Prologue
When you really think about it, our lives revolve around the death of others. They come into our lives, or us into theirs, leave their mark, and eventually leave. Once they do, it’s up to us to adapt to their absence—to learn how to live without them. The learning is the hardest part. And, I’m not ready to start; I prefer a different outlet for the time being.
“Chug! Chug! Chug!” The crowd around me chants, as I do my fifth beer bong of the night. The liquid courage slides down nice and smooth, drowning every memory of this harrowing day. If I never had to feel again, it would be too soon.
Gulping down the last swallow, I slam the bong to the ground in victory. Everyone goes wild. They’ve always looked at me as their hero, but right now, it feels as if they are all watching me with pity in their eyes. I can almost hear the thoughts in their heads. The boy just lost his mom, and he’s on the verge of a breakdown. Some may want to see me break—fold, come undone. Lose control and lose myself in the process. I refuse to give them the satisfaction.
I look over and find Harper, standing by the fire alone. Her arms crossed over her pink dress. Only she would wear a dress with a matching bow in her hair to a bonfire in the middle of the Arizona desert. Only she could pull it off. My heart burns when I think about the way I’ve treated her these past couple of days. She’s tried so hard to be there for me, but the reality is, I don’t want her sympathy. I prefer that the entire world pretend that nothing happened. Losing Mom was the hardest thing I’ll ever go through in my life, and I’m surviving it—in my own fucked up way.
Everyone just needs to back the hell off and give me some space. Harper didn’t get that memo, because, every time I turn around, she’s trying to console me, as if I’m on the verge of a meltdown. She means well, and if I were to have one person in the entire world at my side through it all, it would be her. Yet, I still prefer solitude and booze as my healing medicine.
So, why am I at a party getting shitfaced on the day of my mom’s funeral? Because I need the alcohol and I need the escape. I can’t even face Dad right now. The old man never cries, and I saw it for the first time today. Even when my mom left him, after having an affair with my history teacher, he never shed a tear. The day she married said history teacher, he locked himself in his study the entire day and didn’t eat for a week, but today, the tears fell. We Thorns are tough as nails and it takes something big to make us weep, the loss of my mom was something big.
Regardless of what she had done in the past, she was the only person who ever believed that Dad and I stored kindness somewhere deep down in our black hearts. Forgiveness came easy when I learned about the affair. It was no secret that her and my dad remained in a loveless marriage for reasons unknown. It could have been money, social status, or even for my sake. Whatever it was, I didn’t care, so I never asked.
She believed in me. She was the only one who I ever felt I needed to prove myself to. Now, she’s gone. I have no one to impress, no one to tell me that I should always strive for more and never settle. With her no longer here, I have no one to talk me off the ledge when my mind goes wild, and I plot self-destruction.
Here’s to a life of bad choices. I grab the bottle of liquor from Kip and tip it back, taking every last drop. The burn reminds me that I still feel pain, which means I need more.
“Axel,” Harper snatches away the empty bottle, “Maybe we should go.” Her voice is quiet in an attempt to offer a calming vibe. Right now, I don’t want quiet. I want noise to drown out my screaming thoughts.
Her effort to pacify me does the complete opposite. “Hell no. I’m still standing; therefore, I’m still drinking, Baby.” I shout loudly, then grab her by the waist and pull her close. Leaning in to give her a kiss, she turns her head away in disgust.
“I’m leaving.” She jerks from my hold with a scowl.
My feet stay planted next to the keg. “Quit being so stuck up. Let loose and have a little fun,” I tease, though she’s not impressed in the least. I can hear the oohs and ahhs from the people who surround us, namely the girls.
“Fuck you, Axel Thorn.” She flips me off, causing my eyes to snap open. Harper never swears. She is the epitome of a good girl. Straight-laced, straight A’s, and straight up perfection. She’s too good for me, no doubt about it. Yet, for some unknown reason, she sees something in me that I don’t even see in myself.
“I would if you weren’t such a prude, Adara,” I mutter under my breath, but she heard me loud and clear. Probably not the best come back. I should have just kept my mouth shut. I’ve called her that nickname for years, long before we ever started this thing up between us, and she’s always hated it. I promised I’d try and train myself not to use it, but sometimes, it slips out. It means beautiful, noble virgin, which suits her well.
She maneuvers her way through the gawking crowd, who are all waiting for a show. I push through and try to catch up to her. “Babe, wait.” I draw out in a sigh. “Come on, it was a joke.”
Harper is the only girl, scratch that—Harper is the only person who can make me beg, make me nervous, and make me excited all at the same time. Everyone who knows me, knows that I am the king asshole of Redwood. But something about this girl makes me want to be different—better; yet, I stay true to who I am and who I’ve always been because I don’t know how to be anything else.
She keeps walking until she reaches her car that's parked in a row with the others, about 300 yards from the fire and the crowd, in the wide-open desert. I catch up to her, just as she pulls her door open.
I push my palm against the door, then the other, caging her in. I brush my cheek against hers. “I’m sorry,” I whisper in her ear. Pulling back, I take her chin into the v of my thumb and index finger and pull her face toward mine. “It’s been a really bad day.” I press my lips to hers, but she turns away quickly and slides under my arm that’s still on her door. Dropping my head down, I sigh. My need for her forgiveness escalates quickly to something else, something sinister and cruel. “What the hell is your problem?” I spin around to face her.
“You,” she says, “You are my problem. I know this has been a bad day for you. Hell, it's been a bad year, but being the one person who has seen you through it all, I would think you’d show me a little more respect.”
“Being the one person who knows how I feel, you should have a little more respect for me and let me handle my grief however I want to. If I want to stay here and drink until the morning sun, so be it. Just back the fuck off.”
“Consider it done. Now, get away from my car and stay away from me.” She stalks toward me and shoves my body out of her way, and I let her. I can see tears pooling in her eyes, and while it stings a little, I can’t help but feel like she’s being selfish. I just lost my mom, and she’s making this all about her.
I watch as she drives away, and my need to chase her down diminishes with the fading of her taillights. Anger creeps up on me when I replay what just happened. She decided that tonight was a good night to fucking break up with me—the night of my mom’s funeral.
“Good riddance.” I sweep the air with my hand and head back to the blazing fire. It’s at least 8-feet tall, at this point, and sprawled out all around it is the entire Redwood High student body. They’re all here for me. Even if most of them can’t stand me and I don’t know half of them, they all came here tonight to celebrate Mom’s life with me.