Burn Before Reading Read online

  I thought back to it. He was right. I did. It’d been easy, like it should’ve always been.

  "Maybe you’re getting less prideful," I offered.

  "And maybe you're growing up," He retorted.

  "God, I hope not. I like not paying taxes."

  He leaned back into the couch. "Fitz won't stop moaning about how he'll have to pay taxes on his trust fund."

  "Do me a favor and tell him to cry me a huge-ass river," I shot. Wolf chuckled, the sound like pleasant thunder. Seamus came in just then, his face flushed.

  "It's ready, Miss Bee! Do come back and change into it. I must see how it looks."

  I gave a 'here I go' thumbs up to Wolf, and trundled into the sewing room. A beautiful, sensible pale blue dress sat on a mannequin, with simple sleeves and an elegant, scooped neckline. Tiny poppies bloomed on the fabric, bright orange and deep black. The skirt was wide and fluffy, cinched at the waist so gentle waves formed naturally. Seamus excitedly showed me how to put it on, and then closed the door behind him to give me some privacy. I marveled at the soft fabric. This was so much prettier and more delicate than anything I'd ever owned. I almost felt out of place putting it on, but it was perfectly tailored - it hugged the spots I liked and was loose around the spots I didn't like. I twirled, feeling like some kind of movie star. I forgot I liked wearing nice things like this. The girl in the full-length mirror across from me looked totally different from the one I stared at the other night.

  She looked happier.

  I walked out and showed Seamus, and he clapped so fast and loud it sounded like three people applauding.

  "Come! We must show the boys."

  "The boys?" I choked, but Seamus dragged me by the hand and out into the living room before I could protest. I froze, a deer in the headlights, as Fitz and Burn looked at me. Fitz, his face still a little swollen and bruised, whistled and hooted. Burn nodded, once, a sure sign of approval. But Wolf had gone still on the couch, his eyes wide.

  "Wolf!" Fitz groaned. "Don't just sit there and leave our girl hanging - say something!"

  Fitz leaned in to slap him on the back, but Wolf saw it coming, regained himself, and stood up quickly to avoid it.

  "You -" He started, swallowing. "It -"

  "It's okay!" I scrabbled, some part of me deeply and weirdly afraid at what he was going to say next. "It's okay, isn't it? I'm going to change out of it. I'll be right back."

  I dashed back into the sewing room, Seamus lamenting when I asked for a pair of pants. He passed me a simple black pair, and I changed. He insisted I take the dress with me.

  “I can’t take it until I pay you for it,” I said. “How much is it?”

  Seamus busied himself putting the dress in a box.

  “Seriously, Mr. Seamus. How much is it?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, dear –“

  “How much!”

  “Six hundred,” He said abruptly. I felt my face grow cold. “But don’t worry about that! Consider it a gift, Miss Bee. I had such a pleasant time, and so few opportunities to make a dress for a nice young lady like yourself - I can hardly charge you for it.”

  “Mr. Seamus, I don’t take cha-“

  “Charity,” A voice finished for me in the doorway. I turned to see Fitz leaning there, smirking devilishly. “We know, we know. God, you’re like a broken record. An irritatingly stubborn one. Are those pajama pants you’re wearing?”

  I made a mock-curtsey. “Designer.”

  “Horrific,” Seamus added his opinion of them off-handedly as he packed up his sewing gear.

  “Not that I’m not grateful, but I would’ve be fine with Target,” I said, ignoring Seamus’ gasp of offense. “But Wolf just brought me straight here.”

  Fitz patted Seamus on the back and laughed. “Yeah, no. Wolf doesn’t exactly….like doing things like normal people. He just does whatever he’s used to. And Seamus tailors all our stuff, so, to him this is basically where we get clothes from.”

  I massaged my forehead. “What a bizarre way to live.”

  “You should’ve seen him when we took him to a drive-thru for the first time. The food came and his eyes bugged out and he went ‘already’?”

  I laughed. “He might not know the merits of basic shopping outlets, but he definitely helped me this morning. So there’s that.”

  “Oh?” Fitz quirked a brow. “Do tell.”

  “No,” I scowled. “I get your whole thing, now, Fitzwilliam. You’re just going to taunt him with it if I tell you.”

