Page 77 of Web of Lies
“Clearly,” I huff, finding a dishwasher beside me.
Like everything in this kitchen, the dishwasher looks brand new. It’s only when I open it and find more dirty dishes inside do I realize they use it.
They brought me dinner, so I’ll repay them with something I don’t mind doing. As I get into the groove of washing the few dishes in the sink, a soft melody plays from behind me. The gentle strumming of taut strings, plucking between fingers, takes me away from the dirty dishes.
“You play?” I ask, turning off the water.
Zepp just nods, adjusting the guitar on his knee, continuing to pluck the strings between his fingers. He sits on a tiny kitchen table, resting his foot on the chair in front of him—every worry, every ounce of stress melts from his face, transforming him to a better plane of existence, where none of his stress lives. His body sways back and forth, with the soft melody echoing through the kitchen.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, watching his every move.
It’s incredible to me how beautiful music can be. I may not be the best judge of music in general, but it’s always fascinated me. Bodhi tried to play the guitar once and wanted to teach me too. But I never understood it. It didn’t click in my brain. Just one of those things I’m not good at.
Zepp continues to play for me as I do the remaining dishes. I’m still not convinced anyone comes and cleans for them, but it’s the least I can do now. They bring me every meal if I meet them here and doing the dishes has never bothered me. When all the dishes are in the working dishwasher, I add soap, and turn it on. I lean back against the counter with a small smile on my face.
Zepp strums a faster-paced song, moving his fingers quickly along the strings. Strumming like his life depends on it. I could watch him get lost in his music forever. The melody he plays sends goosebumps down my arms and a shiver down my spine. The way he sways as he plucks the strings with both hands hypnotizes me like a metronome’s needle. Where Seger looks like a rockstar, Zepp plays like one. Ugh.
“You want me to walk you home again?” Zepp asks, lifting his eyes to mine.
A soft smile explodes on his face, probably taking in the dopey, love-sick look in my eyes. I nod. I don’t feel safe walking the dark campus by myself or even going through the maze alone. Every time I come through it, hearing the groans from other students, I feel eyes on me. Watching my every move. Right now, that’s the last thing I need.
Zepp and I make our way across campus, successfully slipping through the maze with no incidents. “My dad tried to get me to play family business B.S.” Zepp shrugs, running a hand on the back of his neck.
“Ahh, right? He expects you guys to take over his studio?” He nods, lips peeling back.
“Not exactly our type of future, but what can we do? We’re being handed a multi-billion-dollar company. Anyone would be happy with that, right?”
“Well—if my dad tried to hand over what he does, I’d say no.” Zepp smiles at that, a slight blush taking over his cheeks.
“You mean to tell me you don’t want to take over the erotica scene?” I snort, pushing on his shoulder, nearly knocking him over.
“God, no. I wouldn’t do that,” I say through a laugh, “I’ll leave that to my dad.”
“Are you going to become a detective, then? FBI? They could always use a brain like yours.” He pokes a finger into the side of my head, lightly tapping.
“Nah—I—I’m not sure what I want to do with my life. But it certainly isn’t what my parents are doing.” He nods at that, our steps faltering in front of my apartment, hiding in the shadows of the night.
“What do you want to do with your life, Zepp?” My body turns towards him, looking up into his wide eyes. His lips part like no one has ever asked him before.
“I—I don’t know,” he stammers. “I’ve never thought about it.” My face falls at his admission. Never? Ever? Why wouldn’t he think about it? Isn’t that what every kid dreams about?
I swallow hard. “Well, think about it,” I whisper, “and then let me know. Let me know what you love to do.” I smile, stepping back away from him. The shadows consume him again, my steps continuing backward.
“Freak!” A high pitch voice rings out through the hallway, followed by more and more joining the chorus of chants and taunts, mixing with stomping feet and clapping hands all around me.
So loud—too loud. My body submerges underwater, freezing my limbs. I sputter for breath, clinging to the air, forcing it into my locked lungs. I curl my hands over my ears, protecting them from the barrage of high-pitched yells piercing my eardrums. Hands find my shoulders, shoving, and gripping. They touch my waist, pull my hair, and even pinch my ass. They pinch more, push me along the hall, still yelling like they’re in a protest and I’m the offender. Shouts grow louder, filling the air with that stupid nickname. Dumbass freak. Dumbass freak.
Panic swells in my chest like a balloon inflating, creating pressure beneath my ribs. Pain moves across my chest and down my arm. Tingling takes over the tips of my fingers, working its way through my whole body.
“Freak!”
“Stupid freak!” More yells, more taunts come from the surrounding students.
“Dumbass freak!” another one shouts directly in my ear.
Their voices carry through the hallways, echoing off the locker-lined walls, closing in on me like the walls of a tiny prison. Hands. They’re everywhere, jostling my body. My breaths pick up. Sweat pours from my palms and down my back. I can’t scream. My throat tightens, choking my voice away, tightening it down like tiny vines encasing it. My hands tremble around my ears, barely able to escape their shouts. The shock of it all makes me want to curl up into a little ball right here on the floor and float away. Everything shakes—everything hurts.
“Enough!” A familiar voice booms in front of me, sounding a lot like Zepp.
