The Silver Swan

  “About?” I raise an eyebrow, putting an apple and a salad onto my tray.

  “About camping. We’re all thinking of hitting the mountains for Halloween.”

  “Oh,” I say, suddenly interested. I love camping and the outdoors as much as I enjoy recreational sports. “When?”

  He loads up his plate, smiling at me as he tosses a carrot stick into his mouth, his two dimples popping in his cheeks. He’s cute; I could do a lot worse where rebounds are concerned, but at the same time, I don’t want to lead him on, because truthfully, I’m not interested in jumping into anything sexual or even halfway serious with Carter. Bishop was a wake-up call. Our one-night stand set off the alarm in my head.

  “Who will be coming?” I continue, coming to the end of the table and taking a bottle of water.

  “Pauly and Alias will be coming, with their girls, but you could bring Tatum if you want.”

  I take a bite of my apple, my eyes going over his shoulder and landing on Bishop and the rest of the guys that are there, Nate included.

  “One problem,” I interject, squirming under the daggers Bishop is aiming at me. “My aggro stepbrother and his pack of hounds? They won’t let me out of their sight.” Please let this go. Please let this go… I chant my prayer, hoping he’ll tell me to forget it.

  No such luck.

  He shrugs. “It’ll be a party.”

  I look over his shoulder again, catching Ally on Bishop’s lap and playing with his hair. But his eyes are still on mine, boring holes into me.

  “Good.” I smile sweetly, looking directly at Bishop. “It should be fun.” Two can play this game. I know I have no right to get angry or upset about him and Ally, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little seeing her so cozy on his lap—and him doing nothing to move her. But I’m not naïve enough to say we had a connection and that we were deeply into each other now. This isn’t a fairy tale, and that’s just not how things go. At least not for me, anyway.

  “So when is it?” I ask, looking back to Carter and letting him lead me to the table where Tatum is sitting.

  “Next weekend.” He surprises me by sitting beside us at the table, a couple of his friends who were waiting for him at theirs following suit, scattering themselves around our group.

  “What’s next weekend?” Tatum asks, peeling off her yogurt lid.

  “Camping!” I answer her cheerfully, knowing full well she’s going to scold me.

  She kicks me under the table. “Great! Should be fun.”

  I laugh, taking another bite out of my apple, and go back to ignoring Bishop. That is, until Nate comes to our table, leaning down and grinning at me, right before winking at Tatum. “Hey, sis, you need a ride after school?”

  I nod happily, wiping my mouth. “Yeah, thanks.” He nods too, a small smile coming onto his mouth, and then he goes to push off the table and walk away. “Wait!” I holler, and he stops, turning back to face me. Nudging my thumb to Carter, I say, “Carter invited us to this camping trip this weekend. You wanna come with?”

  “What, you think you can take my new baby sister without me, fucker?” Nate grins at Carter, but the grin isn’t the playful one Nate usually displays. This one is edgy, filled with warning bells and sirens. Nate continues to walk backward. “Of course we’ll be there.” Then he turns and goes back to where he was. Great. I could cut the tension in the air between these two.

  I look at Carter, searching his eyes. “Hey,” I prompt, shoving his arm. I can’t be mad at Carter. He’s done nothing but make me feel wanted every time he’s around me. He looks back at me, his frown slowly disappearing. “You okay?”

  He smiles. “Of course.”

  “Is there something I should know between you guys?” I search his eyes, his breath a mere centimeter away from me. If he leaned forward, he could kiss me. Please don’t. I like Carter, but I think I’ve put him in the friend zone without knowing it.

  “Yeah,” he whispers, his eyes falling onto my lips.

  Oh no. Oh no, oh no.

  Standing to my feet quickly, I tell him, “Great!” and pick up my tray.

  “You didn’t eat much.” He points down to my food, and I pause, looking back up to Bishop to see Ally sitting beside him now, not on him. Progress, I suppose, but I still hate him. I drag my eyes away from Bishop and smile down at Carter. “Sort of lost my appetite.” Then I take my tray and walk toward the doors, emptying my trash and placing it onto the table.

