The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

Rook

“Your aim sucks.” Silas looks over at me while smoke rolls from the tip of my tropical-flavored Swisher Sweets.

I place the wrap on my lips, holding it there, pointing the paintball gun up at the football teams’ scoreboard. We’re lying a few feet back from it, the Astroturf digging through my jeans, practically burning my ass.

“I said yes to vandalization. I never said I would be good at it.” I puff on the end of the blunt, letting the funky-smelling smoke soak into my lungs, giving me that feel-good high I need every once in a while.

It’s not about numbing anything; it’s about curbing the impulse. For a few hours, that itch on my palm is sated just enough to let me get through the day without blowing someone up.

I’ll see a guy being a douche or just walking down the street with an arrogant smirk on his face, and all I can think about is what he’d do if he were wrapped in flames, drowning in gasoline. That’s normal to me. It’s odd to me that no one else thinks that way.

Weed is keeping me from being homicidal.

Plus, it fills up the emptiness for a while. All the smoke makes me feel less of a void.

I shoot the lime-green paintballs onto the board, creating more of a mess on the already coated object. You can barely see what’s beneath the yellow and green paint, and with football already into preseason, they’re not going to be happy about it.

“Feels a little like a rite of passage, doesn’t it? Last prank on the football team,” I say, coughing a bit, my head light and my body humming with awareness. The warm summer air is starting to get colder every day we approach fall. “I fucking hate this place, man, but it’s the last year of all of us together. Last of everything.”

Silas remains aloof, showing little emotion, not because he doesn’t have any, but because he doesn’t like expressing them. He very rarely reacts to things that normal people would, and even though I know he loves Rose and cares about us, I know relationships are tough for him.

Relating to people. Understanding them.

He’s different—he sees the world in a different scope than everyone else, and he sometimes looks like he doesn’t care about anything, always seeming humorless or emotionally cold.

Even when he’s with Rose and she smiles, it’s maybe a lift of his lips, but he never really shows he’s happy, unless you look at his eyes.

I think that’s how Rosemary wiggled her way into his heart. She could read in his eyes what his face would never express. She saw all the way inside of him and took that information and tried to understand it.

Truth is, no one would ever really know what’s in Silas’s mind. We’d never be able to relate to it, but I can try to protect him from it. Even if he hates me bugging him about taking his meds.

Because he protects me.

Well, a truth of mine.

“There are cars,” he says as the whistle of bullets rattle my ears, more paint exploding against the sign. “Planes. Trains. Subways. Lots of ways to travel, Rook. It’s not the last of anything—we just have to get jobs, and you won’t be able to burn down buildings anymore.”

I laugh, feeling it build in my stomach as the effects of the weed start to crest. I mean, he’s right, and I know I’m overthinking ’cause of the pot, but it’s still a scary feeling for me.

The word “family” was lost the day my mom died.

And found again at a country club while I was trying to blow up firecrackers.

Leaving Ponderosa Springs was never a question, but leaving them, that’s a different feeling.This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

“And you’re still set on staying? Can’t talk you out of it?” I ask, even though I know he has no reason to leave, not like I do.

“Nah, I’m here until Rose graduates. She wants to go to Hollow Heights, so I’m with her until the end.” There is a bluntness in his voice, calm, so dead set that even a stranger walking past would know he meant what he said.

“Your parents gonna be okay with that?”

“They’ve been trying to get me to leave since I was diagnosed.” He sighs. “They love me, so I get it. They never wanted to see me go through the ridicule here—they still don’t—but I’m not leaving Rose. So they also know there is no talking me out of it. Plus, it’ll be easier to intern at my dad’s company in Portland.”

He’s the only one with good parents. Great parents, even. Scott and Zoe are successful, happy with three sons, and love them in a way parents should.

Crazy that even someone with a steady environment can still crave destruction, isn’t it?

I take another hit, finishing it off and tossing the butt onto the field, knowing it will singe the shit out of the fake grass.

“Are we done being nostalgic? It’s hurting my head, and we gotta go pick up Rose.”

“Where is she?” I ask with a nod of my head, letting him know I’m ready to leave.

