The Revealed Page 8

  “No.” I smile at the look on her face.

  “Yeah right, you want to get over Kai. And you think booze and boys is the way to it.”

  “I don’t need a boy,” I counter.

  “Of course you don’t. That doesn’t mean it isn’t fun.” Rory shimmies her shoulders suggestively.

  “So you’ll take me?”

  Her shoulders drop. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about getting you out of this house.”

  My mind flashes to Kai and that mischievous smirk as he explained how he’d turned the cameras on repeat. He was the only person I’d ever met in my life who could do anything remotely close to that. The system was otherwise foolproof. My own escape attempt had ended with a roadblock less than a mile from my house.

  Despite my determination I admit, “Neither do I.”

  “And you’ve had more practice than me.”

  If only I could fool the cameras like Kai did. I have no idea how. But maybe I can do something else. Suddenly, a plan sparks in my mind.

  If we can’t trick the cameras, maybe we can trick the eye.

  Just like we practiced. I take a deep breath and glance up. She’s standing on the balcony, silhouetted against the moonlight. Her hair is coiled into a bun on the top of her head so it’s hard to make out any distinguishable characteristics.

  The floodlights cast an eerie white glow over the property. I see the shadows in the distance as the security figures patrol the perimeter.

  I pull the chef’s apron tighter around my waist and flip up the hood of my sweatshirt. My fists tighten at my sides and the keys in my hand press firmly into my palm.

  Staff parking is around the corner from the main entrance, and I trek down the grass, sure to keep my head down.

  The first patrol guard I pass is Darren, just like Rory and I talked about. Darren always has this patrol shift. He’s Jeremy’s second-in-command, and a little too eager. This is the best time because Darren’s shift is almost over, and he won’t be as cautious.

  “Goodnight, Darren,” I say, keeping my voice low and casual.

  “Night.” He brushes past me without a second glance. “Have a good weekend.”

  The car squeaks open with a click of the unlock button on the keys. Rory has an ancient Honda Civic. The red paint is fading away in large patches all over the vehicle. When I open the door it creaks loudly. I glance back over my shoulder. Darren isn’t paying any attention. I settle into the driver’s seat and wait.

  Darren continues his patrol around the perimeter. At the end of the lot, he meets with another man. I can’t see his face but assume it’s Evan, who will take over the post. I check my watch. It’s 10:00 p.m. exactly. Right on time.

  But the two begin to talk, chatting on and on about who knows what.

  I anxiously watch in the rearview mirror.

  Maybe they caught on. Somehow they figured out what Rory and I have been plotting and are waiting, laughing at us until we try to get through the gate. Then the joke will be on us.

  They’re still talking, quiet shadows at the edge of the parking lot.

  And then they shake hands and Darren wanders out to his car, calling it a night.

  I skooch over into the passenger seat and sink down, careful to make myself still so Evan won’t notice anyone in the car.

  Darren’s car flashes to life, and he pulls from the lot. His headlights hit my mirror briefly, and I tense. But he passes by and no one starts running toward the car.

  Evan circles back to the other side of the lot and begins his patrol. He’s swinging the flashlight back and forth, tipping his head from side to side. He turns his back to me to march the other way, and I slink deeper into the passenger seat. My eyes focus on the rearview mirror. Waiting.

  What’s taking her so long?

  Evan turns around at the end of the parking lot and starts walking back to the opposite corner. He’s all scrawny limbs, which make his movements jerky.

  A bead of sweat begins to trickle across my forehead. Even though the night is chilly, the nerves beat it from my body. I pull the sweater over my head and yank the ties open on the chef’s apron, tossing both in the backseat.

  Then I focus back on the rearview mirror, but my eyes collide with Evan’s. He’s staring in my direction.

  Shit.

  Can he see that it’s me in the darkness?

  He hesitates, then whips around suddenly.

  “Hi, Evan,” Rory calls through the darkness. I can see Evan relax.