  “Rats,” he snapped, and put on an accent. “She’s figured me out, Seamus. Whatever shall I do?”

  “Might I suggest retiring? It worked out very well for me,” Seamus offered.

  “How did you guys know we were here?” I asked Fitz. He shrugged.

  “We didn’t. Had to pick up a new set of uniforms – Burn’s been outgrowing his pretty much every week for the past four years.”

  I changed into the casual black pants Seamus whipped up and followed Fitz back out to the living room, still half-shy about the whole dress thing. Seamus gave Burn his uniform and the Blackthorn brothers left, but I lingered.

  "I owe you, Mr. Seamus."

  The old man winked. "Not very much, though."

  I made to leave, but Seamus called me back in the doorway.

  "Miss Bee?" I turned. Seamus beamed. "Please take care of those boys. Wolf, especially. I've never seen him look at someone quite the way he looks at you."

  It felt like a thousand degrees in the room all of a sudden. I cleared my throat and hurried out the door, Seamus waving from his porch. I jogged up behind Fitz and Burn, the two of them leaning against Burn's red convertible. Wolf was putting his helmet on. None of them could see me, yet.

  " - even know what a date is?" Fitz laughed. "I know you and he-who-must-not-be-named never went on one.”

  "I just said it to get her dad out of his room," Wolf scoffed. "It was never going to be a real date."

  "Because you definitely don't like her," Fitz drawled. "Even though you can't stop talking about her all the time, and the second you see her frumpy ass in something remotely girly you start gaping like an idiot."

  I froze in place. Wolf's eyes flashed at Fitz. Burn heaved a sigh.

  "You are seriously acting weird, lately, Wolf."

  Wolf pulled his helmet off, dark hair askew and sparks all but flying from his gaze.

  "It has nothing to do with her," He snarled.

  "Oh, I'm sorry – but I'm pretty sure the moment you asked me to hack Dad's computer for that essay and read it was the moment you got all obsessed with her." Fitz argued.

  His words rung like a five-times struck bell in my head. Wolf Blackthorn? Obsessed? With me? Wolf closed the distance between Fitz and him, Burn shifting as if he was getting ready to put himself in the way if the situation escalated.

  "I'm not...obsessed," Wolf pointed in Fitz's face. "I pity her. That's all it is - pity. I was her, alright? You know that. You saw me back then. I was just like her, and every time I see her face I'm reminded of how pathetic I was."

  Pity. Pathetic. All the good feelings I'd amassed towards him or what he did this morning went cold, inert. I heard Fitz chuckle.

  "Just because she has a sick dad -"

  "You don't know what it's like," Wolf hissed, with so much venom I felt poisoned just listening. "You don't know what it's like to wait around for someone to kill themselves. You have no idea what it's like to hear someone you care about say they'll do it, knowing there's nothing you can do to stop them."

  Fitz knitted his mouth shut. Wolf didn't.

  "You wait, and the fear infects you like a maggot, eats you from the inside. Every waking moment you're apart from them, you imagine all the different ways they could be dying. Dead. And all you can do is stand there and say 'I'm here for you'."

  "And that’s enough -" Fitz started.

  "But what if that’s not enough?" Wolf press
ed. "What if your best isn't enough to save them? Then what? What if you try desperately, every day, to give them a reason to stay alive, even if it means you cut off parts of yourself like a sacrificial offering?"

  Burn stepped up. "Wolf –”

  "I'm done." Wolf ignored him, turning furiously on his heel and putting his helmet on. "You guys can never understand, and I'm done taking your shit about her. She's nothing to me, and she never will be."

  It felt like a frigid iron stake had been shot through my heart as I watched Wolf get on his bike and drive away. But why the hell did it hurt so bad to hear him say that stuff? I knew he didn't care about me - I never expected him to. We hated each other, at school, out of school. Today was just some freak experience, like a blue moon or an aurora in the sky. The quiet moments between us meant nothing. I meant nothing.

  And he meant nothing to me.

  I squared my shoulders and repeated it to myself. He meant nothing to me. He tried to take my scholarship. He was confrontational and nasty. Nothing about him was appealing.

  If I said it enough times, that would make it true.