“Tilly’s, studying, but her sister’s boyfriend and his swarm of friends showed up, and I don’t like her being around them.”

“A chance to shit on Easton and I get a burger? Where do I sign?” I reach my arms above my head, stretching as I stand up.

“We are going to collect Rose, and that’s it. No fighting.” He grunts, walking in step beside me.

“Yeah, no fighting. Got it.” I grin as I reach into my back pocket, grabbing one of my Lucky Strike matches and placing it between my teeth.

I wouldn’t start anything. I usually never do.

But I would finish it.

Tilly’s Diner is a short drive from the high school, and when I’m on my bike, it takes maybe six minutes to pull into the parking lot with the neon sign illuminating the asphalt.

I shake my hair out of my eyes when I pull my helmet over my head, swinging my leg over the bike while Silas pulls into the parking space next to mine. Tilly’s is packed. Unsurprisingly, considering it’s a Saturday and this is where every dude with Axe cologne lingers and girls ready to gossip congregate.

I feel sorry for Rose, for the fact her twin sister is a raging, ego-filled mean girl. And since Rose hates driving, most of the time she has to tag along with her. Even if she doesn’t want to.

Her parents, I am guessing, think if they surround Rose with the “right” people, she’ll see how bad we are for her. They think she’ll get bored, see what her life could be if she ended up with the people on the right side of the moral scale, instead of the boys that are the tarnished stain of Ponderosa Springs.

In the years we’ve been alive, we’ve damaged the reputation of this town and its people. We’ve taken their hierarchy and clawed it to pieces. The Donahues are afraid their precious little girl has completely turned to the dark side.

They are right.

And they aren’t getting her back.

Silas pulls the glass door open, stepping onto the checkered floor, and when we cross the threshold, all voices cease to exist. The fully packed diner becomes quieter than a mouse’s footsteps.

We are the things that don’t belong entering a place we are not welcome.

It’s as if we’ve just walked into church or some place of worship.

And everyone knows, holy ground burns the feet of the damned.

I grab Silas’s shoulder. “What? Is there something on my face?” My voice rings through the space, crackling and popping in their ears.

Some of them stare openly in shock; others hide their gazes, fearing that we’ll make eye contact with them and possess them or do something wicked. Women grab their purses, men slit their eyes, girls tighten their thighs, and boys try to act tough.

Silas starts moving, stalking towards his girl with purpose. Her body is tucked into a small booth by herself. He wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to get in and get out—he hates being around this many people. Even if he’d never said it out loud, I can see it in the way he holds himself.

I follow behind him, watching as her gentle eyes raise, meeting her boyfriend’s. Everything fades for the two of them, the anxiety drops from her shoulders, and relief washes down his back like water.

Jealous isn’t the word for what I feel about them. I don’t like Rose like that, and I can admit when guys are attractive, but Silas doesn’t do it for me like that.

But sometimes, very rarely, I wonder what it would feel like for someone to look at me like that.

Like I’m more than a problem. A mistake. A monster. Lucifer.

Someone who looks at me like I’m human.

Rose gathers her things quickly, sliding from her place in the booth, bringing my attention to the others around her. Members of the football team sit together, some of them on top of the booths themselves, their flavor of the week dangling on their arms.

In every way besides monetary, they are our opposites.

We are all rich, and that’s where the similarities stop.

If there was a wrong side of the tracks in Ponderosa Springs, we’d be over there. All the while they stare over at us from their balconies and perfectly trimmed lawns, looking at us as if our clothes don’t cost just as much, as if our families aren’t just as affluent.

None of that matters because our wealth is covered by the stench of danger. Ruckus. Violence.

We’re the people parents warned you about when you were growing up, the boogeymen beneath your bed. We are abominations to this merry-go-round town where everyone plays their part.

And nobody plays their parts better than the prince of all things high-and-mighty and his darling little princess that sits by his side.

“Hey, guys, ready to leave?” Rose mumbles, throwing her book bag over her shoulders as Silas pulls her into his chest, holding her to his body.

“Hey, Rosie girl.” I reach forward, ruffling her hair. “Let’s go find some trouble to get into, yeah?”

