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Chapter Twelve

Ashland

I don’t know why he’s here, but it makes me afraid. It fills me with dread. I had just accepted my life as it is, and the Universe sent him here to remind me of how worthless I am, per usual. This is a punishment. That’s the only explanation. I gave in, and it wasn’t enough. I thought I had experienced every type of torture, but Damien has taught me better than that. When will I fucking learn?

“Yang?” Damien asks the boy who is supposed to be my best friend.

“Yes, sir.”

Yang isn’t stupid, despite what I used to say. He isn’t afraid either. He stands there with his chest puffed out and his shoulders back. He doesn’t even look at me.

Damien gives Yang a wicked grin. “I'd like you to pull down one of these stars.”

Yang doesn’t hesitate before pulling out his knife and tearing one down so hard that it rips some of the paint off of the ceiling.

“Don’t you wanna know what they’re for?”

“Only if it’s important to you, sir,” Yang answers robotically.

“Ya know,” Damien pauses, “It is.” He holds his hand out for the star. Yang hands it over, and he inspects it. “They look familiar, don’t they? I put all of these stars up in here the day I finally brought Ashland home. I’ve never loved someone, never been so obsessed with someone, like I am with her. I just want her to understand that she’s home.”

He grits his teeth and sticks the tip of his knife under Yang’s chin. Yang doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t react. He just stares straight ahead into the abyss.

“But, love isn’t limitless. You know that, don’t ya, son? It’s the first lesson everyone should learn, but Ashland, oh, Ashland,” Damien chuckles. “She’s so innocent that she needs me to teach her every single fuckin' thing. So it made sense that the stars serve a purpose. Each one that comes down represents my disappointment. With every star she loses she's a little bit closer to Hell."

The moment Damien says Hell I see Yang fidget. It’s just the smallest little tick, but I know him so well that I see it. For once, Damien doesn’t notice. It actually worries me, though. Yang and I aren’t afraid of death. We’re afraid of living, but we just never found a way to confidently end it. Self-preservation of the mind can go a very long way.

“You’ll be the one to take her there.” An evil grin widens Damien’s face like the Cheshire cat. His pupils are blown out. “I heard Memphis is in prison, is that correct?”

My throat squeezes shut at the mention of my brother.

“As far as I know, sir.”

“Do you know why he’s there?”

“No, sir. I only followed your orders, sir.”

Orders? What orders? How long has Yang been in Damien’s clutches?

“He made a deal with me then tried to go back on it when it didn't give him everything he wanted. Are you gonna betray me like that, Yang?”

“No, sir.”

I smell the hot iron before I see it. I bite my tongue and blood gushes into my mouth. I have no choice but to watch, and I absolutely cannot cry or else Yang won’t make it through this. Damien watches me as they tear off Yang’s jacket and his long sleeve shirt. Yang doesn’t fight as they shove a piece of leather into his mouth and press the hot symbol to his bicep. The smell of sizzling skin wafts over to me. I wanna throw up, but I stay strong, staring blankly ahead. Yang doesn’t make one sound while they brand him. He’s silent like the grim reaper.

I’m covered in sweat. I’m so tired of being haunted. Literally. The last time I saw Koda I already hadn’t slept in a day. It’s been almost thirty-six hours since I last closed my eyes. Being at the convention helped because there was work to do. I didn’t want to drive Koda’s car out of protest, but it ended up being convenient. There was so much running around and back and forth that I ended up needing it.

I usually try to keep everyone else confused, but now Koda is doing that to me. I don’t want to talk, but he somehow keeps making me do it. He’s trying to manipulate me, but I’m not a brainwashed barbie doll anymore. I can see straight through that shit. I’ll let him think it though.

I considered keeping his car clean, but I didn’t. There’s bottles of ink in the back seat right next to random articles of clothing. How did they get there? I don’t know. It just seems to happen. There are empty coffee cups in almost every cup holder, and I definitely smoked a few blunts in this bitch. The only thing I didn’t do is let anyone else drive it. I was going to keep it a secret because I didn’t want questions, but I had to pick Angel up the first day and it threw my plan out of the window.

“Whose car is this? Is this Koda’s car? It’s fucking nice.” Her purple contacts were bright in her eyes as she looked around in wonder. “Perks of dating a quarterback.”

“We aren’t dating,” I said tight-lipped, focusing on the road.

“Uh, guys love their cars. He gave you his. To drive.”