  "Hey guys!" I bounced up to Fitz and Burn, looking around. "Oh, did Wolf leave?"

  Burn quirked a brow. He and Wolf shared a love of that motion.

  "That's one way of putting it."

  "He was sort of my ride home," I trailed off. "Any chance I can bum a ride with you guys?"

  Fitz's grin came back. "Sure thing. Hell, we can go over a few tutoring points at the red lights, huh? We haven't even covered the whole 'Catherine de Medici's coup' thing."

  "You ask a steep price," I groaned and jumped in the back when Fitz held the door of the convertible open for me. I spent half the ride pretending not to know anything about French history, and the other half directing Burn to my house. Despite his languid personality, Burn drove the exact opposite of Wolf - dangerously, speeding through yellow lights and doing close passes. It was such a weird thing, to see such risky driving from what I thought was the most sensible brother of the three.

  But the Blackthorn brothers had already unpleasantly surprised me once today. What was one more upset?

  Burn and Fitz dropped me off at my duplex, Fitz waving goodbye as Burn tore off from the curb. I went inside only to find Dad in the kitchen, the smell of vanilla and dough wafting from it. But that couldn't be right - Dad hadn't baked since before he was sick. He used to do it all the time, but now? No way.

  "There you are," Dad, his old cooking apron on and his front covered in flour, hugged me. "I'm glad you're back."

  "Me too," I said. "What are you making?"

  "Cinnamon rolls," He shrugged. "We had everything the fridge already, and I thought I'd give it a shot."

  "They smell great!" I smiled. "Can I help?"

  Dad ruffled my hair, and showed me how to roll the dough out. We worked together at the counter, our hands moving in the same rhythm as we transformed the lumpy dough into delicious-looking rolls.

  "I wanted to apologize, Bee." Dad said, his hands busy mixing the cinnamon and sugar. I shrugged.

  "There's nothing to be sorry for."

  "There is," He said firmly. "I - I shouldn't have acted like I have these past few days. It wasn't very adult of me. I'm sorry."

  I watched his face - a little sad, a little tired. Like always. Even if he apologized, it would probably happen again. It usually did. The only thing I could do was hope it didn't go on so long, next time. But it might. That was the kicker - depression came and went with no warning. If it returned just as bad, he'd do it again. And I'd just have to deal with it. No - that sounded shitty of me. I'd deal with it, no matter what.

  "I'll forgive you on one condition," I announced.

  "Anything," Dad said.

  "I get to eat all of these rolls."

  He laughed, his face lightening a bit. "Deal. But if you get a stomachache, you only have yourself to blame. I don't want to hear a word of whining."

  I mimed zipping my lips shut. We finished the rolls and put them in.

  "I gotta study," I said. "I need to catch up on all the stuff I -"

  All the stuff I was too worried about you to do, is what I started to say.

  " - forgot to do," I finished. Dad nodded.

  "Alright. I'll let you know when the rolls are done."

  There was a pause, and then I hugged him. Tight, like I used to. Tight, like before, when I was certain he wouldn't break beneath my arms. But still, he felt so light, so thin.

  "Did you eat any of the soup?" I asked.

  "Yeah. Don't you worry about me - go worry about your grades."

  I tried to tell him it was the same thing - worrying about him and worrying about my grades. They meant just as much, to me. My grades were a ticket to his recovery, even if I did gamble getting one or two questions wrong. But that was for the greater good - for the scholarship. I wouldn't have to pretend at all if it wasn't for Wolf threatening it.

  She's pathetic.

  I scowled at my desk. My hand had unconsciously scribbled something dark and bright on my worksheet;

  SCREW YOU WOLF BLACKTHORN

  It felt good, seeing my thoughts on paper, even if I did have to erase them. I didn't have to carry them around, anymore. Maybe that's where I got the inkling I could start writing in you, pen-and-paper. Well, that was the first inkling. The second came when I realized I'd ruined everything and no one who would ever want to listen to me again.

  But hold on. We're almost to that part.

  Chapter 12

  WOLF

  I drive until the anger stops burning me alive. Until the roar of my bike becomes a slow, tired growl.

  Still, Mark’s words follow me.

