(*Note: Click the Youtube link above to listen to the audiobook version of this chapter voiced by kaelking12 featuring music by Paramore & Tegan and Sara.)
Alex
Dear Nobody,
I never used to believe in monsters. I thought the whole idea of some sharp-toothed, beady-eyed, people-eater was just a figment of my six-year-old imagination.
And, I was half right.
There's no such thing as ghosts.
There's no boogeyman hiding under my bed, or any blood thirsty vampire creeping around my closet.
Because real monsters walk around in broad daylight.
They hide behind shiny police badges, clean cut uniforms, and fancy slogans like "protect and serve."
And right when you think you're safe, right when you've gotten it in your head that the "good guys" won't hurt you, they do.
They tear off their masks and show their teeth.
And, suddenly, your whole idea of trust is turned upside down.
Rory did it with a twist of his wrist.
And that officer did it with a click of his handcuffs.
And, now, he's gone.
And, Elias is gone.
And, I can't help him.
I can't reach him.
I can't ask him if he's okay.
I can't do anything but sit inside a near empty police station where everybody talks and nobody listens.
They ask me to sit down and wait like a good little girl while the big bad cops get away with murder behind closed doors.
I don't know if you believe in monsters, Nobody.
I didn't either.
But after tonight, I do.
-Alex
***
There are two types of parents in the world. The kind who'd still love you even if you robbed a bank, blew up the Empire State Building, or failed out of college. And, then, there's the other kind. The ones who never really figure out how to love you at all.
I call this type of parent, "the suckster". "Sucksters" are most commonly found in rich sparkly families, with houses in three different countries, and more money then they know what to do with.
They marry for money, they work for money, and they pop out kids to create the illusion that they actually care about something other than, well, money.
But, nine out of ten times, they don't.
Their little boys and girls are accessories with an expiration date. Fun when they're new, and disposable by the time they hit their teens.
That's the moment when Sucksters go back to loving money for a living instead of paying attention to their kids.
And Elias is one of those kids.
Nobody at home cares to pick up the phone.
They let his problems ring to voicemail, and eventually get lost in the static.
My parents were night and day different.
They loved me out loud.
Maybe, a little too much sometimes.
But at least I knew they were always there for me.
I could pick up the phone and call them any day of the week, and if anything was wrong, they'd come running.
But Elias's Dad put his son on hold.
He ignored phone call after phone call, until his secretary finally texted back Elias's phone with a short and heartless:
"Your father is in a meeting. Please direct urgent calls to the front desk, and your message will be delivered."
So I responded with a perfectly clear and snarky:
"This is Elias's friend, Alex. Your boss's son is sitting in jail right now and needs your help. Hopefully, that's urgent enough for you to respond to."
But, she didn't.
And, I've been cradling Elias's phone hoping for a phone call ever since.
Had I been man-handled by a cop, my mom and dad would've had the police chief hanging from the rafters by now.
But that might just be my parents.
They're...unconventional to say the least.
When the two of them got married, their neurotic powers combined, and fifteen years later, every last one of their OCD tendencies rained down on my high school reputation. For four long years, I was the only girl in my grade whose parents could out-do the paramedics in their response time to a phone call from the school.
Sprained ankle? They were there. Case of the flu? On it. Impromptu parent teacher conference? First in line. No exceptions.
Basically, when it came to the Summers clan, being overbearing was an understatement. Everybody at school knew my mom as "The Loudspeaker" and my dad as "Sonic Boom", and the entire experience horrified me--mainly because it was true. All the other parents were normal. They'd pick up their kids without honking the horn 400 times or yelling out the window like banshees.
My parents were always too loud, too concerned, too noticeable, and for the longest time, I never understood why. But after trying to get in touch with Elias's dad, I do.
Parents who put in the effort to show up, embarrass you in front of your friends, and mildly make you hate them for doing so, genuinely care about you.
But, Elias's dad couldn't even return a text.
He handed his assistant his cell phone, ignored an obvious emergency, and this, my friends, officially lands him on the first page in the book of Suckster.
Fact.
I've been sitting here for the past three hours waiting.
