2. Marcus

2

Marcus

The party thrums around me.

It’s so crowded that it’s difficult to navigate through the pulsating throng of sweaty bodies in the living room. The strobe light flickers erratically while the bass-heavy music vibrates through my skull.

Normally, parties like this are my happy place. Saskia throws awesome parties when her parents are away, and they don’t even mind as long as she pays for the cleaning service afterward.

It’s a chance to cut loose, drink and dance, hook up with some people, and be merry.

But tonight, things aren’t going to plan.

Saskia’s pissed. At me.

Apparently, I hadn’t backed her up fast enough earlier when Jemma Samson called her spoiled.

The thing is, Saskia is spoiled. It’s one of the things I like about her. She’s so confident and charming, and it comes from having always been beautiful, smart, and talented, always being the adored daughter of two doting parents who seem to constantly marvel over the fact they managed to create such an amazing child.

Saskia’s perfect life is like a beacon to me in the darkness.

But apparently, she doesn’t like to hear about it.

I’m not too worried though. In the four years we’ve been friends, I’ve been in Saskia’s bad books often enough to have a whole chapter named after me.

But it’s boring when she’s mad and doesn’t want to play.

Most people don’t hold my attention long, but Saskia always does. Everyone else seems dull in comparison, the conversations tepid and beige.

I skirt around the edge of the crowd in the living room, nodding at people, smiling but avoiding being pulled into any of the conversations.

I make my way through the hallway and into the kitchen. It’s a little quieter here, but people are still clustered around the breakfast bar, where Saskia has laid out an assortment of drinks and snacks.

A guy I don’t know is standing at the counter with his back to me, pouring himself a glass of water. I can’t help my eyes lingering on his slim build under his T-shirt, the way his jeans mold to his butt. A mop of curly dark hair tops him off. He’s cute. Well, this side of him is, anyway.

He turns, and I see his face.

Recognition hits me like he’s thrown his water at me.

Shit, it’s Little Kleggs.

I’ve just been ogling Saskia’s little brother.

It’s still a shock every time I realize he’s all grown up now. For most of the time I’ve known him, he’s been a weedy high school student only coming up to my shoulders. But he had a late growth spurt last year and filled out enough to take him from scrawny into a look I’d now describe as nerdy hot. I’d noticed that the other day when I stumbled upon him on a date in the university cafeteria.

The fact he’d been on a date with a guy wasn’t surprising. Little Kleggs has pretty much choked on his own tongue every time he’s seen me for the past four years, ever since Saskia and I became friends.

I’d met Seb the first time Saskia invited me to her house. I was new, having been sent to boarding school for my last year of high school.

The fact my father had chosen a boarding school in Dunedin, as far away from Wellington as you could get, said almost everything you needed to know about our father-son relationship.

About forty percent of the school was day students who lived locally, and Saskia was one of them. She was the head girl, the person our whole year’s social life revolved around.

We’d instantly gravitated to each other from the moment we met in a supervised study period. Within half an hour, we’d charmed our teacher into letting us out on the pretense Saskia would give me a tour of the school. Instead, we’d gone to McDonald’s, where we’d spent the afternoon bonding over our mutual ability to talk our way into getting what we wanted.

When I’d first visited her house, I’d expected the mansion with the pool and tennis court because Saskia gave out rich-girl vibes as easily as breathing.

I hadn’t expected her mother to bring us fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies by the pool or her father to join us and start joking around. It was obvious Saskia’s parents liked her, and she liked them right back.

Which caused a pang deep inside me.

I’d had to move away, going into the house on the pretense of getting a glass of water just to take a break from the perfect happy-family sitcom playing out in front of me.

When I’d gotten inside, a skinny teenager had stood at the counter pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

“Hey there,” I said.

The guy looked up, saw me, then dropped the box of cereal he was holding. Froot Loops fell to the floor, rolling along in all directions, making a desperate dash for freedom.

I hid a smile.

“Let me help clean that up,” I said.

“It’s okay.” The guy’s voice rose into a squeak and his face flooded with color.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said.

I’d leaned down to help clean up the mess. At the same time, he’d leaned down as well, so my hand brushed the top of his.

He jumped back like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine. I try to turn off the electric current in my skin, but sometimes it malfunctions. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

He’d blushed some more, and I’d stared in fascination. I hadn’t known someone’s cheeks could actually turn that shade of red.

He’d reached down to quickly gather the scattered cereal.

“Froot Loops can be sneaky bastards. You’ve got to watch out for them,” I said to fill in the silence.

The guy opened his mouth to reply.

“Argh…” he managed.

“I think it’s the cornflakes you’ve got to watch out for, actually.” Saskia’s voice came from the doorway.

I glanced up to find her leaning against the open French doors, watching us.

“I hear cornflakes can be very flakey once you get to know them,” I replied.

Saskia strolled into the room. “What happened here?”

“I…ah…dropped it. The box,” the guy said.

He picked up the last errant Froot Loops and threw them into the waste disposal unit before sneaking another glance at me.

“I’m Marcus. What’s your name?” I asked.

He stood there blinking furiously at me like he was desperately trying to remember his own name.