“Guys love sex, and sex makes them irrational,” I explained. “Then they give you their car right along with their dick.”

“Gavin has never let me drive his car, and it isn’t anything to write home about.”

“And Gavin is worthless.”

“I know.” She fiddled with the edge of her skirt. “How do you do it?”

“What?”

“Not give a fuck?" I looked over at Angel. She’s sad and tortured because of some medium ugly asshole with sub-par dick.

“Look. It’s not a good thing. I might be driving a dope car, but in the spectrum of things I’m being used. Am I using him back? Sure. But that’s all that I’m ever going to do. It'll be like this for the rest of my life. Love doesn’t exist for people like me.” I took her hand in mine. “But you? Gavin doesn’t deserve you. That’s all. Someday you’ll look at it all and it'll seem so small. Gavin will be a short dicked blip. You’ll be driving a Jaguar and flashing your teeth on Rodeo Drive. Meanwhile, I’ll be Pretty Woman.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.”

“Anytime.”

“You’re wrong though. You’ll be loved. I mean, even Prince adores you. You’re beautiful and you have a great personality. You put the sweet in Sweetheart.”

Is she wrong? Yeah. The person who called me Sweetheart in the first place would agree with her, though. It’s not that I can’t be loved, it’s that I won’t let it happen. I know I’m self-destructive. It’s why I do stupid shit like fuck a quarterback and drive his car. I’ve seen what the kind of love that finds me is like, and it’s not good.

Over the course of the weekend Prince insisted that I tattoo him, and I fucking won an award. He had been right. Best tattoo. It was kind of nice to have my pain win something. Fucking ironic. Penny freaked out, practically suffocating me with her pride. I think she had business cards made for me and passed them out because I got a text from Angel saying that she needed to know my schedule for bookings. We both got a pizza from Late Night and pigged the fuck out. That’s when I finally fell asleep.

I glance over to the other side of the couch where Penny is passed out with a piece of pizza on her chest. I put it back into the box and switch the TV off. Grabbing the only bottle of liquor we have, I go outside and sit on the front steps. The brand on my ass phantom burns. I stare at the contact in my phone, trying to decide if I’m gonna call. If I drink enough I will. It’s been over two years since the last time I did. My thumb hovers, ready to press the little green button.

“I never understood why people drink because of a win,” Koda says.

I shut my phone off and look up at him. He must have just gotten back from his game.

“What are you doing here?” I take a swig from the bottle and hold it out to him.

He eyes it for a second before deciding to join me. “Bored.”

“I’ll get your keys for you.”

“Keep it. You don’t need to be walking around late at night so much. Bad shit happens in the dark.”

“But that’s where I thrive.”

“Of course you do,” he chuckles, taking another drink before handing the bottle back. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“How’d you…Alexi?”

He nods once. “It was a good tattoo. He said you did most of the ones on yourself.”

I lean against the railing. “Yeah, I did.”

“So why do you seem so melancholy? Wasn’t that convention a big deal?”

“I guess so, but it’s just…Forget it. It’s an art thing. Stop talking more drinking.”

“You think I can’t understand an art thing?”

I pull out a blunt and light it. “That piece. It’s not just some bullshit sketch that’s an exposé on society and how it tears women apart. I mean, it is and it isn’t.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Prince liked it. Said it made a statement on society and how it tears women apart,” I laugh.

“What was it actually saying?”

“You’re walking into boyfriend territory, Ko. Make a U-Turn.”

He takes the bottle, drinking some more before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. I blow the smoke in his face, and he rolls his eyes.

“So why did you come to find me sulking on my porch in the middle of the night?”

“I actually wasn’t sure if you would be here.”

“Celebrating with Penny is a lot more fun than a party.”

He glances back at the house. “Right. Where is she?”

“Asleep.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Not my thing.” I ash the blunt. “What about you?”

“Just got home an hour ago. Takes a while for me to calm down after all of the socializing.”

“So you came here to socialize?” I laugh.

He leans back on his forearms. “Not exactly."

“Oh, right,” I snicker. I put the blunt in my mouth and start to take off my shorts.

“What are you fucking doing?” He looks at me wildly.

“Uh, sex. Duh.”

“Out here?”

“Why not? Scared?”

He sticks his tongue in his cheek. “Not scared. I just didn’t come here for that. There was a party and I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to stay home.”

“So you came to drink on my front porch instead?”