For answers, for any word on Elias, for anyone to say anything.
But the only sounds in this place are phones ringing off the hook, the click clacking of computer keyboards, and the occasional groan of the old coffee machine on the other side of the lobby.
I'm trying to keep it together. I'm trying not to go East Coast Postal over the way I saw Elias treated, so I don't cause any more trouble.
But I'm so pissed at the situation that I've bitten off nine out of ten fingernails and once I reach the last one, I cannot guarantee anymore self control.
Aggressive fact.
I wanna know the name and badge number of the bully who pulled Elias out of the car and dragged him across the pavement. But every time I've tried to ask, everyone's too busy to give me the time of day.
I lean back in my cheap plastic chair and stare out at the series of police officers walking back and forth who ignore me like I'm a fly on the wall in their pretty little precinct. Tonight wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Things were supposed to be close to carefree. Fun. The both of us needed an escape, but the second we tried to leave, life put our hopes behind bars. Figures.
"Ms. Summers?"
A salt and pepper haired police officer calls me over from across the room. I unstick myself from my seat and scramble over to his desk.
"Yes, sir?"
"Didn't you say you were here with Elias King?" He asks while still staring down at the stack of papers on his desk.
"I am. Is he okay? Where is he?"
"On his way out. His bail's been posted."
"What?"
"He's free to go. A deputy will bring him out in a few minutes once the payment's been processed. But processing aside, you and your boyfriend should stay outta trouble. You kids are too young to be caught up in--"
"We weren't caught up in anything, Officer. The only thing my friend was guilty of was trying to take his medication."
"That's a matter of perspective, ma'am."
"And which perspective would that be? A racist one?"
For the first time since I approached his desk, the old timer looks up at me from under his glasses with no readible expression on his face. He should be enraged. He should be reacting. He should be as disgusted and outraged as I am at the entire situation. But, he just stares at me, eyes cold, dull, and indifferent.
"Ma'am, if you'd like to file a complaint against the department, I can give you a form to fill out."
He burrows down into his desk drawers and fumbles around for just long enough to put anyone off to the idea of complaining about anything. Even if I had the patience to wait things out, my complaint would probably end up lost in a stack that no one would ever look through.
"Really? A form? And how often do you guys actually read them?"
"Whenever we can, ma'am."
"Bull--"
"Language, please."
"--shoes."
"Thank you."
"Look, isn't there anyone I can talk to? Like a sergeant or something?" I ask.
Old timer reaches into a little silver box on his desk and hands me a flimsy looking business card.
"You can call our hotline and report your complaint while you wait for--speak of the devil."
The rattle and clink of an iron door cuts through our conversation, and drags my attention to the opposite side of the room.
I look over and see a boy who looks like the shadow of Elias King, shuffling into the main lobby, an unsteady step at a time.
An officer's standing at his side, guiding him forward while he walks with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes married to the floor.
For a split second, I almost mistake Elias for someone else. Someone with half the spirit and a quarter of his confidence.
But then he looks at me.
He looks at me.
And all the air goes rushing out of my lungs because I see so much of the person he used to be.
The person who used to pretend he was so much stronger than he was, just to keep people from noticing his pain.
But I notice everything.
I see it hiding behind the hard lines in his face, stealing the spark out of his eyes, and sucking the strength out of his body.
I don't know what happened to him over the last three hours, but I see the scars in his stare.
His gaze grazes over the heads of passing police officers and finally finds its way home to mine, and the emptiness in it ripples across my skin like tiny little aftershocks. My chest locks and freezes as the corners of his lips struggle to pull themselves into a cellophane smile.
A smile that's trying to tell me not to worry, he's fine, even though I know he's not.
We hide things the same way. We always have.
We pretend things are better than they really are so that we can survive to see a day when we can smile and genuinely mean it.
But today's not that day--for either of us. Especially not him.
Because the only thing worse than standing here watching him try to smile past his sadness, is seeing him hold on to hope.
Elias looks past me towards the empty row of lobby chairs and scans the rest of the room for a face that isn't there.
For a person who probably isn't coming.
Someone who wouldn't pick up the phone, pick up his son, or come here to pick up his pieces.
