Wayward Prince

An entry from Shelby's Journal

August 28

Steve talked me into going to a party with him and Daniel last night. It was bad from the moment I stepped in the door.

While Steve and Daniel started off with drinks, I searched the house for somewhere quiet, anywhere that wasn't overstuffed with people. I was already starting to feel myself begin to lose it, but I finally found the Arcadia door and it was pure luck that the backyard was empty.

I stepped out onto the back porch and took a seat on the two unnecessary stairs that led to the grass. The sky was covered in thick, heavy rain clouds and the humidity in the air made the night even colder. I wrapped my arms around myself. That was about the extent of my alone time.

"Not one for crowds?" Came a voice from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder to find Raymond Wayward sitting on the porch swing, a drink in his hand. He was looking at me like he'd been looking for a while, probably since I came outside.

My heart began to race. I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. Should I run back inside? Was Raymond worse than the crowd?

He took in my expression and chuckled as he rose to his feet. He was tall, taller than I remembered. His legs were long and his jeans hung low on his hips. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you."

I rose to my feet and watched, frozen, as he took a step near me. He held my gaze as he took a seat on the top of the steps and made himself comfortable.

"I actually..." he coughed and cleared his throat, finally looking away from me. "I wanted to apologize for that." For the first time I met him. For him pinning me against the side of that building and scaring the shit out of me just to keep me quiet.

I didn't believe him.

He stared at the liquid in his cup. Probably beer or something. "Really. I didn't mean for you to see all that."

"I'm sure you didn't." The words were bitter, clipped, and come out before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked up to meet mine. He didn't say anything.

My curiosity got the best of me. "What did you do to that kid?"

There's a moment of hesitation and I waited for him to snap at me and say something foul. But all he said was, "Not much. You got there before I could actually do anything."

I dared to ask, "What would you have done to him if I hadn't come?"

"Beat the shit out of him, hopefully." There was no remorse in his voice.

"How could you say something like that?" I questioned, taking a step forward.

He frowned at me, like the answer should have been obvious. He opened his mouth but instead of replying he just took a sip of his drink, watching as the patience began to drain from me. "You don't even know me. Who the hell are you to judge me?"

I was quiet. He had a point, though I didn't want to admit it.

His scowl that had so quickly appeared vanished. "I'm sorry. I came here to apologize, not to make things worse."

I frowned. "Why don't you go apologize to that kid you were seconds away from beating up a week ago?"

"Because he's an asshole that deserved a lot more trouble than what I gave him," he said without even hesitating.

"What could he have possibly done to deserve getting beat up in an alley?" I questioned.

His expression changed. I could tell the moment he closed himself off from me. "Just forget it." He rose to his feet, turning to go inside.

"Raymond!" I shouted.

He stopped and looked back at me, waiting for me to say something.

I didn't know why I'd called out to him. I didn't have anything to say. This guy scared me, I reminded myself. He's not a good guy.

"What?" He asked me.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

He sighed through his nose, making his nostrils flare. And he walked away.

I stood there for a minute on the grass. The air grew colder around me and I felt goosebumps on my skin but I hardly noticed it.

I didn't like Raymond. Compared to Steve, I hated him. It made since why Steve never brought him up. If Raymond was my brother I wouldn't want anything to do with him either.

I needed a drink, I decided.

So I headed back inside. I went straight to the kitchen, fighting through the crowd. Luckily a large chunk of people had disappeared to some other end of the house—I heard pounding music and drunken laughter coming from the basement, so I assumed that's where everyone was. There weren't any solo cups left on the kitchen counter. I checked the cabinets to find something to pour my drink into.

"Shelby?" Steve's voice.

I turned around to find Steve standing in the corner of the kitchen, swaying on his feet. His eyes were glazed over. He was drunk. But that realization flew to the back of my mind when I noticed his nose. There was something wet under it.

Blood. And enough of it for me to know that it wasn't just a bloody nose. Steve's nose was broken.

"Steve?!" I exclaimed.

He opened his mouth to respond, and then crashed to the floor. I ran over to him and turned his face towards me. He was out cold.