“To be fair, I didn’t know you were getting twisted out here alone.”

“Sometimes life is twisted.” I shrug.

It’s nice outside. Autumn is starting to set in and the sky is clear. I’ve never had a favorite time of the year; I just hate winter. Something nice always happens before something terrible. I try to count the stars, but I can only ever get to nineteen before the darkness creeps in.

“I never saw you being a star gazer,” Koda comments.

“I’m not. There’s no point in wishing on a rock.” I take another inhale and hold it.

“Hm?”

“Stars. They’re rock and dust. Stardust is bullshit and so are stars. It’s all bullshit. They should just be called fireballs, like the drink. They’re not romantic, just a hot ball of rock waiting to burn out, die, and float lifelessly for eternity. Some of the ones we see have already fizzled out, and here we are stupidly wishing on something that’s dead.”

“This is starting to sound like an existential crises.”

“You chose to come here,” I point out.

“If you believe that’s true then why do you have them tattooed?”

I look down at the inside of my elbow. Nineteen tiny stars.

“Let me guess, boyfriend territory?” he snorts.

“Therapist territory."

“I’ve never understood tattoos.”

“They wouldn’t look good on you. They’d affect your Golden Boy status.”

“I guess so. What’d you look like before all of that?”

“Too pretty. Had to downgrade myself so bitches wouldn’t be jealous. Didn’t work.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Your skin is just your personal canvas. It’s easier than talking.” I look at him pointedly.

He leans against the opposite railing, stretching out. “What does your canvas say then?”

“Whatever you think it does.”

“I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that’s how feelings work.”

“No, it’s how art works. How do they make you feel?”

He puts his hand out, asking for permission. I have no idea what to do with that other than to give it. He brushes his fingers down my arm. It’s almost like he’s appreciating them, looking at the self-destruction on my skin. His fingertips are gentle as they trace the stars. “What do these mean?”

“That’s fucking rude.”

“Ashland,” he warns.

“Failure.” I try to snatch my arm away, but his grip is too tight.

“It’s the only happy thing on this arm.”

I bite my tongue. “What makes you think it’s happy?”

He glances up at me with hesitation. Those coal black eyes have a green tint to them. “It just feels like that.” He brings the fresh tattoo on my hand to his face. “This is new.” I don’t know if he wants a response so I don’t say anything. “You didn’t have it the last time I saw you. Did you get it at the convention?”

I can’t help but to talk back. “What are you? My fucking dad?”

He smirks. “No, Ashland, I’m not whatever disappointment turned you into a slut.” He holds my hand, carefully avoiding the new ink. “You shouldn’t tattoo angry shit on your body anymore,” he says giving it back.

“I’ll take that into consideration, Armory.”

“I prefer Ko." He stretches and his muscles flex. I have to tear my eyes away. “Oh, by the way.”

He picks up something next to him that I hadn’t noticed when he showed up and hands it to me. It’s a brand new sketch pad.

“What is this?”

“That paper shit you draw on.”

I flip through the fresh pages. “Why would you do this?”

“Alexi mentioned that you lost yours.”

I squint up at him. “What do you want?”

“Why do I have to want something?”

“Is this why you came over here?”

He looks down. “Maybe."

I don’t know what the hell to make of this. It’s really nice and also suspicious as fuck. He’s given me a car, which, okay great, but the sketch book means more than that. There’s no way he doesn’t realize it. I hold my hand out.

He stares at it. “What?”

“If you went to the trouble of buying the book, I can’t imagine that you didn’t buy a pencil.”

He bites his lip and pulls out a small box, handing it over. I eye it curiously before opening it. It’s a set. There are pencils and a few different sizes of charcoal.

“I didn’t understand any of it,” he quickly explains. “I didn’t want to get the wrong one. So I just got one of the things that has a few. The lady said it was a good set.”

“You went to an arts and crafts store,” I say slowly. “And you asked someone for help to buy arts and crafts?” It takes everything in me not to laugh. I can see Koda standing there, staring at a shelf, and a poor little old woman asking him if he needs help. The relief he must have felt. “Did you jerk off at how organized the place was?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tempering his mood. “It was satisfying, yes. I did not, however, jerk off on the stickers.”

I can’t help it. I burst into laughter and practically keel over. Koda was looking at fucking stickers.

“I’m glad you find that amusing.”

“Oh, more than. What about the yarn? Did you look at the yarn?”