And I have to be the one to tell him that.
I just don't know if I can.
***
A willowy police officer guides Elias over to the same crotchety desk cop I'd spoken to earlier and leaves him there without saying word. No apology. No lingering conversation. He just saunters back to the holding cells like he can't see the blood on Elias's jeans, the cuts on his hands, or the new bruises on his face.
Even though they're obvious.
Instead he turns on his heels and goes whistling back to work, happily avoiding a problem by pretending it doesn't exist.
Elias stands there in silence while he's punched in and out of the system, like a nameless, faceless nobody.
I stand across the room in shock watching the San Diego Police Department break him down with a couple key strokes on a computer.
A few minutes pass, the typing ends, and the paperwork begins. Bookie hands him a short stack of forms to fill out before releasing him for the night. Elias collects his belongings out of a plastic bag and checks his wallet before finally making his way back to me.
He turns my way, breaks into a slow jog, and before I can blink his arms are around me again. He smells a little bit like the sea, and a lot like concrete, blood, and salt. I try to get a better glimpse at the red stains dotted along the top of his t-shirt, but he presses his body against mine and buries his head hard into my shoulder before I get decent look.
I try to push the thought of what might have happened to him out of my head and do my best to lose myself to the moment. And to him. I focus on the gentle, desperate pressure of his finger tips on my back, the crushing warmth of his chest, and the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.
I grip the back of his shirt and pull him closer until there's no space left for either of us to fill. I want to say something, to spit out the hundred thousand apologies that he deserves to hear, but I don't say anything. I listen to him breathe for a while, hoping that he needs my silence more than he needs my words.
Elias wraps one arm around my waist, the other around my back, and buries his fingers deep into my hair. I close my eyes and can almost feel the salty Belmar breeze rushing through the air, last summer's sun kissing our shoulders, and Elias kissing me.
My eyes flutter open and suddenly he's kissing me--but this time it's just a light, cautious brush of his mouth across my forehead as he whispers a quiet "thank you" against my skin.
I step back and stare up into the familiar stormy green of his eyes and almost get lost in their chaos.
But I stop myself short.
Because my heart still remembers what happens when you run head first into a hurricane.
I went in with everything to lose, and ended up losing everything.
"Thank you--" he says, cheeks dusty red, eyes focused on his shoelaces.
"For what?" I ask.
"For waiting for me. It's late. You didn't have to stick around."
I give him a quick and overly friendly slap on the shoulder to try to beat the awkwardness out of the moment.
"Of course I did. Otherwise you would've thrown a hissy fit if I left the illustrious Elias King alone in a stinky San Diego jail cell."
Elias slips into his first genuine smile of the night and winces a little. My eyes dart over to the semi-dried blood caked over a cut in the corner of his lip. Elias catches onto my gaze and tries to run his tongue over his injury to redirect my attention, but it doesn't. The lower half of his mouth might as well have "misconduct" written on it in red pen.
"You're right. I would've written a whole other book about you that involved more curse words than poetry."
"Letters to Jackass Jersey?" I say.
He chokes back a laugh.
"And...this is exactly why I'm happy that you're here. All we gotta do now is wait for my dad to show up, 'cause as soon as he does, he'll put that asshole cop in his place, and we can get back to our night. Did he say when he was coming?"
I force myself to nod and smile at what he's saying, but I haven't heard a word from Mr. King or his secretary since I texted three hours ago. My mouth goes dry searching for the right thing to say.
"He was in a meeting, but his secretary said she'd have him call as soon as he got out."
The muscles along Elias's jawline tighten as the truth settles in.
"Has he called yet?" He asks, borderline optimistic.
"No, maybe he--"
"He'll be here. My dad's an asshole, but he's not that big of an asshole. I mean, he paid the bail, so he has to show. It wouldn't make sense if he didn't."
Sometimes the people you love do things you'll never understand, Elias. Sometimes the people you love are beyond understanding.
"You're right. Let's camp out. We've got plenty of food--"
I point to the dinky vending machine shoved away in the corner with only two Snickers Bars and a SlimJim left inside. Elias lets out a hiss of a laugh, but at least he's laughing.
