4
Tiv
Monday 22nd January, Year 825
Father had "sorted it out" as Marco promised. Yet, calling the weekend that followed merely 'awful' was quite an understatement. We returned home on Friday evening to be greeted by our housekeeper, Meredith, whom I treated more like an older sister. Usually calm and demure, she shattered at the sight of me covered in blood. She unleashed a torrent of panic that ricocheted through the entrance foyer, her voice escalating to a shriek that summoned Mother. The swift call from Mother to Father brought him rushing back home, his presence like a hurricane.
Marco suffered our Father's wrath more than I. Though initially targeted with a vehement lecture on how we were "insistent on ruining" his career, I was eventually dismissed. While I didn't see the aftermath, the purple bruise that spread across Marco's jawline said enough. Father stayed for one day where, when he wasn't in front of the television cameras, he and Mother were screaming at each other because of Marco's face. Well, Mother was screaming because of Marco's face. Father was screaming that she wasn't keeping her children in our places. My room was far from their argument yet I still heard the spiteful yelling, the shattering of glass and the smash of furniture being thrown. If I could hear it, my four-year-old sister, Beau certainly could. Poor girl.
My only other human interaction was Meredith appearing coyly at my door to apologise for the mess she was adamant she had started. Say what you would about my family, the best member of it wasn't even related to me by blood.
I dared to think of how Father did it: by Saturday morning, the getaway car we had stolen from Sarah had found its way back to the scene; Marco's jacket reappeared in his room, somehow untouched by blood; and Father was ready with a speech for the press. I had not seen him in months so for him to rush home with such haste was peculiar. Of course, I reminded myself, it was for his career, not us.
The nights brought little peace as I lay in the spacious bed that now felt too large. When I closed my eyes, Sarah's sister lay at my feet. The echo of raised voices from my parents and the crack of breaking objects screamed over her body.
I woke often, tossing and turning until my mind finally gave out to kinder dreams: a meadow bathed in the golden warmth of an unseen sun. The grass beneath my feet was lush, each blade tender against my skin. There was a presence there - a feeling that was both foreign and intimately familiar. Shapes in the dreamscape shifted like reflections on the water's surface. The sounds of a familiar melody enveloped the space.
It was the first piano composition I had created, however it had always appeared in my dreams first.
I'd had this dream often. Throughout it, I never felt alone. Although I couldn't see who was with me, they chased away all thoughts of Sarah and her sister, giving me a sense of comfort I did not deserve.
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I had assumed that returning to college might take my mind from the notion we killed two girls and paid the problem away. This hope withered swiftly. The image of Sarah's neck pulsing blood flashed through my thoughts so often that I found myself putting my head on the desk while covering it with my arms, hoping to crush the image out of my mind entirely.
When the lesson finally finished, I was glad to head outside for fresh air and to clear my head. Professor Davison's gaze followed me as I stumbled from the lecture theatre - his brows knitting together in concern or suspicion, perhaps both. For one heart-stopping moment, I believed he could peer straight through to my mind and see the guilt. With legs that moved of their own accord, I propelled myself outside, hands trembling slightly at my sides.
The loudest thought which ran rampant in my mind was that I did not know the name of Sarah's sister.
When I reached the college courtyard, drops of rain speared down like tiny arrows from the bleak sky, prompting me to pull an umbrella from the canister by the door. My breath swirled and dissipated into the grey expanse above me.
Breathing. Something that Sarah and her sister will never do again because of you.
I clapped my hands over my ears as if they could shield me from my own thoughts. It took several heartbeats to recognise the odd stares directed at me; their scrutiny was warranted; I was bordering on derangement. I scanned the college courtyard for a familiar face to talk to and help distract me. It didn't take long for me to hear Marco's booming laugh. I spotted him fifty yards away, no surprise, with Alayna Jameson.
He stood among a crowd of peers huddled under a stone alcove, animatedly recounting an anecdote with flourishing hand gestures that drew chuckles and wide grins. Alayna Jameson leaned against the wall beside him, her face blank as she watched him mimic someone's dramatic fall with exaggerated theatrics.
For a moment, I hesitated. How could he laugh like Friday night had never happened? My throat contracted at the notion. Anger simmered within me then boiled over, not simply at his apparent carelessness but at how easily he donned this facade of charm and humour with no sign of remorse. The arrogance etched into his posture was as if he basked in their attention. He was eighteen, eleven months older than me, and I still had to endure him at college for another six months until he graduated.
