Oren Ramos has always been a cocky little shit with a smart mouth, but I guess that’s what I’ve always liked about him—which makes his following words less surprising.
“My face is much too pretty to end up looking like the sorry fucker they dragged away.” He smirks and straightens to his full height, which is only a few inches shorter than I am. “If I had a girl, I imagine I would react the same way. Hate to stand in the way of honor, my guy.”
I snort. There was nothing honorable about what I did to Bastian, even if it was defending someone who’s my enemy. Bastian’s animosity toward Malia is born from his rejection. As someone who has dealt with her rejection, I know that it’s not the side of the street you want to be on.
With her rejection, you’re left staring across the way, looking into windows and seeing everything you want within reach—so close, yet so far away. Bastian had wanted Malia and created that fantasy in his mind, but he didn’t get the chance to fall in love with her.
At least who we thought she was.
I blow out a breath, realizing that I’m falling back down the rabbit hole that is the Olin family, and rub my hand down my face.
“She’s not my girl,” I say with a shrug. “Never was, and never will be.”
Oren chuckles lightly, then gives me a knowing grin. “You telling me that, or yourself?” He winks. “Look, we still have that invite to the ball. If you don’t want to go, I understand. Just thinking about wearing a tux makes my balls itch.”
A chuckle escapes me, and Oren beams. I imagine him in school as a child giving the teacher hell during class. I thought Bastian was my friend, but as it turns out the only one that’s lived up to that title is the man in front of me.
I had forgotten about the ball until today, and there is no one else that I would want standing at my back while I try to get the answers I deserve.
“Load up on jock itch cream, then, because we’re going to that fucking ball.”
Oren nods his head, then pats me on the shoulder as he walks away without another word. I get into my car and drive home, gripping the wheel tightly as I remember the events that have transpired from today. My hand smarts, and I look at it, knuckles split open and dried blood painting my skin.
My jeans are stained, and while the ramifications of my actions begin to sink in, I don’t regret it. Malia has become a ghost in my mind—always haunting me and never giving me any reprieve. The memories of how she tastes and feels lurk in the darkest corners of my mind.
I fought tooth and nail to make her mine, and though the betrayal stings, she is everything I hate. The very product of my enemy.
But I miss her.
I miss who I thought she was, because for once, she gave me a reason for living that wasn’t vengeance. Ihateher for what she has done to me. The Omen is an invisible force in my life that’s always taking from me, only this time he gave me something—just to rip it away.
I blow out my cheeks as I sit in my car, letting myself calm down since pulling into my driveway. I feel around my pockets to locate my phone, but then I remember it’s in the dash. I find myself turning on the screen and hoping her name will be there. Maybe she will contact me through her fake phone, or her real one—just something. Maybe giving me somewhere to meet her so she can explain herself.
Do I hope she will grovel at my feet?
Yes.
And then I sink into the thoughts of who she is outside of the “Mila” persona. Does she have a boyfriend? Does someone get to love the real Malia while I was spoon fed a dream? Is she sitting around with her parents amd laughing about what a fucking fool I’ve been?
Always. Haunting.
I read through the missed calls and texts, all from my sister. She must’ve heard about the incident with Bastian and is calling to rip me a new asshole. The soft spot she has for that piece of shit sits sour in my stomach, but I breathe through it and hit the call button.
“What the fuck, Li?” Xana answers without a proper greeting.
“Hello to you too, Xan,” I deadpan.
“Bass is in thehospital, all because you lost your shit!” Her raised voice lowers, then she pauses to sigh. “I’m coming home soon, it’s almost Christmas. I want to spend it with you, and clearly you’re not okay if you’re trying to put your best friend in the hospital.”
Panic rises at the thought of my sister coming home. Not with The Omen so present in my life and actively fucking with it. He could still get to her when she’s across the country in Washington state, but with her here, it’s all too easy for him to interfere with her life.
Xana knows our parents were murdered, but the details have been sugar coated, to say the least. She was a newborn when The Omen took them away from us. Even at twenty, though, the gruesome details are too horrific. I even question if what I know is the truth.
“You don’t need to come home, I’m fine.” The conviction in my voice is lost, and knowing my sister, she’s just as stubborn as I am. I’m wasting my breath, but how do I tell her the truth?
“Li…” She sighs. “You’re notfine, so quit with the bullshit. We’ll get all of this straightened out, big brother.”
I scoff, knowing she means mine and Bastian’s friendship. There’s nothing to fix because it wasn’t real either. And I do miss having her around—the only true constant in my life—but it’s dangerous.