I can tell by his face that he did. I can’t even breathe.

“Ha fucking ha. Very funny.” He picks at his fingernails.

I wipe the tears of joy from my eyes and take deep breaths trying not to laugh. “Okay. I’m done. I’ll save the rest for later. This was nice of you or whatever.”

He smiles to himself but tries to hide it.

“What?”

“You didn’t thank me for the car, but you did for some pieces of paper and rocks.”

“Know your audience.”

I immediately break open the package and flip to the first page of the sketchbook. I hesitate. Charcoal or pencil? Koda isn’t watching me. He’s staring off into space, so I take the pencil and start to sketch him. We sit in silence for a while. I catch him stealing glances at me sometimes, but he doesn’t say anything. When I finish, I tear it out and hold it out to him.

He looks totally confused. “What’s this?”

I start to pull it back toward me. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

He snatches it from me and looks at it, keeping his face neutral as he studies it. I’m about to get up and leave him on the porch. I drew a picture of him like a fucking child.

“You just drew this.” He finally says, glancing up at me.

“Is that rhetorical?”

“You don’t let people look at your stuff.”

“This is getting infinitely weird. Give it back, and I’ll burn it.” I hold my hand out expectantly.

“Why would you let me see it?”

“Just strike it from the record and give it.”

“Thank you,” he says. I’m fucking stunned. I hate it. Giving that to him was too personal.

“You’re not welcome.”

“I liked the playlist, too,” he offers.

“No you don’t. It sucked.”

He traps the drawing by crossing his arms over it. “Even your worst taste in music is pretty good.”

“You’re drunk,” I snort.

He laughs. “You’re high.”

“I’m usually high.” I readjust the stuff in my lap.

“You look good in my shirt.”

My face turns red. I forgot I was in his clothes. “I thought we clarified that the moment I put something on, it’s mine.”

“Right.”

A long silence passes between us.

“I just haven’t done laundry. We avoid the laundromat as long as possible,” I reason, even though he’s already dropped it.

“I’ve got a washer and dryer at my place. It’s free,” he offers.

“I don’t do laundry alone.”

“I mean, I’ll be there.”

“I’m talking about Penny.” I roll my eyes. “We do laundry together.”

“Want me to leave?”

“Yeah." I smirk. He’s not going to leave the Cunts of the Century in his fucking condo if he’s smart.

“Fine. I’ll let you guys in after class tomorrow. Do whatever.”

Do whatever? I know the grin that spreads across my face is fucking wicked. Koda really does have one brain cell.

I stand up. “I should go." I don’t know what possesses me to do it, probably the fact that I’m a little drunk. “Cuntsgiving is Saturday.”

“Cuntsgiving? Is this some Cunts of the Century prank?”

“No, it’s just a thing we do every year.”

“Sounds cool.”

I weigh my options and bite my tongue. We aren’t anything, so I shouldn’t want him there. He’s just being nice and giving me gifts because he’s manipulative. He doesn’t even know what Cuntsgiving really means. But aren’t we sort of friends by proxy? I think we might be. I don’t ever mix business and personal, and maybe I’m getting wires crossed, but this whole thing has been out of the ordinary for me. We’re friends with Alexi and it feels like I should invite him. He did help me get Penny during that storm.

I stop at the door and turn back around, clutching the gifts in my arms. “Come.”

He looks up at me. “What?”

“To Cuntsgiving,” I huff. I’m already embarrassed that I asked in the first place. “Come.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Maybe.”

“I’m just being nice. We’re gonna invite Alexi so I figured we had to invite you, too. Ya know, semantics.” I say quickly. “Come, or don’t. I don’t care. I’m gonna go inside. Don’t think that the sketch means anything. I still hate you, Golden Boy.”

“You too, slut.”

I go back inside before Koda has even stood up. I head straight to my room, crawl into my bed, and run my hands over the sketch pad. The car was convenience, but this is a gift. A real one. I can’t find a way that this is manipulative. I have a one track mind and it’s directly related to sex, but this isn’t that at all. He was going to hand deliver it. If I hadn’t been outside what would he have done?

I turn my phone back on and stare at the contact I was debating on calling. In one deep breath I exit and pull up Koda’s number. Micropenis. He’s getting in my fucking head. I toss it to the side and stew in my regret on inviting him to Cuntsgiving. Maybe. He said maybe. I hope he fucking forgets.