Fuelled by this indignation, I strode toward him with purposeful steps, ready to confront what I saw as brash egotism personified by my moronic brother.
I stood in front of him halting his laughter and apparently startling his new girl with my abrupt approach.
"Yes?" he questioned, eyebrows arched.
"A private word," I demanded.
Marco's arm snaked around Alayna, pulling her into his side. She jolted as if stung, her body recoiled against the forced intimacy as he pretended not to notice. My eyebrows crept up my head and her jaw tightened, turning away from us.
"I'll be two seconds, Helen," he said with a wink.
"My name is Alayna, you fu-," she bit back the insult.
His facade of composure wavered for a moment as a smirk almost blossomed on my lips. She shot me a glare laced with exasperation, rolling her eyes in open disdain. My smirk bloomed into a full grin at this rare display of disrespect towards us—towards Marco. Nobody treated us with such disdain, not to our faces anyway. The Firecracker seemed ready to ignite at any moment. It was both amusing and refreshing to witness her barely contained fury directed at my brother. As Marco hauled me away by the arm, I couldn't help but fix my gaze on Alayna.
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She was odd. And I had always known she was odd; she was a scab. They all had the same look: skinny, unkempt hair, worn clothes… angry looking. She was particularly angry looking. Though I had barely noticed her or any other scab before, today she demanded attention without even trying.
"Alayna is gorgeous for one of them, isn't she? Completely frigid thought. She'll be a tough one to nail, but that's half the fun really." The beam he gave made him look much more punchable than usual.
"Alayna is it? I thought she was Helen," I played along, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh do shut up," he snapped impatiently.
"She can't stand you," I observed, amusement seeping away as I pondered why this fact pleased me.
Perhaps I had lost my mind.
"Yes, she's a bitch," Marco scoffed. "However Rob bet me a thousand ven that I'd screw her before the end of the month and Father has cut me off for a month so I'd rather not lose. I've already technically lost to Rob once this month because of Sarah-"
My face dropped like a stone as I grimaced, "You're despicable. She's dead and you-"
"Oh, calm down! You look like you've been dragged through the hells and I've already heard complaints that people are getting twitchy around you," Marco continued.
I could no longer rein in my temper. "You're unbelievable-"
"Stop shouting," he hissed urgently.
We froze as whispers swirled around; wary glances from passersby reminded us even a loud conversation was enough to get the Hawes family in the gossip columns. I did not want Father to have to make another visit.
Glancing back over Marco's shoulder, Alayna caught my gaze directly with intense blue eyes that saw too much yet revealed nothing. Her lips curved into a strained smile that failed to reach those piercing eyes. I had never really noticed her before apart from when she was screeching at someone who'd upset her. All I knew about her were the rumours people like Rob made up about scabs. They were thieving low lives. They were prostitutes. They were murderers.
Alayna seemed to be none of those things. She was a slim, pale girl with curves in the right places. Legs that went on for days - almost as tall as I was. Her dishevelled auburn hair fell in long waves down her back. If she had been from Central then she probably would have turned heads.
I realised I'd been staring at her for longer than I should have been. Self-consciously, I looked away.
"Tiv, are you listening?" Marco scolded, bringing me back to the moment.
"Yes… I just don't understand how you can make bets, and laugh, and joke like nothing has happened," I replied timidly.
"Of course, it tortures me inwardly often but I just don't let it show," he declared insincerely, "You know, you would have a lot more friends if you could control your emotions. You're too sensitive. Simply follow my lead, little brother, and you'll be fine."
"You have friends for no other reason than you don't mind spending money to get them," I barked loudly.
Loud enough for Alayna to hear and laugh at my outburst. Marco's eyes narrowed and he immediately stuck his face an inch from mine. However before anything escalated, Alayna swore abruptly. We both looked at her to see her lobbing a thick book at someone in her year who had stolen her bag, spilling the contents of it on the wet flagstone as they snatched it. The book flew past the culprit and bounced off a window, somehow not shattering it.
"I'll grab her bag. Keep an eye on her," he ordered, running after the bag thief, no doubt hoping he'd score some points.
I approached her as one might if they were trying to disarm a bomb as she screamed after the bag thief. The crowd Marco amassed had dispersed, none stopping to help Alayna.
"I've spat in it so enjoy that present!" Her enraged shout reverberated off the surrounding stone architecture, drawing furrowed brows from other students.
