“It’s what ye want, isn’t it? You want me to fuck ye so you can lump me into the bad pile and say I’m just like the rest of them.”
She shifts her weight and moves her gaze over my face, sharp and cutting now. But not as sharp her words.
“Oh, Rory.” She brushes her hand over my cheek, and it’s cold. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I already hate you.”
I take a deep breath and repress the urge to lash out at her. To say something equally venomous, which is exactly what she wants.
“Don’t take it personally.” She retreats into her own space again, and my lungs start functioning, again. “I hate everybody.”
“Bailing already?” I find myself asking as she slips further away.
“You know I don’t do the whole family thing. I just came for the ceremony.”
I reach down and grab her hand to stop her. But the words I’m after don’t find me. There’s always a part of me that wants to tell her to never come back. But there’s another part of me that worries about her.
Scarlett senses that in me, I think.
My warring hatred and want for her.
I never know which one is going to win out until the words spill from my lips.
“Come out to lunch with me. No date, just food. Everyone needs to eat.”
She smiles, that soft and deadly smile. Sadness seeping ever so slightly into her features before she masks it with charm. She leans up on her toes and kisses my cheek.
“I can’t be your Daisy,” she says. “So, don’t ask me to.”
“Cut the shite,” I tell her.
Scarlett’s always talking in riddles. Too smart for the likes of me or anyone else in this room, probably. But she doesn’t show that part of herself often. Only in quiet moments like these.
And I’m like a schoolboy, waiting on tenterhooks to hear her explanation of the inner workings of her mind. If I’d ever been blessed enough to have a teacher like Scarlett in school, I may have actually paid attention.
“The Great Gatsby,” she says. “I would say the book, but the film has become the thing as of late. Ever watched it?”
“Nah,” I tell her.
“She was the destruction of him,” she tells me. “Of Gatsby. A void of moral decay. An empty husk driven by materialism and social status.”
“Scarlett.”
Sometimes her riddles are cute. At times like these, they annoy the bleeding feck out of me.
“You should really read the book.” She pulls away. Not for herself. She is doing it for me.
Because she thinks she is rotten to the core.
And before I can tell her otherwise, she’s gone.
Same as always.
Two
Scarlett
Some girls are madeof sugar and spice and everything nice. Some are made of venom and sin. When you open the chambers to their hearts, you’ll find- absolutely nothing within.
My eyes are lockedand loaded and the target is in my sights.
