Addicted After All(2)

“No,” Ryke says, his voice rough.

I turn back to the guy in my clutch. “See, it’s just you and us—”

“That’s great,” he cuts me off with a short laugh, “let’s have a f*cking tea party and celebrate the new year. And then when I leave, you both can go f*ck the same girl and knock her up again.”

I shake, my heart slamming into my ribs. A million different insults burn my brain, the malicious ones trying to take hold.

Then Ryke charges forward, fists clenched. “You motherf*cking—”

“Stop,” I tell Ryke, making sure to wedge my body between him and the teen. He can’t hit him. Not even if this guy spouts off a thousand rumors that’ve been circulating the tabloids. Not if he knows more about us than we’ll ever know about him. He’s a bored teenager, fighting his own battles that we’ll never see.

I get it.

I used to do this shit all the time. I was thrown in jail for vandalism more often than for underage drinking.

“What?” the guy feigns confusion, provoking Ryke. “Are you butthurt that you didn’t get extra time with the slut—”

“You want to play this goddamn game with me,” I interject, my voice so sharp that it physically pains me. “I can make you cry so hard, you bleed out of your eye sockets, so let’s rewind—you f*cked with us first, and all we’re asking is for you to stop. We’re not your prep school friends.” I’m trying not to be condescending. I could have easily said “we’re not your little prep school friends, kid.” But if someone said that to me at sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen, I’d spit in their face and tell them to eat shit.

He breathes heavily with a curled lip, hatred spreading across his features, like he can’t stand to be here for more than a second longer. I stare right at him, not giving him an easy out. And he finally says, “We’re just joking around.”

Ryke steps forward and raises the paintball gun at the guy’s face. “This is not a f*cking joke!”

The guy huffs and says to me, “Is your brother a moron? It’s only a paintball gun.”

Ryke throws the gun across the road, and the casing shatters.

“Hey!” the guy shouts.

“My girlfriend has PTSD, you f*cking idiot,” Ryke growls. “You point something that resembles a gun at a window, and there are people who’ll feel like it’s one.”

My ribs tighten. Daisy has been through more than Lily and I ever imagined, and it’s these facts—the ones that I desperately needed—that make it easier to see his happiness with her. I never thought I’d pray to every f*cking god to ensure that their relationship lasts. It’s not even a selfish want.

I study the guy’s face, and any remorse is drowned by anger, his voice shaking with it. “Which girlfriend is that?” he sneers at Ryke. “The one you raped when she was fifteen or your brother’s fiancée?”

“Are you f*cking kidding me?!” Ryke yells, his nose flaring. It f*cking sucks. People will always know details about our lives before we even know their names. But I can’t blame him for it. It’s just the way it is.

I watch this teen glower at the ground like let me go, let me f*cking go.

Not yet.

I grip his jaw and force his face to mine. “Great,” I say, “you can believe those goddamn lies, you can spread them, whatever—but we see you around our house, scaring our girls, we’ll do worse than call the cops.” I release him with this threat, letting his own imagination frighten him. “I’ve met shittier f*cks than you, so don’t think you’re something special.”

His chest collapses as he breathes heavily, shooting me a glare that can no way match mine. And then he spins his back on us and sprints down the road, stumbling for a second before he regains his speed.

He shouts back, “Go suck cock, you pussies!” And he waves his middle fingers at us.

Ryke lets out a frustrated groan. “I f*cking hate these guys.”

“They’re just bored.” The neighborhood heard that “famous people” moved in down the block, and so these teenagers have been attracted to our house ever since. “We can’t call the cops,” I snap at him. “I hope you realize that.” For one, that guy in the hoodie could’ve been me at seventeen. And every time I was thrown in jail, it did nothing but piss me off even more. For another, it only gives them reason to retaliate against us. To return with more eggs, more paintballs, and maybe something worse down the road.