She crouched to pick up the soggy contents of her bag, stealing glances at me through thick lashes. The flutter in my stomach rose up to my throat, not necessarily in a bad way. Her rosy-pink lips tugged downward and her pale skin was flushed with exasperation.
"I don't need your help," she snapped, eyeing the umbrella I had held over her.
My feet rooted to the spot as embarrassment pricked my neck for having assumed she'd appreciate my gesture. As I stood motionless, the intensity of her glare depended.
"Listen, whatever little practical joke your friends have put you up to, I want nothin' to do with it. Just piss off!"
"Pardon me—"
"I don't give a shit if you're a Hawes. Piss off," she bit back before an insult could come to my lips.
I opened my mouth to snap a retort however no words came. Yet more heat crept up my neck, flushing my ears crimson as I hesitated, words tangled in a knot at the base of my throat. With a swallow that did little to cool my awkwardness, I managed only a sheepish apology before turning to withdraw. She hadn't expected me to walk away without argument and looked at me with surprise.
"No, I'm sorry," she callout out quickly. "It's been a long day."
Stiffly, I turned back toward her and crouched down to assist in collecting damp papers and textbooks.
"You need to practise your aim for throwing books," I offered lightly before wishing I hadn't spoken.
"Oh good. You're a joker like your brother," she retorted with acerbity that sliced through the air.
She was definitely a firecracker. I stayed silent, still feeling my moronic face burning. I must have looked like a bloody tomato.
"Right, no I mean it. I'm sorry. It's been a… a long academic year, actually," she muttered.
"We're only halfway through," I pointed out.
"Exactly," she signed.
"Yes, Marco does often have that effect on people," I agreed quietly. The words slipped out before I could catch them and, realising the truth about my brother's distasteful demeanour might have been better left unsaid, I followed them with a small shrug and broke eye contact as if to discard any further discussion on his character.
It did not work.
She clenched her jaw, "He's a jackass."
The moment the words were out of her mouth she clearly regretted them. Alayna searched for any hint of offence in my expression. Yet when our eyes met again, I allowed a laugh to escape. Nobody called my brother a jackass, even though he most certainly was. Regardless, nobody spoke badly of us to our faces. We were Hawes.
When my childish laughing did not stop, I thought she would scold me again however she joined me, sticking out her hand.
"I'm Alayna. Not Hannah," she offered, a gentle curve lifting the corner of her mouth.
"Tiv," I returned, our hands meeting in a tentative shake that sparked with an unexpected jolt of static. A frisson coursed through me, lingering longer than the brief contact warranted before she let her hand drop.
"So, pardon my intrusion, but why are you entertaining Marco at all if you think he is a jackass?" She looked at me doubtfully so I continued, "I simply don't understand why you bother. The only reason I do is because unfortunately we are bonded by blood."
"You are nosey," she observed, arching one fine brow. My smile faltered into an awkward tilt of my lips and she continued. "I'm heading to his place—your place—tonight for a date so thought I'd give him a chance to prove he can be silent. Maybe he's just full of crap; only hears what he wants to and his ego is as big as a house."
"Well, enjoy your evening then," I teased with a quirk of my lips.
"Don't! This is bad enough with you teasing me!" Alayna retorted, her mock grimace tugging at a laugh from within me.
Marco was right; she was beautiful. I pushed inappropriate thoughts of what I wanted to do with her out of my mind.
"Just feign fascination at his boxing trophies then slip away. He'll bask in self-admiration for hours and won't notice you're gone," I quipped lightheartedly.
She threw her head to the sky with a laugh so sincere it echoed in my chest. Joining in her laughter was easy.
"Did you really spit in your bag?" I inquired, nudging the subject playfully aside.
"Course not. That's disgusting. But you lot clearly think we're infected so the threat of saliva might be enough for them to have dropped it," she smirked.
I pretended to laugh along yet felt my insides squirm uncomfortably. She was under no illusion of what we thought of scabs. I wanted to tell her I didn't think that before I reminded myself it wasn't entirely true.
Our exchange was cut short by the clamour of the bell. She excused herself as quickly as she was able, claiming she was not interested in the return of her bag. As she left, my face warmed, retaining the imprint of her smile long after she vanished into the crowd. It lasted a moment before Sarah and her sister's face came rushing back, almost bringing me to my knees. After observing Marco and his behaviour around Alayna, I began to understand how she could have such a strong influence on him - how he could smile. She was like a flame that drew people in, leaving them mesmerised and unable to think of anything else. For a brief moment, it was as if Friday night never even happened.