Page 38 of The Bairwick Witches
Schuyler appreciated what he said. They were points he often needed to be reminded of. He shook the cold Mojito in his left hand twice, a reflex reaction with any drink—a lingering habit left over from his partying days—before bringing the glass to his lips.
“We all have rough spots that take us down, nearly take us out. I mean, you know I’ve been in one for a couple of years. We talked about it at dinner. It sucks,” he said with reinforced hatred. “They happen. And they pass. Eventually. So, they say.” He took a big sip, momentarily defeated, till he rallied for the sake of his company. “I mean, that’s the Goddesses, isn’t it? They love to fuck us—and then love seeing us fix ourselves.”
Schuyler saw the faint golden glow emanating from within the heart of the drink. He stopped before the glass touched his lips.
“Even if your relationship with Issac doesn’t pan out—and I hope it does—he did show you there is love out there. You can walk away with that. No need to beat yourself up unnecessarily.
“Plus, where is that Schuyler Croy fiery attitude? I hear someone lied to you and all I can see is you blowing up and ripping them a new one. I remember when what’s his name? The dude you were seeing with the muscles, very Marky Mark vibe.”
“Cal?” Schuyler tried to interrupt, but Cal continued.
“You caught him with Ad’ron Moir, and you lit them both the fuck up right there on the dance floor. And then had another guy hanging on you by the end of the night. Queer Bairwick legend! Granted, I was tripping on Zydrate at the time, so I wasmerging in and out of reality. Isn’t it funny? No way I could handle a drug like that now, not with this IBS.”
“Cal, what’s in this drink?”
“Oh… well there’s sugar, muddled fresh mint—you’re welcome for the attention to detail—seltzer water, heavy dose of gin, and a little lime garnish.”
“Lustful Honey?” Schuyler held his glass up and shook it again, “Ho?ike.” The glass lit up bright, like a lantern, and the light hit Cal’s horrified expression. Schuyler threw the drink against the wall, the glass shattering, the liquid with its fading glow dripping down.
“I thought you were my friend! And I can put up with your constant thirst, the way you bring everything, no matter the topic, back to us fucking again—but this? The fuck is this, Cal? You put an Aphrodisiac potion inmydrink.”
Cal slithered off the couch and backed up against the far wall, unable to explain his use of the mildest libido-increasing aphrodisiac potion. “I’m sorry. I really am. I… I wasn’t thinking. I do it for myself some nights.”
“No, you fucking weren’t thinking,” Schuyler shouted, before calming himself. “I thought we were friends, but here you are trying to take advantage of me when I’m down. What did you think would happen?
“Was everything you said bullshit?”
“No,” Cal tried to defend himself but struggled to find the correct words. “It wasn’t. I meant all of that. I don’t know, I thought it’d help chill you out and maybe—I really don’t know.”
“I think you do know.” Schuyler’s jaw tightened, his fingers twitched, sparks shooting off them. “I’m leaving.”
“Yeah, leave! It’s so easy for you to walk away, isn’t it? Like you did from our friendship,” Cal spat back, balling his fists. “Off you go—some new dude bats an eye and Schuyler’s gone to Europe. Comes home, doesn’t bother to say shit to me, then off with some other ass who doesn’t even appreciate how great you are, to go live a lame-ass witches’ life in what—Cleveland or some shit.
“It was Chicago. There’s no need to insult me further.”
“Oh, whatever,” Cal yelled as Schuyler turned for the door.
A blue flame shot out like a whip, snapping an inch from Sky’s face before he could move toward the exit. Schuyler’s fists ignited; he cocked his head back to Cal and narrowed his eyes.
“Imma fuck you up now.”
Sky flicked his wrists and sent two hits at Cal. One hit him in the stomach, one in the shoulder, and the force threw Cal back against the wall. Books tumbled onto the floor around his feet. Schuyler hesitated, fists glowing. No formal duel was proposed, but if Cal retaliated, it would be considered one.
And Sky would be sure to win.
“Fuck you,” Cal yelled instead, slumped on the floor. “I’m so lonely and you’re over there all ‘Oh, the hot piece of ass twenty-year-old withheld information’—oh poor fucking you. Poor you with your great life, Sky, and your dozens of dates that get you sex, and all the beautiful lovers with perfect bodies. And you’renotfucking aging the way I’d hoped.
“A whole town talking about you, and in like, a good way. And no one—no one—sees me. But they see you. They want to be in the orbit of your light. They want to be friends. They wanna fuck.
“Nobody sees me.
“And I’m tired of trying so hard to get them too. To be acknowledged, for someone to find me hot, to say I’m attractive. For someone to think I’m worthy enough of a tryst—or hell, of being their boyfriend. And every night, I come home alone.
“I wake up alone.
“No one sees me, Schuyler. No one.”
The room was drowned in the heated red of Schuyler’s fists, ready to launch into a tirade of insults and fling curses until the walls collapsed in on the twisted, over-glamoured mess. Seeing Cal huddled against the wall—ready to cry, equally ready to fight, hovering somewhere in between—forced an urge to retreat.
