The Edge of Tomorrow

7

"The fading afternoon, my thoughts of only you. I'm here but you dont see. And Im not really sure if I'd be better off a hundred miles away. But I could never stay to watch you fall from grace."

Chapter Theme Song: 'Let Me Go' by Ron Pope.

TW: Chapter Heavily Contains: •Sexual Assault, Sexual Coercion. If you are triggered by sexual abuse and assault, please do not proceed.•

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Becca

Tee was too excited about the pool party at Colt's, while I was struck with a feeling of indifference. I didn't like partying much, as opposed to my sister Bionca. We were on two different sides of the spectrum. She would party occasionally, then return home to study all night. Oftentimes she'd be too tired to close her room door and on my way downstairs, I would spot her at her lamp table in her shiny short dresses, hair matted, face still coated with makeup, eyes fixed in a large textbook.

My sister was perfect, and I sort of see why my parents worshipped her so much.

Richie came to pick me up at half past eight. He drove his pearl white pick-up truck, the cargo bed already filled with his noisy crew from our school.

"Damn, looking lovely, Becca!" Chris whistled from the back where he stood hunched over the bar of the truck, and Johnson let out a faint laugh, splaying his arms over the ledge of the cargo bed. He had a way that he looked at people, as though he knew something that you didn't.

I knew not to let Chris's compliment get to my head. He had probably behaved that way with every girl Richie dated. I was wearing a penny plain tank top and a pair of Bermuda shorts, nothing to create a commotion about.

And then...

I saw my boyfriend, and my heart beat in the wrong rhythm. Not like: oh, he's so hot, but in a way it'd beat if you were trapped in a room full of scary-looking armed men with loaded pistols in their possessions.

Fast, irregular. Like drumming your fingers to off-beat music.

Richie sat in the driver's seat with his elbow hung over the ridge of the window, his ring-clad fingers tapping against his steering wheel. I knew what that elbow was capable of. A lit cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as usual, smoke fusing through his nostrils. Mishima sat proudly in the passenger seat next to him, fixing her white tube top, plucking something from her teeth in his drop-down mirror, but it didn't bother me seeing her there at all. Richie would oftentimes drive unbelievably fast, over 100 mph, and I couldn't handle the stomach cramps that often came with being that close to death.

So, I didn't care for the shotgun. She could stay there. Forever.

As I opened the door to the backseat, planning to sit with the boys, Richie removed his burning cigarette from his mouth, brows scrunched up in repulse as he looked over at an oblivious Mishima, who was cleaning her teeth with her tongue, glittery, long-nailed hands squeezing her boobs together.

"Hey, my girl's here now," Richie told her, nudging her elbow a little too roughly.

Winston refused to move over on the backseat to give me room as though he had to wait for Richie's verdict. Richie's sentence. What he says goes, you know. If you don't know that, you've been living under a rock. I shuffled on my feet in the blistering cold, watching as Mishima glared over at Richie.

"What?"

"He said his girl is here now, so you gotta retire from the front seat..." Levi repeated. He was the quietest of Richie's friends, but still unbelievably rude as they all were. Curly blonde hair, skinny frame, thick girly lips. His pale blue eyes narrowed in Mishima's direction, like she was the dumbest person he'd ever met. "Shot gun's for wife. Come sit your ass around here. The fuck?"