Sick Boys: Chapter 3

Penelope, Penelope …

That name has such a nice ring to it.

Nice enough to taint.

Nice enough to corrupt.

My nostrils flare. If she hadn’t stepped aside, I would’ve latched onto those perky nipples peaking through that small black top and twisted them in front of everyone until she screamed my name.

A filthy smirk forms on my lips, but it quickly vanishes when I remember who she is.

She’s not supposed to be here.

Pen.

My fingers clutch around the one I’m holding, almost snapping it in two. Not much is worse than having to sit through an economics class, listening to a teacher blab on about stuff I don’t fucking care about.

With the exception of one thing.

That girl sitting there in the row below me.

How many classes do we share?

One is already too many.

Her eyes fixate on the man in front of the screen, and I have to admit, she’s putting up an amazing front by pretending she doesn’t care. But I know she can feel my eyes penetrate her skull.

If I could, I’d pick apart her brain right this very second and expose all the secrets she’s keeping.

But that would take the fun out of things, wouldn’t it?

And I live for the fucking fun because nothing in this fucking university ever is.

You have to make it, and that’s what we’ve been doing for the past year.

But she … she could spoil it all.

And I’m not about to let her.

Dylan shoves me in the side with his elbow, and I look his way, low-key tempted to shove this pen between his ribs. “Stop staring at her. What if people notice?”

“Do I look like I care?” I retort, flicking the pen up and down.

He raises a brow. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

“Since when do you listen to your father?” I scoff.

His face darkens as he casually leans back on his chair. “You know why.”

I roll my eyes and look away. “You do whatever the fuck you want.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You really wanna go down this route again?”

“So what if I do?” I quip, staring at him.

He tilts his head until his white pretty-boy hair falls over his face like he’s testing me, but I don’t fucking care.

I’ve never cared about any consequences—not today, not yesterday, and certainly not tomorrow.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, running his fingers through his hair. “You know what you’re getting yourself into, and it isn’t even worth it.”

“Yeah … I do know, and it’s fucking worth every second of my time,” I say. I raise a brow in return. “Do you know why?”

His lips twitch. “What? Just because some girl stood in your way, you wanna make her your next toy?”

“She’s not some girl,” I retort, holding up the pen. “Guess her name.”

He narrows his eyes, glaring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

I eye the pen.

“What? Pen …” Suddenly, his eyes widen. “Penelope?”

His voice is so loud it echoes through the room, far enough to reach the rows down below where she sits.

Penelope turns around, gazing at me with hawk-like eyes, just like she did when she stood in my way. Close enough to hear us speak, yet far enough to stop me from grasping her purple hair and tilting her head to whisper filthy shit into her ear.

Her gaze never breaks, and ours doesn’t either.

I know she heard.

I hope she fucking did.

Because she fucking smiled at me.

Smiled.

When all I could think of was ripping her little black top and checkered miniskirt to shreds.

My eye twitches. The pen in my hand snaps in half under her gaze.

Pen … I will fucking break you.

Penelope

Weeks ago

My eyes burst open as I sit up straight in the bed, breathing heavily. My heart is going a million miles an hour as I recount everything that happened that night. The forest, the music, the moon, my sister jumping to her death, and those boys listening to my endless screams as I ran to the edge to try to save her.

Too late.

I saw her body disappear into the water deeper and deeper until nothing was left but the silence in my heart.

Tears form in my eyes, but I push them away and shove my blanket off my body to start my day.

Trying.

That’s the only thing I’ve done these past few days.

But my legs feel like they weigh a ton.

Especially today.

This day when my mom has not stopped weeping since yesterday.

This day when my dad has taken phone call after phone call just to take his mind off what’s happening.

I go through the motions without really thinking about it, putting on black pantyhose, a long black dress, and a beautiful brooch. One my sister gifted me on my birthday. A reminder of the day she left to go to Spine Ridge University for the first time.

My fingers instinctively touched the brooch.

I look at myself in the mirror, wondering if she can see me right now.

If she’s trying to tell me it’s all going to be okay.

But it won’t because she’s gone.

And I know it’s thanks to them.

Those fucking boys.

My fingers tighten around the brooch, and I struggle not to rip it off.

Instead, I bite my lip and head for the door.

Downstairs, my mother’s still crying her eyes out, sniffing into tissue after tissue. The empty boxes are stacked on the table.

When she sees me, she swiftly wipes away her tears and snot, pretending she’s not crying, but I can clearly see the marks on her cheeks.

“Penelope, are you ready?” my father asks after he tucks his phone back into his pocket.

I nod. I don’t want to say the words out loud because I know I’ll burst into tears like my mother, and if she sees my tears, it would break her even more. As her only daughter left, I need to be strong.

My father helps my mother off the couch, and we all walk outside toward the car waiting for us.

Every step slowly feels more and more like a blur. Like I’m not really here.

My mind is still at the party on that cliff, with her glossy eyes staring right back at mine wondering why I didn’t come sooner to save her.

I get into the car, and it drives for what feels like hours and hours until we finally arrive at our destination.

The room where the service is held is boring, white, too pristine, and clean, with only some bundled flowers left and right of the casket to provide some happiness to the otherwise dull affair.

Eve would have hated it.

She was always so happy and shined like the sun, radiant and full of color.

She was the complete opposite of me, but it’s also why I loved her so much … and why I miss her more than anything.

The dark wood of the casket burns into my retina as I stare at the place her corpse rests.

So peaceful and mundane, unlike her death.

My heart aches.

My mother cries beside me, and I try not to let it get to me, but it’s hard knowing what she’s lost.

It’s almost impossible to cry with all these people around me. I feel like they’re all staring at my back, wondering if I’m going to say anything after my father speaks about her in front of the pulpit.

But I wouldn’t know what to say to these people except fuck you for driving my sister insane.

Because I know her peers are here watching us.

Pretending to mourn with us.

They are the cause of her misery.

I know because she tucked a book underneath my door the night she died. In it, she wrote about all her wishes, dreams, secrets, and truths.

All the shit she’d been through.

And all the people responsible for it.

I keep it close to my heart.

As the service finishes, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

Some sad music plays, and one by one, people come forward to pay their respects to both the casket as well as us.

Then the casket is moved outside, and we all follow the hearse to the cemetery.

While everyone has gathered around a hole in the ground, my sister is slowly lowered inside like a deathtrap.

Horrifying.

I hate it.

I hate that I have to stand here and watch Eve be buried without even a semblance of justice.

What can I do?

Nothing. It’s too late.

Too late to save her.

I close my eyes and blink away the tears as well as the invading memories.

This guilt will eat me alive one day.

My mother hands me a rose. When it’s my turn, I throw it on top of the casket, a last goodbye to the sister I didn’t want to lose and who was too young to die.

I glance over my shoulder so no one in front of me will see me cry.

But the tears refuse to come when I see three boys standing behind one of the large trees in the cemetery.

The same three guys I saw at the bonfire the night she died.

Felix, Dylan, and Alistair.

Guys who wouldn’t give a care in the world about anyone dying.

Yet they’re here, unafraid.

It’s a message.

The wind blows through my purple hair, and I tuck a strand behind my ear, never breaking eye contact.

I want them to know I saw them.

And I want them to know I will never give up.

I will never stop finding the reason for her death.

And if they’re here, it only means one thing.

They know something I don’t.

And I’ll find out what exactly it is.

Even if it costs me my fucking soul.