07
ALEXA KING
-Present-
Shaw's Diner
September 14, 2018
6:06 p.m.
CHRISTOPHER SHAW IS THE epitome of freedom. He's the type of guy that can make you do anything, the twitching arrow in your moral compass that teeters between good and bad. With those pale blue eyes, he transfixes you into feeling unstoppable, the brush of his skin a piece of what heaven must feel like, his vodka-filled breath icy against a quivering lip.
He stumbles inside Shaw's Diner half-drunk, with his shirt half-open, his lips lifted into a half-grin. His toned chest glistens with what can be sweat or saliva or whatever other substance spread on him the night before. In one hand, he holds the neck of a vodka bottle, the other grips Nari's tiny waist. His long fingers run smoothly against the patch of her skin that's visible, the lifting of her sweater making it easy for her to feel his touch, a piece of heaven on her stomach.
Something inside of me aches with discomfort, the swelling of my veins burning with anger. My hands ball into tight fists, the pressure of my nails digging on my skin fueling this raging turmoil inside of me. But, I can't stop the beating of my heart as my concentration goes back to him. The sight of him going about the diner as if nothing happened, all eyes on him, quenches this nasty feeling that corrupts my heart.
Christopher walks around, greeting people as he talks to Nari. His composure is relaxed while he leans on the long counter that faces the entrance, and he sits on a red floor-mounted stool. He's all toothy grins and natural charm as he talks to his jock friends. A laugh erupts from his stomach as he looks at Nari, his chest shaking with his infinite exhilaration. The tip of his vodka bottle rests on his lips, the warm liquid going down his throat in small gulps, and then his blue eyes land on me.
They catch me as he's in mid laughter, the endless blue swirling around with mischief before he returns his attention back to her. It's brief, a simple glance that's powerful enough to quench this burning threatening to turn me into something I'm not - a monster, just like the rest of them. There's something about the way he looks at me, an intimate secret between the two of us.
As he drinks more out of the vodka bottle, I can't help thinking about all those times down the riverbank, the party blasting behind us, his fingers brushing mine as he passes his bottle to me. Then tasting his saliva, a tinge of salt mixed with alcohol and some cigarette residue, before the pungent vodka overwhelmed my mouth.
I look down at the long crystal glass that contains milkshake, the thick red straw protruding from the fluffy whipped cream cloud that covers the top. A metal cup is alongside it to contain what can't fit in the glass and, as I look at it, I move the straw around, mixing the milkshake with the whipped cream. My eyes trail up as I take a sip, the milkshake going down my throat like a lump. The sweet treat tastes bitter without Melody beside me.
Christopher's already looking at me through his blonde lashes, a devilish smirk curving on his lips. He arches an eyebrow and extends his bottle in my direction, before gulping down what's left of the liquid inside. My heart begins to beat uncontrollably in my chest and something strange flutters in my stomach. It's all too much - too many weird sensations at once - so I look down without returning a smile. I turn my attention away from him in a feeble attempt to ignore him, ignore the fire that begins on my inner thigh and ends in my heart - prevent the dark thoughts that cloud my mind, forget my guilt.
The letter comes to mind, each sentence running through it with a deafening pang, and I try to find a meaning behind it. The more I think about it, the more confused I get, and it all ends up being meaningless. 'You're good as dead' disturbs me, it brings a cold chill throughout my body, one that fills me with an unknown fear. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with the letter; the burden of carrying around something so crucial to an ongoing investigation, something that will determine the truth behind Melody's murder.
Maybe I'm selfish and want to uncover the truth for my own peace of mind, or I'm gripped by fear because of the letter's threat.
I groan, frustrated with it all. My hands cover my face, elbows pressed on the table, and I close my eyes to prevent from crying. I'm sitting on a red booth that's part of a row of booths that's against the front wall, just far enough to reach the end of the local diner. There's a casual atmosphere inside, with sweet conversations and Halsey's Now or Never playing on the background. Life continues for everyone, but not for me.
I open my eyes and take my hands off my face, the piercing orange light that surrounds the diner glowing against the dark of my skin. The strong aroma of coffee mingles in the air, creating a signature smell. I pass a hand through my curls, sighing lightly when I see groups of friends laughing, people singing along the song, couples dancing in the middle of the diner - in the middle of all the madness.