I’m joking obviously. Joking is the way I cover up the hollowness inside my chest. No one knows how the laughs echo inside of me. Because I have nothing left.

There is a light cough, followed by, “Lowlifes.” It’s low, muffled, and it causes the group to laugh under their breaths.

I roll my match across my upper row of teeth, grinning around it.

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you with those cocks in your mouth. Wanna say that a little louder, Sinclair?” I step past my friends towards his side of the booth.

Easton is as pretentious as Gucci flip-flops.

I’ve hated him since I met him—we all do. This mentality he carries that he’s a god amongst others. The way people think he walks on water, and he fuels that kind of attention.

Whoop-de-fucking-do.

His father is the dean of an overpriced university that’s sinking into the soggy ground. Hardly anything to brag over. But like most, Easton knows how to play the people here.

He smiles for the papers, wins football games, pretends he’s hot shit.

But even perfect has cracks, and he’s full of them.

“Rook.” Rose grabs my forearm, doing what she does best and trying to keep the peace.

I laugh her off. “No, Rosie, it’s fine,” I start, putting my hands on their table, looking down at Easton. “I’m just having a friendly conversation with my good pal Sinclair here. Isn’t that right?”

My eyes burn into his, daring him to make eye contact with me. I hope he does so he’ll see what everyone else does—the pits of hell. How I’ll roast him alive if he insults me or my family again.

Except he does what pussies do and looks everywhere but my gaze.

“I said—” He clears his throat, smiling through this uncomfortable position. “Have a good time.” He shrugs it off as something lighthearted.

He and I both know what he said.

Bold for saying it in the first place.

Smart for not repeating it to my face.

“That’s what I thought, champ.” I slap his back, hard, knocking him forward a bit. When silence remains, I decide to give Rose what she wants and leave.

“What a joke,” a softer, more graceful voice buzzes in my ears, “Bringing the insane clown posse in public, really, Rose? Could you be any more embarrassing?

Pressure falls on the match in my mouth as I tighten my jaw.

“I wonder what that says about you and your crew of Abercrombie and bitch.”

We make direct eye contact, and her blue-flame-colored irises battle with my own. Not for a second does she flinch, her gaze never leaving mine.

Sage Donahue.

What a fun time it would be spinning you around my finger.

She laughs pointedly. “Ha, that’s good. Especially for a guy I thought read at a fifth-grade level.” Her pale blue nails swirl in her tall glass, filled to the brim with a pink-colored milkshake. “The fact she insists on defending you four, I wonder, is she naive or do you just like ruining her life?”

Rose and Sage are twins biologically, with similar hair color and freckles. But Sage’s are more sporadic, wildly thrown around her face, and Rose’s seem more compact to her nose. In the way Rose tries to blend in, Sage does everything to stand out.

It’s rare that I go toe-to-toe with Ponderosa Springs’ Sweetheart. The girl with a notorious silver tongue. Of course, we have known of each other; how could we not? Small town, plus my best friend is dating her sister.

But we never went out of our way to cross paths.

“It could be that she isn’t afraid of living her life outside of her bubble-wrapped world. Maybe she enjoys not having to pretend. The dark side allows for you to do things you’d never think of doing in the light.”

My gaze follows her scarlet-painted lips, the way she wraps them around her straw, staining the white material. She takes a few sips before pulling back to reply, “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

I smirk. “No.” I shrug, sarcasm covering my tone. “Every set of twins has a sheep. Nothing to be ashamed of. I’m glad you can own it, Sage.”

“Sheep?”

“Yeah, you know, the one who submits to everyone’s expectations. The meek. Feeble.” I take my time with each word, tilting my head a bit to see how she’ll react to them. “Powerless. Watered-down twin.”

Sage Donahue is able to cut everything and everyone down with one sentence from those red lips. They all bow to her, follow her—nobody ever questions her.

Easton Sinclair may believe he’s running the show, but she’s always been pulling the strings.

Anger sizzles in her eyes, and my smile only grows.

