Living With The Emerson Girls

Chapter 19

~Ariel's Point of View~

I'm screaming. Shrieking, yelling and crying. The music continues to block me out as my fists pound against the closet door. Anger is fueling me, filling me with a horrible white hot rage. My face feels hot and my heart feels as if it's being ripped out my chest. Why me? Why me? I can hear Brooklyn's sick voice, low and soft, and I can see her claws tracing demonic patterns on Zachary's bare chest, his adorable button up lying on the carpeted floor.

This was supposed to be mine. What once belonged to me is on the other side of the door and so out of my reach, even though I was deluded enough to think he might have been in my grasp. Suddenly my anger directs itself to Zac. If he had never involved himself with Carolynn we would've never been in this mess! I knew we shouldn't have come to this stupid party.

It feels like years but eventually something wills me to lose consciousness.

*****

~Zachary's Point of View~

I have no recollection of the events of last night. My head turns to face the window of... my room... in New Jersey? Why am I here? The sky is dark outside. It must still be early. Springy, plush material under me tells me that I'm lying in my bed and then I remember.

Ariel.

This was supposed to be special and good enough for Ariel. Was it?

I don't fucking know. I'm so hungover that the thought of a coherent thought makes me head throb. It doesn't matter. We'll have the chance to do it over and over and over if she wants to. I turn over and wrap my arms around her small body. It doesn't quite feel familiar though.

"Mhm," that nasally, sick, demented voice responds, "you wanna do that again, baby?"

Instantly my eyes fly open. The naked woman in bed next to me does not have familiar soft brown hair, or a huge smile that conveys more emotion than what she's feeling. She doesn't have the same scar on her arm from a childhood accident, or the cute crooked nose that that she hates but I love.

She is not Ariel.

"What the hell?" The air's too thin in this room. "Where's Ariel?" I growl.

Brooklyn sits up, covering herself with my sheets. There's a stray rose petal in her hair, and a hickey on her neck. I refuse to believe that I gave that to her. I don't remember it. I do remember Ariel leading me up the staircase, I remember Ariel in my room.

"She left the party, Zac," Brooklyn smirks and lets out an insincere giggle.

"You're lying!" I blow up, shoving everything off my dresser. Brooklyn cowers in fear. That psycho. Every molecule inside of me is threatening to wage war on the wicked siren in front of me. I want to kill her. I want to hit her. I want to. But I know that Ariel would never forgive me, Brooklyn or no Brooklyn. I would be the very thing I don't want to be, a product of my genetic code.

I turn around and grip the dresser, shaking from my rage. The party is still going strong downstairs; the DJ is playing a shitty song sung by some singer with a shrill voice. But I know Brooklyn can hear me, even when my voice lowers itself to depths I did not know possible.

I have a thought that lowers myself to depths I did not know were possible.

"Where is she, Brooklyn?" I turn around and let my eyes pierce into her.

"I already told you, she-"

"I don't believe you. I don't fucking believe anything you're telling me." I grab my button up and slip it on, slowly, as she watches me. I slip into my jeans as the idea develops in my mind, taking a dark, sinister form. When a party full of wasted teenage boys and bitchy, rich private school girls, and a naked teenage girl meet, it doesn't exactly end well. For the lone teenage girl.