Page 2 of Sweet Chaos
He seemed upset that I hadn’t acted the way I should have. That I hadn’t freaked out when he’d crashed into my room. But I craved adventure, the thrill of the unknown, and loved to flirt with danger. And this boy standing in front of me, he was dangerous in a delicious, forbidden way. My whole body vibrated from his nearness. “I don’t always do things I should. Answer my question,” I said boldly.
He cocked his head and studied my face. “Can you keep a secret?”
I mentally rolled my eyes. My house was full of secrets and I kept them all. “Yeah, sure.”
“Sienna doesn’t want anyone to know about us.”
“Why not?” I asked as if I didn’t already know the answer. Sienna acted tough but when push came to shove, she always caved to my father’s wishes and demands. Six years older than me, she was the chosen one, my dad’s favorite, and with that came more responsibility. Like the heir and the spare.
I’d once overheard my parents arguing. My father had called mean accident. “You can’t patch up the gaping wounds of a marriage with a Band-Aid.” Those were his words. My mother hadn’t even denied it. If she had, I couldn’t hear her words because she’d been crying and begging him not to leave her. He hadn’t left, although I’d often wished that he had. Why hang on so tightly to someone who doesn’t love you anymore? It just seemed so stupid to me.
Dylan laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Do I look like the kind of guy you’d bring home to meet the parents?”
I studied his black combat boots. The leather was cracked and worn, the laces undone. His black jeans were ripped at the knees and there was a rip in the collar of his gray T-shirt. My eyes returned to his face. His cheekbones were sharp, and his dark eyelashes were so thick and long he could almost be called pretty if it weren’t for the firm, square jaw that was so cut, the edge so clean he always gave the impression of being angry. Underneath the cuts and bruises, he was a thing of beauty. I knew because I’d been watching him for weeks without him knowing it. My best friend Ollie accused me of being obsessed, and I knew it annoyed him, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I found Dylan St. Clair fascinating. Like a wild animal, a big sleek cat, being held in captivity. Shivers of excitement ran up and down my spine. The same feeling I got whenever I did something that I knew would get me into trouble.
Dylan was watching me, waiting for an answer, his eyes narrowed as if daring me to contradict him.
“I would.” I lifted my chin. “I would march you right through the front door and seat you next to me at the dining room table for our family dinners. And I would tell my parents that you’re my boyfriend and if they didn’t like it they could… they could go suck on a lemon.”
Lame, Scarlett. Suck on a lemon? Really?
His eyes widened a little in surprise and I stood taller, feeling proud of myself for throwing him off his game. For giving him an answer he hadn’t expected. “You would, huh?” He sounded amused. Mocking me, like he didn’t believe me. It made me feel all prickly.
I held his gaze, my jaw clenched as I gritted out the word that for some reason felt important. “Yes.”
I wanted him to know I’d meant what I said. “I would. I swear on my life I would.” I crossed my heart, a solemn oath that I didn’t take lightly.
His amusement faded, and his eyes turned serious. They were blue and gray swirled together and looked like the sea during a storm. “You’re too young to make promises like that. Never make a promise you can’t keep,” he said harshly, the softness in his voice gone and his words coming out in an angry growl.
I bristled, his words cutting me to the core. I’d just told him the truth. Swore on my life and crossed my heart on it. And he’d dismissed my words like I was just a dumb kid who didn’t know any better.
Screw. Him.
“Don’t tell anyone I was here,” he commanded.
“I’m not a snitch.” I flopped down on my bed, returning to what I was doing before the boy with stormy eyes crashed into my bedroom and made my stomach all fluttery. I uncapped my Sharpie and concentrated on the design I was making on the back of my white denim jacket. Mom would have a fit, but I thought the skull wearing a wreath of tropical flowers was cool, a definite improvement on the boring white jacket.
“Sienna’s room is across the hall.” I pointed to the door without lifting my head to look at him. I wasn’t even sure why I was being so nice or helping him out. I hated him for making me feel like a stupid kid. Sienna always did the same thing, kicking me out of her space and not letting me anywhere near her friends. Not that I wanted to hang out with her anyway.
His footsteps were soundless, and I lifted my head in time to see his hands gripping the windowsill from the outside. I didn’t want to act like I cared but my feet carried me to the window just the same and I watched him drop from the second-floor to the grass below. He landed on his feet, in a crouched position, and then his shadowy form was swallowed up in the darkness as he retreated. I was still hanging out my open window, straining my eyes for a glimpse of him when I saw a flame flicker. Craning my neck, I followed the cherry glow of his cigarette along the side of the house until I lost sight of it.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my hand over my racing heart. Was this what love felt like? Did it make you feel all mixed up and confused? Angry and happy and sad all at once? Ollie didn’t make me feel like this. None of the other boys at school did either. I opened my eyes and turned from the window, my gaze drawn to the drops of blood, dark red against my white carpet. He’d left his mark and then he’d stolen away like a thief in the night. Even then I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time he destroyed something of mine.
Dylan St. Clair was chaos. And chaos always left a trail of destruction in its wake. I just never expected it to be my heart he destroyed.
Scarlett
Now
“Idon’t understand why you have to make everything so unpleasant. If you would just do as your father asks, and stop being so contrary, life would be easier.” My mother sounded tired. Weary from an age-old battle with her youngest daughter. The family rebel. The black sheep. By now this conversation had played out so many times it sounded like a broken record.
We were sitting in the ‘great room’ but not even the double-height ceilings prevented it from feeling claustrophobic. It was stuffy and pretentious, filled with Chinese antiques and chinoiserie. I stared at the angry red dragons painted on the ceramic lamp that sat on a black lacquer table next to the jade green silk sofa. No wonder my mom suffered from anxiety attacks.
“Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
If I had a dollar for every time she asked me that, I would be a millionaire. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t hate Sienna. She was my sister so, by default, I loved her. But Sienna and I were night and day, and I would never be like her.
My mother cast a disapproving eye over my outfit—leopard print leggings with rips in the knees, and an old band tee under a hand-painted denim jacket (my design) that said Kiss Kiss Bang Bang with a cartoon-style blonde bombshell in red boxing gloves delivering a right hook.Boom!