  How long has it been? Almost three years? And I can still hear him calling me shitty names over and over again. I can still feel his every punch, my ribs and stomach aching.

  And the worst part?

  I still loved him. Even as it was happening.

  I pull over onto the shoulder and park, throwing my helmet on the gravel. My hands itch to ruin something, to make it feel as much pain as I feel.

  This isn’t right. Nothing about what I’m feeling is right.

  I promised myself never again, and I meant it. I can’t love someone else. Not after the last time destroyed me. Seeing Bee in that dress, so beautiful and elegant and shy, sent waves of longing through me. I tried to open my mouth to say something, but my whole body was frozen. I was fucking terrified how suddenly the urge came to get up and kiss her, right there and then, in front of everyone. Regardless of everyone. Regardless of my past, or Mark, or my fear of touching other people.

  She rips right through my defenses, and I’m powerless to stop it.

  And my idiotic brothers think teasing me about her will help? No. It only makes it worse. So I lashed out at them, at her, at everyone.

  I sink to the ground, leaning against my bike for support.

  “If you were here, I’d ask you for advice,” I say, though the bike doesn’t respond. It never does. I know better than anyone it’s just a hunk of metal, but my memories of Mom taking me for rides when I was a child still follow me. It’ll always be her bike, not mine. It’ll always remind me of her, no matter how old I get or how much I forget her face, or her voice.

  She left me this, and it’s all I have left. So I talk to it.

  “I never even got to tell you,” I say. “That I’m bi. Not that you’d care. But you wouldn’t hate me for it like Dad does. You’d make me cake and throw me a little party, or something equally embarrassing and over-enthusiastic and parent-y.”

  The bike is silent, the warmth of the engine seeping through my jacket.

  “Love just…happens,” I groan. “And I hate it. I hate every part of it. I wouldn’t be this way if it wasn’t for Mark. If you were here, you would’ve kicked his ass. I know you would.”

  Cars pass me, and then the road is blissfully quiet again. The view isn’t
much, but there’s the green tops of trees and the pale blue of the sky, and I start to wonder if someday my heart will be as clear and peaceful as that sky.

  *******

  BEATRIX

  My name is Beatrix Cruz and I've never given a shit what anyone says about me.

  Okay. That's a lie. Maybe I do give a shit. It's definitely a tiny, pigeon-sized shit, though.

  Which is why I wore the dress Seamus made me to meet Mr. Blackthorn at Ciao Bella. It had the dual effect of bumping up my confidence, so that I could actually face him with some shred of dignity. He smiled when he saw me.

  "My, my, Beatrix. Wherever did you get that dress?"

  "From your tailor, actually," I slid into the booth seat.

  "Oh?" Mr. Blackthorn looked as dapper as ever with his silver-streaked hair and crinkly eyes. "How did you chance upon him?"

  "Wolf took me."

  Mr. Blackthorn blinked, dumbstruck. "Well then. Let's order some food and you'll fill me in on the whole thing while we wait."

  And I did. I never hesitated once as I told him about everything that happened at Riley's party - the dancing, Burn saving me from sleazy Eric, Fitz doing weed pancakes, Wolf drinking, the fight between Fitz and Wolf. I told him about Wolf coming to my house and bringing me to Seamus, though I left out the part about my Dad. Something felt wrong, telling such a put-together man about the sad state of my family. I guess his wasn't any better - a deceased wife and three sons who never talked to him. Not even money could buy a healthily-functioning family, I guess.

  Our food came just as I finished. We ate for a few minutes, Mr. Blackthorn clearly digesting more than just his rigatoni primavera. I picked at my salmon nervously until he spoke.

  "You said Kristin mentioned Mark."

  "Yeah." I twirled my fork and tried not to look at him. "She said Wolf and Mark went out. For a while."

  Mr. Blackthorn was stone-faced. Finally, he sighed.

  "Is that what it was? How strange."

  "Being gay - or, uh, bi - isn't strange, Mr. Blackthorn. I looked it up. Ten percent of the population -"

  "No, not that." He said crossly. "I knew Mark. Wolf brought him back to the house several times. I always thought - Wolf introduced him as a 'friend', but I always thought Mark had simply bullied him into being friends. They were never quite - normal with each other."