She is burning with rage at my response, fighting to keep her cool, unbothered exterior intact, but that snow-white skin is starting to melt underneath the pressure of my words.

The urge sweeps through me, something that normally only happens when I set a physical fire, but this time, power pours over me, knowing I’ve set flames into the pit of her stomach.

“And that’s me? The sheep?” She arches her eyebrow, tossing that curtain of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder.

“If the shoe fits, princess.”

Something inside of her breaks—I see it, the flames contorting into a wildfire of emotion. Her mouth opens, ready to spill every harsh word she can possibly come up with.

I’m ready, ready to watch her erupt and explode all over me,

only to have it ruined by her boyfriend, who has stepped up to save the day.

“Alright, dickhead, that’s enough. You’re taking it too far.” Easton stands up, but I don’t bother moving from my hunched-over position on this table.

I simply glance over my shoulder, looking him up and down, running my tongue along the inside of my cheek. “Yeah? And what are you going to do about it, jockstrap?”

He might try to hire someone with daddy’s money to fight me, but he’d never do it himself. Too bad for his reputation, too much of a pussy, and he knows I’d put him six feet under.

“Rook,” Silas says behind me, “not in front of Rose.”

“Yeah, you heard him, dog. Follow your leader and his bitch,” Easton says, causing Sage to gasp as she grabs his forearm, jerking him back towards his seat.

I’m not the one who moves this time. Silas shifts so he’s standing next to me. There are certain buttons you don’t press when it comes to me and my friends. They’re all different, but when you hit them, you get similar reactions.

“Watch your mouth.”

Apparently, Easton had pumped himself full of testosterone today because he has enough balls to respond.

“Watch your mouth,” he mimics, rolling his eyes. “You think you’re tough? Walking around blasting emo music and wearing black? You’re fucking pathetic. Freaks. No one is afraid of you.”

“Guys, please, I just want to leave,” Rose whispers, pulling at our arms.

The match in my mouth snaps as Easton continues to dig his grave deeper and deeper.

“A son of a serial killer, a spoiled brat, a schizo, and a dude with a dead mom who apparently prayed to Satan. Congratulations, you’ve succeeded in becoming Ponderosa Springs’ very own freak show.”

I never was good at controlling myself.

Not my hunger, my lust, my anger, my urges.

I feel nails digging into the flesh of my arm, pulling me back, but all I can see is Easton Sinclair sweltering over a fire, begging me to put him out.

“Not here,” Silas mutters close to my ear. “Later.”

Letting this go is the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to back down. I don’t want to leave while he’s still wearing that smug grin on his face. But I know what will happen to him.

We always get our payback.

I cover my rage with a smile. “If you ever wanna back that pussy-ass mouth up, Easton, you know where to find me.”

My eyes cut to Sage, ignoring her shit sack of a boyfriend. “And you,” I start. “This was fun, doll. We should do it again.” I add a wink for good measure before I flick the match away, pluck the cherry out of her milkshake, and pop it in my mouth.

I chew the sweet fruit, watching as her diamond-cut jaw tenses as she peers over at me. I almost got her mask to crack, pushed her just a little too far, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not ready to watch the repercussion. For a few seconds, those eyes flick to my lips, watching the juice fall from my mouth.

Compulsive, menacing, heedless ideas circle my mind. I know I shouldn’t. I should leave her be. She’s the one girl I should not fuck with, but that makes her that much more enticing.

Sage is a poison apple. Too pretty for her own good, but could kill you with one single bite. Even at the thought of that, I’m still ready to sink my teeth into her.

I was never the one who thought things through. I act on impulse only, and right now, the only thing on my mind is showing her exactly what she’s been missing.

“I can’t wait for the day you come searching for trouble, princess. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The cracking of skin against skin echoes in the space, my cheek burning from the contact she’d made with it. I still feel the way her nails dragged across me. The pain lingers on my skin, my chest throbbing for more.

I roll my tongue on the inside of my cheek, grinning smugly.

“Over my dead fucking body, pyro.” She seethes.

Yeah, I’m so going to enjoy watching her little boyfriend burn beneath my feet while I take his girl right out from underneath his fucking nose.