  “Hi, Rory.” He grins. It’s a grin that all boys give Rory when they’re privileged with her attention.

  “How’s your night so far?” she purrs.

  “Well, I just started. It isn’t bad.” I can see Evan struggle to stand a little straighter and puff out his chest, posing for her.

  “That’s good.” Rory brushes past him. “Goodnight,” she says over her shoulder.

  But he runs after her. “Let me walk you to your car.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she says, waving him off. “I’m a big girl.”

  “An eighteen-year-old girl,” he corrects. Clearly this isn’t Evan’s first attempt to gain Rory’s attention. “Can’t be too careful.”

  “Oh, I’m careful.” Rory produces a can of pepper spray from her purse and holds it out for Evan to see.

  He snorts, “You think that’s gonna stop The Revealed? You were at the gala weren’t you?”

  “Of course I was there,” Rory replies, “but a girl does what she can.” With this she gives him a snarky smile. Rory doesn’t need a hero.

  “What you need is this,” he produces his gun, tossing it from hand to hand.

  Rory rolls her eyes. “Yeah, ’cause those were so useful that night. Look, I have to get home.” Rory brushes past him again, this time not giving him a chance to cut her off. “See you tomorrow.”

  She opens a back door, dropping her stuff in the backseat.

  Evan is still watching her, and I’m careful not to twitch a muscle.

  Rory plops down in the driver’s seat and wordlessly takes the keys from my hand.

  I glance in the mirror. Evan is still watching. Then he shakes his head briefly and starts marching again.

  I slink down so I’m curled at the bottom of the passenger seat, just under the dashboard.

  Rory slowly pulls out of the parking lot, not even so much as glancing in my direction. She rolls down her window and waves to the guard station. I’m so focused on holding still I don’t even breathe.

  Our plan depends on the fact that whoever is on duty should be more concerned about who’s getting in, not out.

  The assumption is correct.

  I can hear as the metal gates creeks open.

  As soon as there’s enough space for the car, Rory guns it, flying down the road surrounding my house.

  I unfurl from my hiding place and burst out into laughter, feeling lightheaded at the initial breath of air. “I can’t believe Evan went so far as to show you his gun!”

  She just chuckles. “Wasn’t the first time he’s tried.”

  “Gross.” I stick a finger in my mouth, mimicking a gag.

  I pull my nude wedge heels from the bag I brought and slip them on.

  I dressed up, wearing dark denim jeans and a lacy white top beneath the sweater. Once I pull my hair down, it falls in soft waves around my face. I offset my mascara and liner with a streak of gold eye shadow, which makes my hazel eyes pop. I relish the feel of pampering myself, of actually getting ready for an event attended by people under the age of forty.

  When Rory said I was looking for a rebound, someone to take my thoughts away from Kai, she was wrong. For some reason, I seem to like the burning ache in my chest when I think of Kai. He’s become this dull throb at the back of my mind. Over and over I just want to know why. And through all the pain and rejection, I still shiver thinking of his body so close to mine. I imagine his hands touching my face, circling down to my waist.

  It’s wrong, so wrong. I ha
te myself for having thoughts like this. I don’t want to be so stereotypical. But no matter how wrong I know my feelings are and how disgusted I am with them, I can’t make them go away. But tonight I will force them away. Tonight is about letting go. Just for one night I will have fun instead of always being afraid.

  We don’t have to wait in the line that snakes around the building. The bouncer at the front doesn’t even check our IDs. He takes one look at me and simply unhooks the gate with a polite, albeit surprised, “Ms. Atwood, I thought it would be another eight months before we saw you here.”

  Rory grins and pushes me inside, saying, “She has the night off,” over her shoulder.

  I’m suddenly not as comfortable. He recognized me too quickly.

  “Maybe we should have him sign something, or ask him not to tell anyone I’m here. I mean, what if he calls the photographers or—”

  “Stop,” Rory cuts me off with a quick hand. “Don’t forget, this is the new hangout for the DC elite, they’re used to seeing important faces. They would lose a lot of business if they started asking questions and snitching on people.”