My eyes dart to the Wurlitzer jukebox that's against the wall at the other end of the diner. It's vibrating with music and different colors: blues and purples and reds and pinks. I lower my gaze to the newspaper that's on a page of my Biology book, a single tear tarnishing a piece of the paper. My lips quiver, and I can't resist the memories. They're the only things that bring some type of closure.
Melody and I used to sit on the booth that's next to the jukebox. We would sing along every song we chose, chocolate milkshakes in our hands, carefree grins on our faces. We used to talk about things that no longer cross my mind, speak of a future where we were happy and alive.
Now all that's left of her are paintings and confusing letters. She can only live in my mind, in my imagination, as if she never existed.
I look around my booth, look at Micah who's sitting right in front of me, concentrated on his homework. My father's right, he always is - we all grieve differently. Christopher drinks his problems away, a charming smile always on his face; Micah drowns himself in homework; and I surrender to the numbness, the nothing of it all.
"He's drunk," Nari says, her voice soft enough for me to turn my attention to her. The words stumble out of amused lips, something shared by the two of them.
Half-drunk. My veins begin to swell, heart hammering against my chest, begging for me to do something about it.
"Not drunk enough," Christopher mumbles, trailing behind her.
They stand awkwardly in front of the table. Christopher's looking down at me, a wide smile showing his perfect set of teeth. Beside him, Nari's waving at us, her petite frame close to his body, an arm intertwining with his. Her manicured nails dig into the skin of his arm, the slenderness of her fingers wrapping around a strong bicep.
I can easily imagine it - his skin pale against Nari's olive one, the blonde of his hair blending with the black of hers as he nibbles on the crook of her neck, his chest swelling for her, swelling for her body. I can hear his laughter after they're done, strong and beautiful and filled with giddy. I can sense the goosebumps that dot around her hips as he leaves a trail of kisses, his soft lips lowering and lowering until he reaches her sensitive spot - and she blossoms for him. A piece of heaven inside of her.
It makes me sick.
But the guilt resurfaces with loud and obnoxious images, the events of last summer flashing with the desperate need to be noticed, the begging of darkness. It's curious fingers fumbling with the opening of jeans, hungry mouths exploring unknown skin, lustful eyes surrendering to naked bodies, beating hearts pumping for more, moaning for less. It's me, seeing things I shouldn't have seen, feeling things that shouldn't be mine.
He disentangles his arm from Nari's grip and looks at Micah, who only acknowledges his presence with a nod. "Scoot over," Christopher says, although he's already sitting down and pushing Micah to the side.
Now he's in front of me and I can't help the wild beating of my heart as he looks at me. To have him so close to me, it's dangerous. I lower my gaze and only look at him through my lashes, his expression soft, eyes roaming around my body in search of something. Something.
Nari taps my shoulder gently, pulling me out of his reverie, and when I look up at her, she ushers me to move. That's when I see it, when I notice it after months of not seeing him with it - the short, black sweater Christopher used for Sebastián's party, the soft one with some scratchy places, the one that's now adorning her body.
I move to the side and slide my Biology book toward me, my blood boiling with something that's more than just anger, more than just jealousy. It's pure and unrelenting rage. The kind I haven't felt in months, warming my skin enough to cause discomfort, closing my fists in preparation for chaos - the palpitations of the heart, the boiling of the blood, the swelling of the veins.
"Are you guys back together?" I blurt out, narrowing my eyes at Christopher.
He looks at me in a suggestive way, eyebrow raised as if to ask what are you doing, a bright smile curving on his face. The amusement is glistening in his blue eyes and a vein pops out on the side of his neck, the one I love to trace with the tip of my finger.
"Maybe," Nari says, disinterest in her voice. Her slender, manicured fingers flip through the diner's menu in painful slow motion. "I don't know anymore."
"You guys never know," Micah mumbles, turning his attention to Nari while pushing his glasses back. "I mean, you fuck anything that moves."
Nari laughs, a screeching and unamused laughter that echoes all around the place. "Fucking is life, man. You should try it. It might do you some good."
"I think you like me a little too much," Christopher interjects, a smirk forming on his lips.
There they go again - coming up with snarky remarks, spitting out things that only make sense to them. Their own little inside joke. As Christopher looks at Nari, his blue eyes glinting with mischief, lips twisting into a lopsided grin, something deep within me breaks.
"Fuck you," Micah mutters, rolling his eyes.