“Seb,” he replied finally, just when the silence reached the excruciating level.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Seb made some kind of noise that sounded vaguely affirmative as he fled toward the hallway.

I turned back to find Saskia smirking.

“Looks like you made quite an impression on my little brother. Normally, nothing can shut him up. You’re a Seb muter. It’s like a superpower.”

I gave a nonchalant shrug. “Not sure if that was the superpower I asked the gods for, but I guess I’ll take it.”

That made her laugh.

I basked in the golden sound of her laughter.

“You have any siblings?” she asked.

It was like someone had applied a vice to my chest.

I had to look out the window while I struggled to compose myself. On the back lawn, I could see the remains of an abandoned bird nest that had fallen from a tree, being nosed at by their golden retriever. Her parents stood by the pool shed, laughing together.

“Nope. No siblings,” I replied.

“Lucky,” she’d said.

From then on, it had become an in-joke between Saskia and me, the way her brother always got so flustered around me.

Sure enough, Little Kleggs spots me across the kitchen, and his face heats up. It always fascinates me how quickly his pale skin can change color.

I plaster on my flirting smirk and head over to him.

“Hey, Little Kleggs, having a good night?”

A garbled noise comes from Seb’s mouth that sounds like he’s vaguely replying affirmatively.

“I like your T-shirt,” I continue.

Seb glances down, blinking at his T-shirt in surprise, like he can’t quite work out how he came to be standing in his kitchen with a T-shirt that states: Think Like a Proton and Stay Positive .

“Ah…um…thanks,” he says. Then his blush deepens.

I’ll be honest. I don’t need my ego to be glistened that much, but if I ever did, Little Kleggs would be a good place to come.

But pumping up my ego is not my mission right now.

I move past him to rummage through the cabinets, collecting the necessary ingredients for tequila shots—salt, lime wedges, and a bottle of tequila. Saskia and I have a shared love of shots, cultivated on many nights out together, and I’m hoping this will work its magic as a peace offering.

“Have a good night,” I say to Little Kleggs, who gives some unintelligible reply in return.

Clutching the supplies, I navigate through the maze of inebriated partygoers.

As I turn a corner into the formal lounge, I spot Saskia, her golden hair catching the dim light as she gestures dramatically.

I sidle up to her, holding up the bag to show her my spoils. “Do you want to do tequila shots?”

She arches an eyebrow, and then a bitchy look comes over her face.

“I don’t know. Will you serving me enhance my spoiled nature? Because I wouldn’t want that.”

Fuck.

Saskia’s drunker than she was earlier, and judging by her glittering blue eyes, she’s slid into dangerous territory.

“I think you’ll probably manage to down some tequila shots without becoming more spoiled,” I say.

“I’m not sure I want to risk it.”

“Saskia…”

“What, Marcus? Do you have something you’d like to say to me?”

“You’re acting crazy,” I tell her.

“Well, you know all about that, right, Marcus? Doesn’t crazy run in your family?”

My breath slams out of me.

Saskia can get vicious when she wants to. I know that about her, know that her charm has this edge, but right now, it impales me. Leaving me mortally wounded.

I can’t believe she said that. Something I trusted her with. Only her.

Everyone around her stares at me curiously. I feel the weight of the gazes, the questions in their mind.

I stumble backward.

“Fuck, Marcus, I’m sorry…” There’s instant remorse on her face as she realizes what she’s done.

But I continue to back away, my head spinning.

The one person I trusted. The one person I’d remotely opened up to about my past. And she weaponized it against me.

I take the stairs two at a time, wanting to escape, wanting to get rid of this feeling inside me.

I shut myself in the upstairs bathroom and bend over the counter, gasping lungfuls of air. In. Out. In. Out.

My reflection is captured in the mirror, and not for the first time, I wish my fucking face would somehow reflect my insides. That the poison and rot that exist inside me would show on my face as a warning to the world.

But instead, I look normal. Marcus Johnson is dressed for a night of fun.

Saskia’s voice circles in my head, vicious and taunting.

Doesn’t crazy run in your family?

There’s a self-combust part of my personality. I know it, and I try to keep a lid on it.

But now, I can feel that part simmering, seizing control.

I’m going to do something stupid. Something fucking stupid. I know it. I don’t know how it’ll manifest itself, but I can feel the tornado whirling inside me, and I know it will cause havoc wherever it lands.

My mind falls to the dealer I saw earlier in the night. I party hard, but always with alcohol, not drugs. I’ve never wanted to tempt the genetic gods by putting anything other than alcohol into my bloodstream.

But right now, alcohol won’t be enough to escape my own brain the way I crave.

Time to get high.

I open the door to the bathroom and take a step out. I’m about to head down to the living room when a familiar figure emerges at the top of the stairs like a vision.

Little Kleggs.

I stop short and stare at him.

Fuck, as Saskia’s brother, he’s always been so out of bounds. I flirt outrageously with him, but I always know where to draw the line.

Now, as I stare at that familiar blush spreading up his cheeks when he sees me, an urge surges inside me. To stomp and stamp all over that line.

I step toward him.