Page 29 of Heathens
“Sorry it's so hot in here,“ he says, looking around. I follow his gaze. It's a lovely apartment. Tiny, like all apartments in Paris are. Generic. Masculine. Sharp edges, clean lines. Lots of black, red, and gray. Modern. “I don't have air conditioning.“
I laugh. “Who does in this city?” I pull my feet underneath me on the leather couch and try not to think about how my skin sticks to it.
He chuckles. “I’m used to it, I guess. Growing up, my mother used to make me homemade popsicles in the summer. Chocolate milk. Sometimes strawberries and yogurt. Sometimes lemonade.” His eyes cloud a bit as the memories swim before him. “She would chase me around with ice cubes.” He smiles and looks down.
“It must’ve been hard when you lost her,” I say quietly, placing a hand on his thigh. I’m surprised to find that I’m not acting.
“It was hard. And my father—we’re not very close. We never were. I guess abusing your children makes them distrustful of you.” He shrugs, and I catch a glimpse of remorse and pain on his face. I want him to elaborate, but I also don’t want to arouse his suspicions.
I ask myself the same question from earlier:What am I doing?
“Do you still see him?” My voice is barely a whisper.
He shakes his head. “Not really. Sometimes. Holidays, birthdays. That’s about it. I don’t have any siblings, so he’s all I have.”
I digest his words. He’s not close to his father. For all I know, he has no idea what kinds of things Auguste Martin is a part of. Shaking my head, I clear my head of the pity I’m beginning to feel for him.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
My eyes find his, and again, I don’t have to act. I feel sorry for him. In a way, his father left a dark mark on both of us. He takes a sip of his beer. I look around again, wrapping my arms around myself. Suddenly cold, my body shivers as I think about that night—the terror, the uncertainty. The blood I spilled to get away.
I don’t even know if Evelyn is still alive.
That fact alone—the way her eyes widened when I left her—
I will find her.
I have to find her. My life would lose its focus if I didn’t keep trying. So, I need to do the same thing I was almost taken to do.
Charm.
Seduce.
Manipulate.
Andthatalone is enough for me to loosen my arms from around myself, and return my focus on the man in front of me.
All for her.
All for Evelyn.
An eye for an eye, a son for a friend.
It’s my only option.
Devil’s Lettuce
Lily
Four Years Ago
I hear the screech of tires before the high-pitched scream. I’d been sitting under the tree in my front yard, leaning against the ancient cottonwood, studying the map of France. It was the summer before our senior year of college, and Evelyn and I were both home for the summer. Evelyn’s boyfriend had rolled us a joint after lunch, and we’d spent the day lazily dreaming about our real life—the life that started in eleven months. My parents were nowhere to be seen, as per usual, so we had free reign of the property. Evelyn had ridden her bike down the small, two-lane road a few miles to collect wild blueberries and apples. We were going to help Greta, my housekeeper, make pie.
The physical reaction to her scream is immediate. Even though my flesh feels melded into the grass from the pot, I somehow jump up in one swift motion and sprint down the long driveway, past the black gate. I don't even feel the small rocks cutting my bare feet. It's not until later that I noticed the blood, anyway.
The older man behind the wheel of the giant town car is touching his face and shaking his head, pacing next to his vehicle. My stomach lurches when I see tears in his eyes, and I feel the bile rise as I look down and see Evelyn lying on the ground a few feet away, unmoving, her copper hair spread out all around her like a halo.
I am screaming.