Christopher shrugs lazily, the indifference oozing out of his body. He lurches forward, taking some peanuts out of the center bowl, and then leans back. "Nothing wrong with it," he says, throwing a peanut into his mouth. "I'm down for something new."
Nari snorts beside me, containing the laughter that's caught in her throat. "Please, Chris, you're straighter than an arrow," she says, a giggle coming out. "I should know. Remember that threesome we had some while ago? Your dick was hard as fuck when you saw me naked with that other girl."
I whip my head in her direction, my body feeling as though it's on fire. My breathing accelerates to a point where it doesn't feel like breathing anymore, a lump growing in my throat. I have to blink this aching pain away and bite my tongue before something stupid stumbles out of my lips. A piece of heaven is in Nari and that other girl, and probably in every girl who's willing to travel through hell in order to receive a blessing.
Christopher looks at me, an innocent fluttering of the eyes enough for me to know that he understands what's going through my mind, and then turns to Nari. "Your point?"
"My point?" Nari bursts into laughter, clutching the sweater adorning her petite figure. "Well, we tried to have another threesome with that other guy and your dick was a no-show. It was flaccid as fuck."
His lips twitch until they stretch wide enough to form a beaming smile. He's forever the charming type, all handsome face and flirty aura. "I'm good at acquiring new tastes," he says, picking more peanuts. "I adjust; I adapt. Part of my nature, I guess."
"Not everyone likes you, you dumb fuck," Micah mumbles, his demeanor relaxed, eyes concentrated on his homework. "And no, I'm not down for your homosexual tendencies. You should try with some other guy."
Nari snorts. "You're a fucking homophobe, of course you're not down for it."
I can feel the tension forming in the air, thick and ready to strike whoever utters a word in this new-found silence. Micah glares at her, his green eyes loosening all signs of serenity, freckled cheeks tinging with a soft pink hue. In return, Nari looks at him with a raised eyebrow, manicured nails tapping the table.
Despite the tension growing with each heartbeat and everyone's eyes on us, probably thinking we're talking about something Melody-related, the only thought that crosses through my mind is him. Him, him, him.
"Are you gay?" I blurt out and, as soon as it happens, I notice how stupid it sounds.
They look at me, dubious and quizzical, except for Christopher. He purses his lips, the smile dancing in his endless blue eyes. He wets his bottom lip with his tongue, the same tongue that tastes like salt mixed with cigarette residue, the same expression he makes before going all the way down.
"You know the answer to that one, Alexa," he says softly, a breath that's intimate; something holding a promise. "You, of all people, should know."
I gulp down the words that scream his name, the sentences in desperate need to be said, the paragraphs of feelings reserved just for him. Silence is always louder, so I let the beating of my heart do the talking.
"Why her of all people?" Nari says, tapping her nails against the table loudly. "Shouldn't it be me?"
The beating of my heart turns from warm to cold. There's a painful nagging in my chest, the guilt pooling on me with all its force.
Christopher rolls his eyes to her. I know he meant it as an eye roll but portrayed it as a shift of concentration. "Don't be jealous," he says, looking at me. "Alexa's an observer. She likes to see what others don't."
As soon as the words come out of his mouth, I'm filled with memories of last summer, the shame of it all making me cringe. His eyes hold malice, a playful glint that demands attention. I find myself attracted to the darkness.
"She notices things from just observing people. You know, the whole process of deducing and coming to a conclusion," he continues, biting the side of his bottom lip as his eyes trail down to my cleavage.
"So, you observe her?"
He rolls his eyes, but the smirk never leaves his lips. "I observe every pretty girl. She's pretty, you're pretty, Catalina over there is pretty." He shrugs and points to Catalina, who's taking orders in the other end of the diner. "What can I say? I'm attracted to pretty things."
The bell tings again, catching my attention. Logan enters the diner and looks around, until he sees us on a faraway booth. He's wearing a white long-sleeve shirt, his curly top wet, his eyes tired and distant. With just the sight of him, it instantly hits me - we've been here, talking about sex and sex-related things, while he's been mourning Melody.
But, then again, everyone grieves differently. While Christopher drinks, Micah does homework; while I surrender to the numbness, Logan drowns himself in pain. Nari must be handling it with sex.
"Hi," Logan says, sitting down next to Christopher.
He puts his face in his hand, using his elbow for support. There are no tears in his eyes, but I suppose that he no longer has any. That's the scariest part about pain, or mourning for that matter.
"How are you?" Nari says, placing a hand on his arm.