"--and once the snacks run out, we can find the SDPD's donut stash and fatten ourselves up until your dad comes."
"My dad runs some big time law firm around here, so his meetings tend to end on the late side. They can get pretty intense."
No wonder he grew up lonely.
"Well, the way I eat donuts is pretty intense, so he can take as long as he wants. I've got all night. Do you wanna wait here or in the car?"
Elias points towards the door, so I stand up, take him by the tail of his shirt, and lead him out to Indigo's rust-mobile.
I whip out her keys, pop open the front door, and plop down into the front seat while Elias makes his way to the passenger's side. Once he's inside, I cross my arms with a little dramatic flair, and plant my feet on the mini-Persian rugged floor like a protester. Elias looks over at me with something like pride and silent admiration painted across his face.
He leans over, throws one arm over the back of my seat, and stares at me for a few long, uncomfortable seconds without saying a word. His arm gradually shifts from cradling the seat to cradling my shoulders. Help.
"I shouldn't have left..." He says.
I'd agree if I had any idea what he was talking about.
"LA?"
"...New Jersey. Before I followed you out there, I promised my mom that I'd go to rehab, but looking back--I kinda think choosing rehab was a mistake," he says.
My stomach bottoms out, slips past my hip, and lands somewhere inside my left sneaker--at least, that's what it feels like it does. I don't know if being arrested messed with Elias's head, but him going rehab wasn't a mistake. Us getting involved was.
"How was it a mistake? The worst thing you could've done was not go, especially after everything you went through with Lacey--"
"But what about everything I went through after you? If I'd stayed--"
"If you'd stayed, we would've broken up--eventually. People change, Elias, and situations change people. We just would've been another one of those summer couples who were doomed to fall apart once reality set in."
Elias sits up straighter the straight and stares right through me.
"You don't know that, Jersey--"
I do. I know how badly things would've ended between us better than anybody else.
"--You'd be surprised how much a person can take. You'd be surprised what you can go through and still come out swinging."
"Nothing surprises me anymore, Elias."
Except you.
"Not even me getting arrested? You looked pretty freaked out back in the car," he says.
I silently thank him for changing the subject.
"I was not. Horrified? Yes. Disgusted? Definitely. But surprised. No way. A lot of cops suck and that jerk-off wasn't any exception."
Elias stares at my mouth for a couple seconds, tilts his head back, and lets out a long pained groan that scares me half to death the second it leaves his mouth.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did that moron hit you somewhere I don't know about? 'Cause of he did, I'll chop off his nuts and serve them to him as gnocchi!" I say in a voice that sounds so much like my mother's it mortifies me.
Elias's face turns bright red and he grips his seat so hard his knuckles turn white.
"You're killing me, Jersey!" He says as he grips his chest and starts sinking to the car floor. I scramble to keep him upright, but he's way too heavy to hold up on my own.
"Are you being serious right now or what? Do I need to call an ambulance? Tell me what to do, Elias!?"
He stops dead in his tracks and looks up at me with no readable expression on his face.
"Stop talking to me with that--"
"That what?!"
"That--"
"WHAT!?"
"Accent. You know that it makes me--"
"Stupid."
"--crazy. Especially in a car. I've got a pornographic memory, J."
"You mean, photographic, right?"
"No, I mean what I mean."
He breaks in to a devious little grin, and I play-shove him away from me so he won't see my hot plate red cheeks. His back hits the door with a loud thwack, but I could care less about his back. I've seen this boy in and out of hospitals enough times to shave years off my life. I do NOT need him faking injuries over my accent--which isn't even that noticeable anyway. At least, I hope it's not.
"What's with the man-handling, Jersey? Can't you see I've been abused enough?"
I glare over at him like an angry cat.
"Man handling? What was I supposed to do? You scared me, Elias! I really thought there was something wrong with you."
"I was kidding. I just wanted to make you laugh because you've been trying to cheer me up since I got out, and I haven't done shit for you, so I thought it'd be funny to tease you a little bit."
