Devious (2 page)

“Well, my taxi is here,” she said as she held my baby sister Lola to my face. “Give your sister a big kiss.”

I kissed my baby sister, and rolled my eyes. “You always like leaving me alone.”

Mama groaned and through her head back in annoyance. “Leanna, this is my big shot. I’m doing this for you and your sister. If I win this show, I get one-hundred thousand dollars and a contract. That will pay for your college and a new car.”

I perked up, “A car?”

“Yes, any car and if you're lucky I can get you a purple car,” she smiled. “I'll email you all the details about this show as soon as I find out. I won't be able to sleep if I know you don't support me.”

“I love and support you.”

“I also said I would pay for your college.”

“Selective listening, mom...
selective listening
,” I smiled.

She walked to the doorway, “Okay, well, Derek left. And you have to promise to be the good girl I know you are.”

I ran over to her, leaned in to kiss her soft lips, and hugged her. “I'll be safe and hopefully alive when you get back.”

“That is not funny!” she laughed. “Gosh, you are just like your father. You both have twisted sense of humors.”

With my sister attached to her hip, Mama rushed out the home. Lola was waving frantically as she was strapped in her car-seat. I felt like I was in a movie, where the main character regrets not saying something. But, I said everything that Mama really needed to know—I loved and supported her. Plus, I wanted a purple car.

As the taxi pulled away, my cell phone began to ring. I locked the front door, because that was how our neighbor got killed by leaving it unlocked and then I ran through the halls. It was just a text from another guy.

What are you doing, sugar?

Just as I was ready to text back, my phone rang again.

Baby, come down to the bar.

And again...

I have a bottle of Jack with our name on it.

But, none of the texts were from the one I wanted.

I sat back down on my pillow and wondered why me. Why was I cursed with this...attention? I did not enjoy it, but I secretly loved it.

I’m lonely
, I replied back.
It seems I only go out when I’m sad.

I turned my phone off and turned my television on. The only thing good on was the local news. I liked watching the local news because they had a smoking hot news journalist, Robert White, who covered the Riverbed murder story.

“...Riverbed is a tiny town, with zero crime rates since this incident. The town is in shock—complete disappointment and they want answers. It's said that a male, dark skinned, long hair, and very slender was killed. Police are not releasing who he was, but the town already knew him very well...”

I turned the television off, thinking about who they said was a male, dark skinned, long hair, and very slender. Their description was far from that. He was rather, tanned like a beach boy, had shoulder length shaggy hair, and he was extremely buff.

Maybe I was one of the very few who did not miss him, considering he had snapped photos of me from under my skirt weeks prior to his death. It was embarrassing knowing that his family possibly searched his bedroom and went through his camera to find my butt in fifty percent of the film.

It was bittersweet knowing those were the type of men Riverbed had to offer. Most people who grew up in Riverbed, married there, and then eventually died there. Men always died at least ten years before their wives, leading to convalescent homes on nearly every block filled with brittle women.

Sometimes I was glad my mother did not stay with my father. He was a tall sophisticated man who drank his wine with his pinky up and smoked cigars with a fur coat on. He also talked like he was the king of England, and was arrested for saying he was the God of the world. He would write me letters from a psych ward at least twice a month, telling me to sell his screenplay to Morgan Freeman.

Some people were just ticking time bombs.

Chapter 2

Video Games

How I ended up on a bar table, is a mystery. And how I was allowed to get into that bar, was all luck. It was my twisted idea of fun. My friends were way older than me by just years, but they all attached to me. They told me I made them feel pretty. But, they made me feel alive.

I sipped whatever was buzzing in my glass cup as I watched Tyler swap spit with a Hawaiian Mexican Italian barbie bitch that wore a size ten but insisted to squeeze her ass into a five. I remember when I was thirteen, she was seventeen and had the nails of a frisky cat. She said, “Baby, just wait until you're twice my age, then every guy in Riverbed will be after you.”

Back then I was a flat chested, no hips, skinny legs, little girl. I remember I had a crush on a seventeen year old but he would just laugh in my face and then walk away to the prettiest girl in the room.

I was way ahead of that barbie bitch. She thought of me as child meat, but now she thinks of me as competition. And I was winning her own game.

The room began to spin as I laughed and someone lifted me up onto their shoulders. I had a little summer dress on with floral print, that flew up as he lifted me.

Every man in that room had a woman, but yet I was the one they stared at. Maybe they thought I was easy, maybe they thought I was fun. I screamed at the top of my lungs and everyone in the bar cheered for me, holding a glass up in praise. The sad part was every one knew I was underage by at least five years. It was not that I looked younger, but it was a small town. We all knew each other.

Tyler, who was dressed like he was some hipster from NYC, walked over to me from across the bar as I sat on some muscle man's shoulders. He tugged on my dress, “Leanna, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Aren't you having fun yet?” I slurred. “Come join me up here. I think this macho man can hold us both!” I laughed and sipped some more alcohol.

“You have school tomorrow, Leanna,” he said. “Get down from there!”

Tyler grabbed me and threw me over his shoulders. It was times like that when I was glad I was not overweight. Except my head was in the wrong direction and I could feel the shame fluid easing its way out my mouth. I began to gag as he stomped his way out the door.

We approached the curb, and I began to shiver, barely realizing I was dressed inappropriately. He sat me on the grass and tried to pull my dress down to cover my thighs. I could feel the wet grass going through my dress, and that made me wonder why our town did not have sidewalks.

“You embarrass me, Leanna.”