  Tatum runs up behind me. “Hey!” She takes my hand but I pull away from her, picking up my run. I’m not used to being around so many people, or even so many people being interested in me and my life. It’s all starting to overwhelm me, and I’m confused about Bishop and his mind games.

  Why would he just leave? Was I not good enough?

  Of course you weren’t! You’re a disgusting little girl who likes to do bad things.

  My eyes shut as I attempt to push the ugly voice out of my head. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that voice, and I don’t know what triggered hearing it today, but there it is. Opening my eyes, I see the bathrooms and run toward them, ignoring Tatum cursing behind me. My tears partly blind me, and the blue sign that shows it’s the girls’ bathroom looks all distorted and warped. I push through the door and fly into one of the stalls, slamming it closed and sliding the lock over. A second later, the door opens again.

  “Madi?” Tatum whispers. “Can you talk to me?”

  I’ve begun to like these people. Nate and Tatum, and maybe Hunter, anyway. I’m not sure about the rest of the Kings. Carter, too, he’s not bad. But it’s overwhelming. I’ve never had so many people show they give a fuck so much. I can’t help but think this is all some sort of sick game. Why did Nate and Bishop take me that night? What did they mean when they said games, and why did they stop? Why? So many questions, it’s making my head swim in confusion.

  “Madi, talk to me, babe,” Tatum whispers, leaning her head on the other side of the stall. “What happened?”

  It’s not Bishop and Ally who even triggered this, or triggered the voice. It’s my own insecurities from my fucked up past. A past I’ve lived with on my own with fears of stressing my father out so close after my mother’s death. But I blurt out Bishop anyway, because that’s the easiest of the two to talk about, and it’s believable.

  “I slept with Bishop.”

  She sucks in a breath. “Well, I can’t say I’m that surprised. So you’re upset about him and Ally?”

  Swallowing and swiping the tears from my cheeks, I lie, “A little.”

  I have to open up to someone, and if it’s going to be anyone, it will be Tatum. She and I have hit it off since day one, regardless of our differences. She’s become the yin to my yang, and above all, I trust her. Leaning forward, I flick the lock and the door opens to Tatum’s worried face. She steps inside the small stall, closes the door, and then locks it again. Dropping to her knees, she ignores the filthy ground, which is so unlike Tatum, the clean freak, but it also shows how much of a loyal friend she is.

  “She means nothing to Bishop, honey. But I should have warned you about him. He’s never been exclusive to anyone except Khales.” She pauses and then pats my knee. “Don’t get me wrong,” she says with a laugh, “there have been a few others since her, but they’ve all been socialites, dosed in fame. No one has ever come close to bedding him from this school, or even college. And when I say there has been some, I mean, like, two girls that I know of. Well”—she tilts her head—“that the paparazzi have shot him with.”

  “Paparazzi?” I question, a little horrified at why a paparazzi would take pictures of him.

  “Well, aside from the girls he was with being famous, Bishop’s mom is famous too.”

  “Huh,” I huff, swiping away my final tears. “How so?”

  She smiles, her lips pulling into her mouth. “Well, his dad is well respected in New York. They own most of the Upper East Side. Real estate market and all that. And his mom is Scarlett Bla
nc.”

  “Scarlett Blanc is his mom?”

  Tatum nods. “Yeah. So as you can see….”

  I do see. Scarlett Blanc is a very famous actress. “Interesting.” My tears have long since dried.

  “Was that all? There’s nothing else causing this?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No, nothing else,” I lie, because truthfully, I don’t want her to know I care. I don’t want anyone to know I care about how Bishop had Ally on his lap. That shows weakness, and I’ve never been good at showing vulnerability.

  She takes my hand, pulling me up off the toilet seat. “Okay, so this is what we’re going to do.” She swipes the tears off my cheeks. “We’re going to never cry about Bishop Vincent Hayes again. Deal?”

  I laugh, nodding. “Deal.”

  We walk out of the bathroom, and Tatum turns to face me. “So Tillie wants to meet with us after school. Shall I catch a ride with you?”

