenches me from head to toe in freezing cold pool water.
“You little rat!” I scream, catapulting myself at him, but he’s already swimming in the opposite direction. And let’s face it, there’s no way in this world I’d ever catch him even on my best day. He’s way too fast.
I sigh, dumping my body back on the plastic raft, and watch him walk away as if he’s not completely and utterly satisfied that his piss-Tori-off-to-no-end mission was a success.
“Oh, and Tor?” Dylan turns halfway, shooting me a wicked grin. “Happy birthday.”
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