  She’s right, of course, so I relax and take a moment to enjoy where I am.

  This is the place everyone wants to be on a Friday night. No matter what happens to a civilization, people still love drinking. Bars and nightclubs always seem to have a place in society.

  The entire venue is lit in an icy-blue hue. The booths that line the walls are a striking sapphire color. All of the silverware and plates are made of glass, which reflect the light like crystal. The entire tabletop is coated in a smooth layer of ice that keeps drinks cold and allows for a unique, refracted look.

  I stare at the glass on the table and imagine the tabletop exploding into a thousand fragments. I trace my fingers down the small scabs that have formed over the cuts from the glass at the gala. I remember the fear, but I also remember Kai’s strong hands around me, telling me everything would be okay.

  Two hundred and forty-four days until I’m nineteen.

  “Let’s do shots!” I yell over the music, grabbing Rory’s hand and leading her to the bar.

  “Whoa,” she laughs, “Slow down, babe. We have the whole night to get there.”

  “I’m ready to have fun now,” I insist.

  “Shots?” A bartender overhears. He’s probably been trained to read lips what with the music blasting through this place.

  “Four,” I say, holding up the fingers to be sure. “Make us something fancy. What’s your specialty?” I ask, leaning over the bar.

  “It’s called Ice,” he tells me, close to my ear.

  Appropriate.

  “Great, four of those.”

  The bartender raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure you want four?”

  “Are you crazy?” Rory demands. “One of those shots is enough to make a normal person lightheaded. And you never drink!”

  The bartender sets the drinks in front of us. It’s an electric blue, with sugar rimmed around the glass like cracked ice.

  “I’m only taking one,” Rory insists.

  “Who said any of them were for you?” I dare her with a grin. I pull out the wad of cash I stole from my parents’ dresser and hand the bartender a hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change,” I tell him.

  I pick up one of the shots and hand it to Rory, taking one for myself.

  Her eyes go wide. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “You and me both,” I say, and now I feel the rush of adrenaline. I see it in Rory’s eyes as well. Tonight will be amazing. “Cheers!”

  We down the shots without hesitation and quickly take the second after that. The shot is like liquid spearmint, and it burns until I can feel it settle in my stomach. Then it spreads like tendrils through my veins, all cold fire.

  I never drink. Occasionally wine with dinner when my parents feel like it’s a special occasion. But other than that, I don’t go near the stuff. This is the first time, but I’ve watched enough old movies and heard enough of Rory’s stories to know how this works. We drink, we dance, and we forget our problems.

  People around us are tinged with blue from the lights. White and black is the preferred color of attire. Only a few hints of color pop throughout the bar. It makes sense. White is cheap but can more easily be made to look expensive, compared to the drab brown-and-tan uniforms of the factory workers. Any vivid shades of cloth are more expensive and rare, unless it’s a faded hand-me-down. The vintage look isn’t in right now. Vintage just means you scavenged through some abandoned store somewhere down your path to refuge during the war. I’m glad I chose white with my jeans. Rory is in a fitted black cotton dress. We look like we belong.

  The fun doesn’t stop with the shots. I drag Rory to the dance floor, and in between songs, guys offer to buy us drinks. None of which I refuse. The Revealed could be coming for me tomorrow. I might as well live it up. There’s no use wallowing over my pathetic life.

  Over it.

  And each time I take a swig of alcohol, I’m proving it to myself. I don’t need anyone. I can be independent. I can be a normal eighteen-year-old girl. I don’t have to be perfect all the time. I don’t have to always say the right thing and act a certain way. I can be free. I deserve to be free.

  Rory is dancing with some guy that holds her close. He’s all arms and blue eyes. I don’t blame her for returning the attention. If only for one night. By tomorrow, she won’t even remember the guy’s name.

  I move from the bar and through the crowd.

  “Lily Atwood,” I hear some of them gasp. “No way!” And then whisper amongst themselves.

