Page 30 of Bad to the Bone

I thought losing Kim was the worst pain I could endure, but the news about Dylan pushed me right into an abyss. Even now, standing here in front of his memorial, I feel like I’m in free fall. Some part of me can’t believe any of it. He was the one who made it out alive. He was the proof that there was hope for life beyond your family’s ambitions. He had it all going for him. He should have been happy. He had a duty to be happy. Even if not for himself, he should have found some happiness for the rest of us.

I look around at the faces assembled to remember the boy he was and the man he was becoming. Most of them didn’t know him at all. They’re just here to pay their respects to the family and affirm their devotion to his dad. Even in death we all end up as pawns and props.

Clarice pats me on the back and I feel my skin crawl. She is another method of control employed by my dad. The daughter of a real estate developer with deep pockets and lots of government contracts, she is a willing player in this game. You can nearly smell the hypocrisy on her. It smells surprisingly like Chanel.

She reminds me of my mother. She doesn’t look like her, and yet she does. In fact, all of the trophy wives of powerful men look alike. The same veneer of gentility stretched thinly over a wild cat, both vicious and afraid. The same love of power and pride of place gleaming in their eyes. The same well designed, impeccable ensembles. She could be anybody else in this room and it wouldn’t make a difference. They are all the same.

But she isn’t Kim.

I don’t say any words as I stand here. There is nothing left for us to say, I guess. What I need is Kim’s hand in mine. What I want to say I want to whisper in her ear. What I need to hear only matters if it comes from her lips.

“It’s always so hard to understand why people take their own lives,” Clarice says glibly.

I look at her face and see the lust in her eyes. Even in a moment like this, all she sees when she looks at me is the fulfillment of her desires. I can’t tell if she is craving the money and proximity to power she thinks she will get, or the hours of pleasure she thinks I want to give her. Under any other circumstances I would play along. These socialites are usually a treasure trove of kinks and fetishes. But today, bereft of all the things that I loved, I don’t have it in me.

“I wish you would stop pretending like you care,” I belch out.

“What?” Her face wrinkles right down the middle.

“I wish you would get lost and stop pretending you give a fuck about me or Dylan or anybody else. Tell my dad it’s not working out between us.” I shrug her hand away.

“Zayne, honey, I don’t know what you think I…”

“Stop! Just stop,” I storm out of the room, unable to tolerate the company any longer. I’m sorry Dylan. I will have to come back another time, on my own.

“Zayne! Would you please stop?” I hear the click of her heels as she jogs behind me. I stop, not wanting to make her chase me across the lawn. And she will. She’s a dog that just caught a bone, she isn’t about to let it go without a fight.

“Clarice-”

“Zayne,” she silences me by putting her fingers to my lips. “I don’t know what you think of me, but your dad isn’t paying me. I know he introduced us and that makes it all seem a little suspicious, but I’m here because I like you.”

“What color are my eyes?”

“What?”

I keep my eyes closed and ask again. A long pause follows.

“I don’t see what this has to do with us,” she says uncomfortably.

“You don’t know because you don’t care. You could just play the odds and guess, you know,”’ I open my eyes again and look at her. The face that should seem lovely seems deeply marred by her craven greed.

“I do care. I’m just not good at expressing my emotions.”

“Everything about you disgusts me. Not just you, but this, that, them!” I yank at my suit, point to the parking lot full of expensive cars and nod towards the room full of “mourners” brokering deals during a memorial service.

“Okay bu-”

“Dylan was my friend. He was my real friend. Do you get that?”

She swallows before speaking.

“I do.”

“And he died because he was alone. He was hurting and alone and not one of you bastards took two seconds to wonder what it was that was hurting him so deeply,” I hiss, tears filling my eyes.

“That’s not fair, Zayne. Everything isn’t always so black and white. Sometimes there are things that people can’t talk about openly,” she says, indicating that she knows more than she’s letting on. I smirk at her and take a step towards her.

“And now he’s dead. Good job,” I whisper in her ear before pushing past her and walking away. She won’t follow this time. I know my dad will be livid this evening. I don’t care. We are days away from graduation and then I will be free. Dylan may not have been strong enough to handle it, but I am not him.

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