  I hitch up my books. “Yeah. I just have to head home and face Dad first, but you can come.”

  “First time home since you got here?” she asks, an eyebrow quirked. To other people, the absentness of our parents is probably a foreign thing, but with me and Tatum, it’s all we’ve known. It’s a part of the package, whether we like it or not.

  “Yeah, not that that’s the issue.”

  “What is?” she asks, as we walk down the long corridor.

  “Just the fact he told me to keep Nate at arm’s length for God knows what reason.”

  Tatum smiles. “The club, that’s why. He would have heard all the stories, no doubt.”

  I scoff. “I doubt it. My dad isn’t even from here. He’s from New Orleans, anyway.” I look toward the library longingly. “I’ll see you after school.” Then I power walk toward the library, leaving Tatum behind.

  Swinging open the doors, I walk in and head straight toward where the book I picked up was.

  “Madison?” the librarian, who I still haven’t caught her name, prompts, standing from her chair. She looks to be around mid-to-late thirties and doesn’t look like your typical cliché librarian. She’s funky, young-looking, and vibrant. No pantyhose and glasses on this one, nope. She has naturally red hair, pale skin, and a light sprinkle of freckles under her bright green eyes. Her skin is something to envy; it looks like silk. I try not to get too envious as I battle down my third zit this week.

  “Hi.” I smile at her, clutching my books in my hand. “Sorry, I’m just going back to reading that book.”

  She shakes her head. “No need to apologize. But can I ask what your fascination is with that particular book?” She quirks one eyebrow and leans against the desk, crossing her legs in front of herself.

  “Honestly?” I scoff. “I couldn’t tell you. No idea.”

  She watches me carefully, as if she’s trying to read between my words, and then exhales, her shoulders relaxing. “Go ahead. Just don’t be late to class.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer, walking back toward the little corner in the library I was in a couple of days ago. Dumping my books on the table, I start scanning through all the old spines until I find the one I want. Exhaling out a long breath, I slip it out of its slot and walk back to my chair. The sun hits the old leather cover as I run the palm of my hand over it, over the circle emblem with the double infinity inside. What is with this book? Why do I feel so drawn to it, like a magnetic field? Shivers erupt over my spine as I flip it open, picking up where I left off.

  2.

  The Decision

  The sweat trickled over my head as I pushed for what felt like the one-hundredth time. I squeezed my husband’s hand, the hand I took when we said our vows, the hand I trusted with my life, my child’s life. The hand that would ultimately be the death of me. The hand that would wrap around my neck like the perfect brace, as the eyes, the eyes I looked up to now, admiring, the love and my future, would be the last thing to close the devil’s door in my death.

  With all my might, I pushed harder, until I felt as though my pelvic bone was being yanked out of me, until I saw stars exploding in pain behind my shut lids, until my legs were convulsing and sweat drowned my flesh, until the little howl of my baby boy’s cry reverberated around the cold atmosphere. Just as quickly as he arrived into this world, he was taken away. With a wrap of a blanket and a snip of the umbilical cord, my husband took my baby away from me.

  My head fell back on my bed as the flames from the open fire pit flicked over my hot skin. Warm, sticky wetness slithered out from between my legs as my eyes began to drop, weaken. I opened them slowly, watching the flames as they flickered under the kettle that hung over it, warming the water. A dark shadow came over the side of my bed as my husband, cradling my son, looked down at me.

  “This is the decision, wife. You know what this means for him, what our cause is.”

  I struggled to gather words, my mouth closing and opening as my tongue licked my upper mouth, seeking moisture. I nodded, knowing this was what had to happen. I had no say in the matter, and if I did disagree, there wasn’t a lot I could do about it. So I nodded and watched as my husband and his three friends took my newborn son and laid him flat on the blank stone.

  His piercing scream rippled through me and tears fell from my eyes. My husband took the small branding iron, laid it over the hot flame, and then walked back to my son. He pressed it onto his little upper arm. The scream turned violent, and my tears rippled through me as my heart broke. My husband wrapped him back up in his little blanket and then brought him back to me, placing him in my arms.

