eighteen
Harper Apple
I adjust my position so I’m lying perpendicular to Baron so I can rest my head on his stomach. It’s better than the cold floor. “Are you going to tell me about how Royal called your sister on choosing the Darlings over him, and she went ahead with it, anyway?”
“Fucked up, right?”
I can’t help but agree with him. Who would choose anyone over Royal?
But then, that’s not fair. I’m just learning how crazy love makes a person. Who’s to say I wouldn’t sell out my own family for Royal?
“Did his dad go to jail?” I ask, thinking of Mr. D, who wanted to live vicariously through my sex stories. No conjugal visits, apparently.
“For a few months,” Baron says, pressing a sucker into my hand. “They charged him with conspiracy or intent or something along those lines. But his lawyer got him off. The legal system here is even more fucked up than New York. But we got justice.”
I unwrap the sucker slowly in the dark. “You killed him?”
“Nah,” Baron says. “Royal doesn’t believe in murder. He says death is easy. Life is suffering.”
“So, he’s like an angry Buddha?”
Baron chuckles. “Sure. If you die, your suffering ends. If you live, you can suffer for a long time.”
“And you made him suffer?”
“The whole family,” Baron says proudly. “While Devlin’s dad was in jail, we made his mom our plaything. That lasted a couple months, until she checked herself into Cedar Crest.”
Even though people like me could never afford Cedar Crest, of course I’ve heard about the treatment facility. It’s one of the few local claims to fame, since celebrities hole up there for treatment on occasion. It’s basically a resort, or a psych hospital for the rich and famous.
“Is she still there?” I ask, suddenly wondering if Mr. D is a man at all.
“Nah, when Devlin’s dad got out of jail, he took her out and they moved away. Never even came back to see if they could salvage anything from the fire.”
“That’s the house next door?” I ask. “Devlin’s house?”
“Yep,” he says. “Such a tragedy it was lost in a fire.”
I roll my eyes in the dark. “I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.”
“Would we do something like that?” he asks, his tone filled with mock innocence.
“You don’t know where he went?”
“We know,” he says. “But they were gone from Faulkner, so we moved on. You know what was really fun, Harper? Seeing their empire crumble as we dismantled it brick by brick.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sociopath?”
“Aw, now, you like watching people, too, don’t you, Harper? Always nosing around our business, digging into Royal’s life. Trying to get him wrapped around your little finger. We’re not so different, you and me.”
I shrug my shoulder against his side. “Maybe you’re right.”
I’m not so sure, though. I don’t glory in people’s downfall.
Or maybe I do. Before Royal meant something to me, I vowed to take them down. Not to take their throne, but just for the joy of watching them fall. Maybe I’m exactly like Baron, I just don’t hate the Dolces anymore. When they were my enemies, I wanted to watch them burn.
After a minute of sucking on our candy in silence, Baron shifts around to get comfortable and then goes on. “The grandfather Darling, John, had seven sons. All started with J. So we went through them all. After Devlin’s dad, Justin, there’s Joseph—Preston’s dad—and Jacob. That’s Colt and Mabel’s dad. Joseph went to prison for murder. That guy was definitely involved in Royal’s kidnapping. Get this. He’s such a dick that even Preston refused to be a character witness at his trial.”
That’s the Darling I suspect is Mr. D. The one I’ve been feeding information to. I’ve thought of him as a friend before, but I know that’s an illusion created by my own lack. He’s not a friend. He’s a guy so evil his own son wouldn’t stand up for him. And I’ve been giving him information about a boy I love. It makes me feel sick and dirty in a way even his creepy sexual interest never has.