"Well, it wasn't. I've been worried about you ever since that guy drove you away. I was so scared that he was gonna hurt you even worse than he did back at the car, and I wouldn't be there to stop him. I couldn't even stop Rory last summer, so what could I do against a cop?"
My throat tightens up to the point where I know if I keep speaking I'll start crying, and God knows I don't want to start crying in front of him.
Elias sits up and crawls his way back into the seat beside me, but I'm too rattled to look at him straight.
"Nothing happened, Jersey."
"Oh really? Then what's with the split bottom lip, huh?"
Elias lifts a finger to his mouth and tries to wipe the blood away again.
"The guy got a punch in once we got to station 'cause I wouldn't get outta the car, but I'm fine. Honest."
"Bullshoes. You looked like crap when they released you, and you never look bad."
Elias nudges me with his shoulder and sneaks in a wink.
"So you still think I look good? Nice. This night's getting better and better."
And to think there was a time when I genuinely thought I loved this person.
"What I meant to say was--"
"That I turn you on?"
"No, what I was trying to say was that I've never seen you look that bad, because let's be honest, you look kind of toe-up right now."
Elias's jaw drops open for a couple seconds but somehow his little goblin grin magically manages to find its way back onto his face.
"You're right. I guess I need my beauty sleep."
Without warning, he kicks out his legs, leans his head against my shoulder, and starts fake snoring loud enough to rattle the windows.
"If you're going to sleep, sleep quietly, Elias! Do you want the whole police department to come out here and arrest you for disturbing the peace?"
"Just wake me up when my dad gets here, okay?" He says, eyes half closed, but still hopeful.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat and smile at him, even though I'm terrified of the things his faith in his father could do.
But, he doesn't need doubts right now, he needs me to believe in his dad as much as he does.
And I can give him that.
Even if it's just little while, I can still give him hope.
"I will. I promise. You sleep, I'll keep a look out, so I can tell you the minute he comes."
He glances over at me and giggles the way he must've when he was a lot smaller and more innocent than he is now.
"You sure? It's already 11:00. What if you fall asleep on the job?" He asks.
"Then you can go ahead and publish Letters to Jackass Jersey as punishment. Deal?"
He reaches over and pulls me into a lazy handshake, but his fingers linger between mine after it ends.
"Deal. He drives a black Mercedes by the way. License plate TEMLOVE. Tanner. Eli. Maria. Cheesy, right?"
Elias lets out what sounds like a lost laugh before sadness fills the space where a happy memory should be.
"Not at all. It's nice. At least he wants the world to know what he cares about."
"Cared about. He got that done a long time ago. I'm just praying that it still means something to him ."
"He'll come, Elias. Cross my heart."
He squeezes my fingers, and I fight the quiet impulse to squeeze them back.
"If he doesn't, could you wake me up in a couple hours anyway?"
"Why?"
Elias shuts his eyes and lets the full weight of his head sink into my shoulder.
"Because I wanna know that I've still got you."
***
(THANK YOU guys so much for waiting so long for this update! As many of you know, CHEATER, FAKER, TROUBLEMAKER was published as an audiobook by Hachette Audio on May 30th and is now available for purchase on Amazon, Audible, Itunes, and Bandcamp!
Did anyone buy a copy? Please let Kristen and I know if you did! We'd love to DM you about it :).
Anyway, there's been a lot of work that's had to go into the release + @kaelking12 and I are working on finishing edits on about 3 films at the moment, so there hasn't been much time for writing/recording! I will let you guys know when the next update will be, I can't promise next Saturday because we're gearing up for a film screening, but AFTER June 20th updates should be back on track to being posted every Saturday!)
BUT we're really happy to share this update with you guys & we wanted to know if any you have gotten a copy of CFTM's new audiobook? If you have, PLEASE make sure to rate and review because if CFTM does well then there's a chance it will go into print, and if the series eventually goes into print you guys can get your hands on a copy of CFTM and FHKH in stores! So if you haven't gotten a copy of the CFTM audiobook or you haven't rated it check out the "External Link" button below!
Thank you guys again for being so awesome & patient! Hopefully this chapter & audio was worth the wait!)
-Jenny & Kristen