  I cooed to my baby, moving up onto my elbows as one of our maids came rushing in, holding a warm bucket of water and rags. I rocked my baby, looking up to my husband with newfound hate, and then looked back down to my son, the Circle of Infinity now embossed into his innocent fresh skin.

  The decision was made, and a new world order was about to begin.

  Goose bumps break out over me.

  “Madison? It’s time for class, hon.”

  “Oh, okay.” I shut the book and clutch it under my arm.

  “I’m Miss Winters, just so you know next time you come in.” She leans on one of the bookshelves.

  “Will most likely be handy to know,” I say, walking toward where I picked up the book.

  She watches me carefully. Her mouth opens and then closes, as if she wants to say something. I pick up my books from the small table and smile at her. “Thanks for letting me slip in here real quick.”

  “No problem.” She smiles weakly. I turn to walk out the door, when a word stops me. “Ten.”

  I turn around to face her. “Pardon?”

  She clears her throat. “We close at 10:00 p.m. on Fridays. I mean, just the library and the gym. You have to access from the side door with your student ID card, but we’re open until then.”

  She walks to where the titleless book is pushed in, her finger brushing over the spine. “Do you know why this book has no title?” she asks me softly, looking back to me.

  I shake my head slowly. “No. I’m only up to chapter two.”

  She smiles. “Those aren’t chapters, and this isn’t a book.”

  Huh? Without wanting to sound like an idiot, I don’t say anything at all, hoping she’ll elaborate. She does.

  “It’s all myth and legend, old folklore.” She smiles at me. “But this wasn’t written to be a book. The women who wrote it….” She opens the first page, running her fingers over the fine cursive writing. Every stroke of the crow quill done with perfect precision. “She wasn’t writing a book.”

  “What was she writing, then?” I clear my throat.

  “Her suicide note.”

  THE REST OF THE DAY goes painfully slow. After that talk with Miss Winters, I left. I’m going to go back in there on Friday though. I want to read as much of that book as possible, even if it is a very long one. Or a suicide note, as Miss Winters said. That thought gives me the heebie-jeebies.

  Suicide note? If it was her suicide note, then what is with
her comments about her husband’s hand wrapped around her throat? Maybe they just liked kinky sex. But even as my dry sense of humor tries to make light of an obviously very dark subject and situation, my heart sinks. I felt everything that the woman had written. I was there with her through the birth of her son, as if I was watching a live show. With thoughts of the book, which I’ve decided to name The Book, since it doesn’t have a title, the final bell rings and school is over for the day.

  Walking out my classroom, I’m making my way down the rowdy corridor, when Nate hooks his arm around me. “Hey, you.”

  “Hi.” I smile up at him. I had forgotten all about Bishop and Ally, and now I’m reminded why I love books so much—the escape. “How was your day?”

  He shrugs. “It’s school. What do you expect?”

  “Truth!” I say, letting him lead me down to the underground parking lot. “Ready to face your mom and my daddy dearest?”

  He grins, slipping his aviators over his eyes. “Nope.”

  I stop. “Crap! I forgot. Tatum is coming with us.”

  Nate shrugs. “Text her and tell her to hurry up.”

  “Is this going to be weird?” I ask him with skeptical eyes.

  “What, ’cause I fucked her?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “No.” He watches me and then exhales, walking up and lacing his hands with mine. “I promise it’s not weird. I’m used to clingy. I know how to handle girls like Tatum.”

  I scoff, reaching into my pocket to get my phone out. “Oh,” I grunt, punching in a quick text to her. “I’m not worried about Tatum, trust me.” His smile drops. I roll my eyes. How can he be offended by that? But then it’s Nate. Under the tough, bad-boy exterior, he has a very large ego. Shocker. He cares about himself, so me insinuating that Tatum isn’t interested hurt his little feelings. Hitting Send on her text, I clarify, “What I mean is that she’s not clinging. She used you like you did her.”

  Tatum texts back almost instantly, saying she’ll meet me at my place.

  Nate laughs freely, brushing me off. “See? Perfect. Maybe I should hit it again if she understands the deal.”