Luckily, I was drunk out my mind. “Huh?” I gagged and he handed me a trash bag from the 99 Cent Store. I held the smelly bag to my face, not wanting to vomit. “This bag smells like your armpits!”

“I can't talk to you now. Call me when you are sober or at least in the right state of mind,” he snapped. “I don't understand you sometime.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I'm so over you.”

“Baby, but...but...”

My eyes began to get blurrier and I searched the outside area for Tyler—but he was gone. All I could see were hundred-foot trees that danced in the cool wind. I rubbed my palms on my body, waiting to see if Tyler would come back for me. A man was not supposed to leave a vulnerable woman alone on the street. Maybe Tyler was not a man—he was an asshole. And it barely took me until that moment to realize it.

I stood up with wobbly legs and with my arms extended for support. I knew I did not live far from the bar, so I headed west—wherever west was. I spun around, trying to see the homes, but all the homes looked alike.

I could have asked a kind gentleman from the bar to drive me home in his pickup truck. Except, there were no kind gentlemen willing to drive me home without something in return.

I began heading west as if I knew where west was. Mama always told me, “When you're lost, head west.” That was probably the worst advice I ever received.

“You're going the wrong way!” shouted a man, with the voice of Johnny Depp.

I jumped in fright, too afraid to reply back. I could not see him, so I began to walk faster through the grass; or at least I tried to in my six-inch heels. “Oh my gosh, it's the murderer,” I whispered to myself. “My dad is coming to pick me up. He'll be looking for me!” I lied to the man.

The man laughed, his voice getting closer. “You shouldn't be around here alone. You know this town isn't the safest anymore.”

I opened my already big eyes wider as the man stood right in front of me. He was all tattooed, shirtless with jeans on. And he had shoulder length black hair and a cigarette hanging out his mouth.

“Miss, are you okay?”

I turned around to walk the other way. But, my knees gave out and I collapsed onto the wet lawn. I could hear the man running over to me. He leaned down for me, with a cigarette still hanging out his mouth. I shoved him off my fragile body and jumped back up. “I'm fine!”

He leaned back and shook his head in confusion. “Did you just come from that bar?”

“Why do you care?”

“Come inside and rehydrate yourself. You look so pale,” he insisted as he pulled me.

“That's my skin color, you jerk. And if you think I’m going to get naked because I’m drunk, you're wrong! You may have been told things, but Leanna Vita Cruz does not sleep around every Sunday night. I have values.”

“I'm Christian.”

“So, you have values too?”

“No, that's my name. I live here,” he chuckled. “I've seen you around riding in roofless cars.”

I rolled my eyes. “With boys—I’m positive you've seen me with boys.”

He smirked and his face began to get clearer as I began to sober up. He did not look so scary anymore. Maybe unapproachable to an average person because of his sleeve tattoos, but I liked tattoos. If he were scary, it would be too late—I would already be on his murder list.

“I've never seen you around,” I muttered. “Are you new here?”

“Nah, I’ve been staying with my dad and helping him out. I lived in Hollywood, but I finished film school so I had to move back home.”

“Oh, so you're older...” I rolled my eyes again.

“And?”

“That's all this town has to offer—old sick men.”

“I'm not that old—only twenty-three.”

“You didn't say you weren't sick,” I snapped as I sat on the curb.

“I have a bad stomach flu now...so I would be lying,” he joked.

I laughed, and put my head down. “I'm fine, Christian. I’ve just been a little uneasy lately.”

“Do you mind me asking why?” Christian said as he sat down on the curb next to me. He offered me a cigarette and I snatched one before I could even think about it. “You're a very pretty girl. Why would you be so...I don't know...out of it?”

“Well, the love of my life, as cheesy as that sounds, hates me, my mom is gone, and I don't know where my father is—and I have a fear that I might one day reproduce with a half-brother or something. My mind is always busy. I want to pass out from being drunk but my brain won't shut off. I guess life is just too beautiful,” I mumbled.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’m damaged goods.”

“Leanna?”

“Yes?”

“Let me take you home. I would hate to turn on the news tomorrow morning and your picture is on TV as the next victim.”

“No, that's okay. I live down the street. Seriously...”

“I'll walk with you then. You probably don't want to ride in my beat up car.”

I turned around and stared at Christian's black Honda that was missing it's passenger window. “What happened to it?”

“Aw, I got into a fight and some asshole through a rock into the window.”

I chuckled. “That's the story of my life...minus the car.”

“I don't really know what that means, but that's funny.” He pulled me to my feet and stared at me for a second. “What street do you live on?”

I pulled my heels off and wiggled my toes in the lawn. “Um, that way...” I said, forgetting the name of my street and then realized I was on my street. “You don't have to walk with me,” I teased as I began to walk away, “honestly I don't really trust you.”

“I know you're joking,” he winked. “Because, you have that wicked smirk on your face.”

I began to run as the water sprinklers sprayed out ice cold water. Christian ran too, still a few steps behind me. I turned to look at him, and he smiled.

He was thinking about me.

***

I was waiting on the porch for Derek so he could take me to school. It was a surprisingly hot Monday morning so I wore my infamous jean shorts and a plaid shirt. I kicked a rock with my converse tennis shoes as the seconds dragged on. “Typical late men,” I said to myself as I curled my hair on my finger. I yawned and frowned at my ghostly appearance in the reflection of the window—I hated being hungover.

My neighbor, Mrs. Carol pointed at me from across the street, “Waiting for one of your men?” she mocked. “Pathetic slutty girl.”