"Aight." He shrugs, taking his face off his hand to brush his nose.
Micah shuts his Calculus book and looks at Logan. "You don't look all right."
Logan sighs. "Dude, I'm not in the mood to fight with you."
"What's wrong?" I mumble and nibble on my bottom lip.
"Besides Melody's death, it's all peachy," he says, the sarcasm piercing through my heart, making me flinch. "I got the fucking police breathing down my neck with all their damn questions: 'Where were you? At what time was that? Did she seem strange? Did you sustain sexual intercourse with the victim before her death? Do you have an alibi for that?' I'm so tired."
"It ain't a suicide and the fucking police is still lying to the community," he continues, glaring at Micah.
Micah rolls his eyes, his glasses sloping on his thin nose. As he looks at Logan, he resembles his father: strong demeanor and an even stronger jaw, his face the expression of solemnity. "They're not lying, they're just retracting information until they have some leads. Wouldn't want to put Levittown in a frenzy," he says, glaring at Logan. "Besides, everyone knows she was murdered. If my father, and therefore the police, were to provide all the information they have, people would begin to want more than what they're providing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I understand, dipshit. Don't have to go all smart mouth on me." Logan glares back at him, his hands forming into fists. "You're as close as we can get to official information, so excuse me for having an opinion. Your father is leading this case, so it would be good to fucking know what's going on. I'm tired of being in the dark, man."
It isn't Micah's fault nor detective Ellis'. They've been put in a difficult situation and, by Micah's sudden silence, it's clear that he's struggling with all of this too. But, we're all dealing with her death in our own way, and that's what makes Logan's point all the more valid. The problem is, I don't want to pick sides.
My eyes trail down to the newspaper on my Biology book, the same one I've been struggling to read for the past couple of days.
"There's a whole article dedicated to what happened," I mumble, clutching the newspaper's sides until they crease a little. "Her murder is the prime source of everyone's entertainment."
Nari scrunches up her nose, her eyebrows furrowing the more she concentrates on the newspaper. "Ew. Who even reads the paper anymore?"
Out of all the possible reactions, she had to go with that one. Something inside of me breaks, a piece necessary to control my sanity. I can feel the veins swelling beneath my skin, my heart skipping an extra beat, the hunger to cause chaos rattling inside of me. It's the darkness, appearing to dominate the anger within me. And, just this once, I'll let it in.
My lips curve into a smile as I read who wrote the piece. "Maybe you should take a look," I say, the darkness flooding in my chest with a satisfying pang.
But, before she can see her mother's name, before I can even pass it to her, I see it:
2018: 911 transcript before Melody Tryniski's murder
There are rumors circulating around private personnel and officials in the investigation, regarding a nine-one-one call made by Melody herself. It seems that, before her death, the now deceased Melody Tryniski tried to reach for help through an operator, but failed to receive it. It's not yet confirmed if the existence of this call is true. However, we have reliable sources that assure its existence.
Nari groans as soon as she has the newspaper in her hands, but I don't care at all. What's supposed to bring me a small fraction of happiness seems dull compared to what I'm reading right now. This piece of information, the one Melody warned me about in the letter, changes everything. It quenches the darkness, its sweet momentary pulse of relief.
"I told her not to get involved," Nari grumbles, closing her eyes in exasperation.
The nausea starts to revolve in my stomach. My heart pounds harder and harder, until I can't breathe. Everything's closing in on me - my friends as they fight to see the article, the walls as they turn more and more red. Every part of my body grows cold, white, alert.
It's all real.
I close my Biology book and stuff it inside my bag. "I need some air," I whisper, pushing Nari to the side until I'm finally on my feet.
As I walk away, I can hear my friends' disagreement. The tears blur my vision as I pass crowds of people that are laughing, enjoying their night. And, once I'm outside, the night's darkness consumes me.
It's much more comforting than the darkness that plagues this small town.
•Word count: 3,608•
This chapter is long, but it's one of my favorite ones. I had so much fun writing it. I'm currently ahead when it comes to written chapters, so I'll warn you that the next two are just as long (but I'm trying to make chapter ten shorter).
But, honestly, I write without a specific limit. If it's crucial to the chapter, it stays with the chapter. So, what did you think of the chapter? The characters? There's important information scattered here and there 🔎👀
Feel free to correct any grammatical errors, but be kind about it. Tell me what you think of this chapter.
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