  Someone catches my shoulder.

  “Whoa, slow down there.” I don’t recognize the boy who blocks my path. He has long hair that hangs in his face in slick tendrils, and his breath smells stale from alcohol.

  I try to weave past him, but he’s quick and spins in front of me again.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’ve already had one, thanks.” I try to keep my words straight since it’s definitely been more than one drink.

  “You’re Lily Atwood aren’t you? I recognize you from your picture in the tabloids the other day.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” I quip. Apparently I’m not drunk enough because it still stings. I imagine Kai’s hand on my shoulder instead of this boy’s. Kai wouldn’t be grabbing at me like this. He would be confident and strong.

  I wave this strange boy off with my thoughts, but he thrusts a drink into my hand.

  A picture of Kai flashes through my mind again, almost like I’m seeing him in the crowd. His image burns in my mind; emotion wells up inside. Not numb enough.

  I take the drink all in one gulp. It burns on the way down my throat. I sputter a little, but after a moment the warmth makes me feel better. It makes everything numb and meaningless.

  “Alright!” The guy’s laugh sounds distant. “Someone came to party. What’ll it be?”

  My mind is fuzzy, which is such a relief. It really is just so nice not to think or feel. It’s wonderful to let it all go, to be numb, and not care just for a little while.

  “Let’s dance,” the guy says, and takes my hand.

  And before I even know what’s happening, we’re among the crowd dancing, and the guy’s hands are entwined around my waist. He keeps trying to pull me closer.

  Swaying with the beat, we dance among throngs of bodies for I don’t know how many songs. Everything seems to be moving fast now, time included. I’ve lost sight of Rory in the crowd, and though I want to find her, I can’t seem to make my body follow suit. It’s taken on a mind of its own, dancing among the crowd.

  People say my name.

  “Look, it’s Lily Atwood!” someone says.

  “Alright, Lily!” they cheer me on.

  Others laugh, “Get it girl!”

  I’m feeling too liberated to focus on their words.

  Time is fast and slow all at once.

  My drink is gone,
and I toss the plastic cup onto the floor.

  I’m living in the moment, but at the same time I’m moving in all directions at once. The music flows with me and through me, and it’s all I care about.

  Then my stomach lurches.

  I stop moving. Well, my feet stopped moving, but my stomach is spinning right along with the room.

  “I think I need some air,” I say, feeling heat rising to my cheeks.

  I break outside, and the crisp air hits me like a cold shower. My hands grip the railing of the wraparound porch. Thick screens enclose the porch so no one can exit or enter this way, but I can still feel the brisk air. I rest my head against one of the wood posts and am grateful for the breeze catching my face.

  “What did I drink?” I ask, not really to anyone in particular, as I breathe in and hope the night air will clear the clouds in my mind. My cheeks feel puffy and tingly.

  “Well, I gave you a shot of tequila, but I don’t think that was all the help you had.” I didn’t even realize the stale-breath guy had followed me out.

  I groan.

  The guy—I don’t even know his name—is suddenly close to my face. He’s too close. I just need air. I shrug him off, wishing he would just let me breathe.

  He doesn’t.

  Instead, he moves closer still.

  “You know, for a daddy’s girl, you’re pretty hot.” He reaches out to me, catching the end of my blouse and pulling me against his chest. “You’re legal now, right?”

  I try to push his hand away, but my fingers fumble awkwardly.

  He leans his face into mine and wraps his hands around the back of my arms, pulling me closer. His lips graze against my cheek, and I can feel his stubble against my face. His kisses are sloppy as they reach my mouth.

  I try to turn my head, but his grip is tightening.

  His tongue leaves a hot trail over my lips.

  “No,” I tell him, trying to push away, but my arms aren’t quite working right.

  “Come on.” His voice is gruff. “I know you want me. You don’t have to pretend to be good.”

  His hand slips under my shirt.

  My stomach heaves and this time it isn’t from the alcohol. “Stop.”