Page 72 of Justyce
I heave a sigh. “Where do I start?”
“The beginning,” she says, pouring a drink and handing it to me.
I take a healthy sip and relish in the lime minty taste sliding down my throat. “Ok. You know my mum isn’t sick. What you don’t know is that Dereke lied to lure me back to Dana Point.”
“That fucking snake in the grass. Why though? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Because he racked up a nifty debt. Want to take a guess who he owes?”
I chance a glance at Bianca to see her pale.
“Don’t say it, for fuck sakes, don’t say it, Kenz. He didn’t, did he?”
“You mean borrow money and then not pay The Tartarus Mafia back? Yeah. Yeah, he did. And guess who has to make the payment.”
“No fucking way! That shit is illegal, Kenz. How can they get away with it? Wait, how much was it?”
“In the millions.”
“Fuck,” Bianca hisses. “But why would he need you to pay the debt…” her voice trails off and I know she’s put the jigsaw puzzle together. “He sold you to Justyce?”
Despite the anger percolating in my blood stream from Dereke’s deceit, I find myself blushing at the mention of Justyce’s name.
Bianca clicks her fingers in my face. “Oi, bitch, answer me, and please tell me he didn’t.”
I can’t look at her, not yet. My best friend was aware of mine and Justyce’s trysts, and I know I’ll be flaming red when I grow the balls to face her.
Slowly I lift my chin and peer into Bianca’s green hues. “Oh, hell no! You fucked him, didn’t you? You dirty bitch!”
I gnaw on my lip, contemplating the best way to answer that question. I come up with naught and regurgitate the last couple of weeks without a second glance.
It feels like I’ve been rehashing for hours when I finally stop to take a breath. My eyes are pleading with Bianca to say something, anything. Instead, she sits there, stupefied and not saying a word.
Nervousness sets in and I lick my chapped lips, then whisper, “Say something, B, anything.”
She shakes her head. Her blonde hair falls into her face as she pushes herself up from the beanbag and begins pacing. I don’t say a word while she stalks the pink room. Her nose is screwed up and her lips are pursed. That’s when I realize she’s processing the clusterfuck I word vomited onto her.
Abruptly Bianca stops, places her hand on her hip, and curses, “I don’t know where the fuck to go with that, Kenz. Deep down I knew Justyce was fucked up, but to lock you in a dungeon for however long…” she trails off and spits out, “Then−then you let him fuck you. I−I have no words, Kenzi, that’s some Stockholm Syndrome shit you’re nursing, girl.”
Red. That’s the color of the splotches dancing behind my retinas at my best friend’s observation. Bianca thought I was fucked up. Me! Clenching my jaw, I try to assuage the tempestuous anger roiling through my veins.
I came here for solitude and understanding and all I’ve received is criticism and disgust from my best friend.
My fingers twirl into the shaggy carpet and I push myself out of the beanbag. Dusting my clothes off, I peer at Bianca, shaking my head sadly when I see the pity in her eyes.
“It was a mistake to come here. I’m sorry I bothered you, B. I’ll catch you around.”
I take two steps toward the door before I’m hoisted back by my hair. “You’re not going anywhere. You came here, youescapedJustyce, and regardless of how I’m discerning this shit, you’re still my best friend. So sit down so we can talk this shit through,” she hissed angrily.
I’m speechless, absolutely speechless at her outburst. Bianca uncurls her fist from my hair and I wince, the prickling of my scalp easing after she removed her hand. She walks back to her beanbag.
I follow suit and plonk into the bag unceremoniously. “You’re a bitch, you know that, right?”
She huffs a laugh. “Yeah, something like that. Now tell me what you plan on doing about this shit because Justyce won’t let you go that easy.”
My head hits the back of the beanbag and I try to work through the chaos in my mind. I know Bianca is right, I’m also aware I’m in a shit load of hurt when he does find me. And let’s be realistic here, he will find me.
Graphite hues burrow themselves into my mind. I try to shake away the image of Justyce and his delectable body but fail miserably. Maybe Bianca is right, maybe I am suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.
