Page 7 of The Truths We Burn

I feel as if I have to physically reach up and grab my eyeballs to keep them from rolling.

Money, money, money.

That’s everyone’s favorite pastime here. It’s all they care about.

They eat, shit, breathe it.

Money will fix everything because it buys silence.

“Yeah, yeah, Hollow Heights this, Hollow Heights that. Doesn’t anyone want to see the sun? Is everyone just so content living in a place that is always gray and wet?” I complain, rolling off my bed and towards my adjoining bathroom.

I twirl my finger around a few loose curls in my hair, then open the drawer, grab my favorite balm, and tap it to my lips. Even though it’s evening, my makeup is still perfectly in place, the pitch-black winged eyeliner creating the seamless Marilyn Monroe bedroom eyes. The red matte color sits on my lips, warming my skin. It all sits there, producing a well-polished mask.

To the girls, I look conceited as I gaze into the mirror at my reflection, but it’s only to see if I can find any cracks in the in the façade.

“Bitch, please, your ginger ass will burn the minute you step out of Oregon,” Lizzy jokes, making me grin to myself in the mirror.

“Your point?” I turn to them, placing my hand on my hip. “Red is my signature color, after all,” I say, adding a wink for good measure.

We all share a laugh, a fake laugh full of plastic. And the sound echoes so deep inside my chest that I begin to wonder if it truly is as hollow inside as people believe it to be.

There is a loud hum from the engines of high-end sports cars. They purr and rumble outside the French doors of my room that make even Liz pull her eyes from the plasma screen on the wall.

Mary’s eyes light up. “Looks like your delinquent side is home,” she giggles, hopping off the ground and bolting to the doors. She cracks them just enough to hear what’s going on below, peering through the panels to see. “And she brought her friends,” she singsongs.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket, checking the time. “Whoa, theycantell time. She’s not late for curfew tonight.”

This never fails to happen, and it never fails to annoy me.

A constant reminder of all the things I’ve stayed away from, the things I was forced to avoid. All the freedoms Rosemary has, because I’m the one underneath the microscope.

I’m the one trying to keep it together. To not fall apart.

Liz moves to the window next to Mary, and because I’m shamefully nosey, I follow, peering over their shoulders to look down below at my front yard and the three expensive vehicles that have parked in a straight line outside our curb.

“Damn,” Mary whispers as we watch my sister slip out of the passenger seat, waiting for Silas as he rounds the front of his Dodge Challenger and comes to her side. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, guiding her towards our front door.

“It’s seriously unfair how hot he is,” she whines, admiring Silas Hawthorne’s golden skin that is flawless any time of day, but at night in that white t-shirt, it’s to die for.

“That man needs a warning label,” Lizzy adds, her eyes quickly darting to me as if to make sure I won’t call her out.

“More like a straitjacket,” I mutter, flipping my hair over my shoulder in annoyance.

You see, this happens every time they show up to drop Rosemary off. Like a pack of starving dogs, there is never just one of them. They all gather like strays for scraps. However, my friends can’t help but stand at this window just itching to get a glimpse at Ponderosa Springs’ criminally insane and psychotically hot. Of course, we wouldn’t be caught dead talking to them in person both for their reckless attitudes and because being seen with any of them is a black mark on anyone’s reputation for the entirety of your life here.

It’s social fucking suicide.

They aren’t the boys you bring home to mommy and daddy. They are fun to look at, but under no circumstances do you touch.

Kind of like the way you’d admire wild animals in nature. You look, you appreciate, you leave them alone. You’re not supposed to take them home and keep them as pets. Yet, my twin sister doesn’t mind getting mauled by one of them when they snap because everyone knows you can never truly domesticate some creatures.

We can barely hear what they are saying to each other at the front door, but it’s been over ten minutes, and I’m getting bored. As many times as Rose has tried to explain it, I’ll never understand why him.

Actually, no, that’s a lie.

It’s because he’s the one person she’s not supposed to choose, and she has always tried todo the exact opposite of what is expected of her, in turn making my life a living hell. My parents had given up on her, decided she wasn’t worth molding, so years ago, their attention shifted directly onto me.

I am their crown jewel.