The Return

Chapter Forty One

Scarlett

Friday May 15th 2018.

Farida's nineteenth birthday was a themed gathering in Scarlett's living room because Farida had one condition for not running to Jenna-Sue Leighton about Scarlett's affair with Nathan Pinbrough.

Host a party in her honor.

It was less of a teenage rave and more like a banquet giving the proceeds from the entrance fee to the prom committee.

"I was wrong about you," Cynthia said running her fingers down the length of Scarlett's arm.

She was drunk as a skunk.

Scarlett shrugged off the girl's arm.

Oblivious, she reached over again, this time, tightening her grip. "You would have been an asshole if you didn't do this for her." Her laugh was drowned out by the music thrumming through the walls. "Like, can you imagine, calling someone your friend and not doing something special for their birthday?"

There was no fleck of regret in her conscience. What she did with Nathan... "I've gotta' go, thanks for coming," Scarlett pushed Cynthia onto the floor and vanished into the swarm of slow dancing bodies.

The backyard was off-limits, upstairs off-limits. The kitchen and the living room were fair game.

Mr. Jonathan was out of town for the weekend which meant there was no way word was getting back to Jenna-Sue.

She hated it. Being around so many people that weren't Nathan. He was spending less time with her and more at Lincoln Lane playing tug-of-war with the school's board of directors. Getting back, he was always too tired to cuddle or talk. He was getting sick of her and how needy she was. It was only a matter of time before he left her like everyone else.

By the door, a throng gathered welcoming everyone with a slur and a laugh. The girls wore dinner dresses with high slits and plunging necklines and the guys kept it corporate casual in blazers and plain shirts.

A microphone screeched. The volume dropped. Heads turned toward the makeshift stage at the top of the stairs. "Thank you all for coming," Farida said. She was dressed in a shimmering grey dress that clung to her curves and drew attention from her arm in a cast. "As you know, prom is around the corner, and as a member of the committee and with the help of my dear friend, Scarlett, we have organized this get together to celebrate not only my nineteenth birthday, but to gather enough money to make this year's prom a night to remember."

Eyes turned to her. To the girl who tried to cower into the shadows in her own home.

"Didn't she fuck our English teacher?" Someone screamed from the bay windows.

The music was back. And Scarlett was gone.

She shoved past the bodies in the kitchen. Most of them were gathered by the cooler reaching for a beer. She slipped into the night. Cold air ran through her thick curls. The clouds rumbled, hanging low. It was going to rain. And hopefully, cleanse the fucking town of people like Farida and Lucas and...

"Didn't think you would make it," Malcolm's hands were in his pockets. He was at the other end of the pool. The wind whipping at his pant legs.

"It's my house." She called out. She hugged herself. He was the last person she wanted to talk to.

She eyed the cigarette butts mashed out by the pool.

"It's a nice night, don't you think?"

"I wish lightening could strike the right spot and set this fucking house on fire."

He walked around the pool. He stopped by the stepladder, his eyes on the back door. It was wide open. Someone wandered out. It was one of the happy drunks. He leaned over the side of the deck and puked.

Scarlett recoiled at the sound. She didn't dare look. When he was done, he pumped his hands in the air and jogged back inside slamming the door shut.

Malcolm was beside her when she turned. She bit back a yelp. Her heart frenzied in her chest. "You've been avoiding me since..."

She took a step back.

"Do you blame me?"

His lips were pressed in a thin line.

He took a step forward.

She took a stance, hands crossed over her chest. She couldn't show fear. They fed off her weakness. "Or are you going to act like you're not fucking the birthday girl?"

"It was a spur of the moment thing," He said softly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

She laughed. It wasn't a giggle or a chuckle, it was a genuine laugh from her stomach. The type of hysteric laughter that brought a tear to her eyes. The type that if Dr. Bradley heard, he would up her dose of Citalopram. She was clutching her stomach, doubled over, and trying to catch her breath. Maybe she lost it. Two weeks before prom night and she went mad.

"Is that the reaction you wanted?" She rested her hands on her knees. She tilted her head up looking at him. "A spur of the moment thing and I'm the bad guy for being with someone that cares about me?" She wiped the single teardrop that slid down her cheek. "Everyone in there thinks I'm a slut, they think I am the one that broke Lincoln Lane's most iconic couple," She made air quotes around the words iconic couple. "They don't know about the abuse; they don't know that you're fucking the birthday girl and they don't know that you're a selfish piece of shit that's only using me for a plastic crown." She pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek.

Her stomach lurched and she flung her hands onto his chest. He didn't stop her. "You hit me, Malcolm or did you forget?" Her hands curled into fists. "You let your friends disrespect me..." She was breathless, tears running down her cheeks. She didn't stop punching till her arms grew tired and her knees weak. "I trusted you, Malcolm. You made me trust you and the second I did, you gaslighted me, you manipulated me and you reduced me to nothing. Are you happy?" She took a step back her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Are you? You dirty bastard."

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"But it did, Malcolm. It did." She breathed in as much as she could and held it. "I'm an addict because of you. I'm in fucking rehab."

"You're not an addict." He said meekly.

"Are we going to act like the whole school doesn't know I overdosed on Pot and Molly?"

Breath, hold release.

"Go, enjoy the party. Be with your real friends."

"You are my—"

"Don't you dare." She pointed at the back door. "Get the hell out before I call the police."

He didn't think twice before turning and heading up the deck steps and through the back doors.

Alone, she let the night breeze carry her ear-piercing shriek.