Hael Harbin

Brittany isn’t surprised to see me waiting outside the front entrance of Fuller High for her. As soon as she steps out the front doors and into the dappled shade of the school’s front walk, her eyes find mine.

“Oh, Brittany!” one of her friends coos. I think that one’s our babysitter, Jennifer Lowell or something. Have I ever fucked her? I think, chewing on the end of a cigarette. Jennifer squeals and yanks on Brittany’s arm, hopping up and down like she’s still in diapers. God, I hope not.

Then again, I did fuck Brittany and here we are today, suffering for it.

Did all that fucking make you a better man than your dad, Hael? I wonder to myself, but then Brittany’s striding up to me in a loose-fitting dress that catches the breeze and plasters the fabric to her belly, showing off the rounded bump.

That right there was almost my bump.

I take a drag on the cigarette and blow smoke into Brittany’s face. Instead of pissing her off, she blushes, like she actually enjoys being treated like shit. That’s how it worked for us for a while. She kowtowed to me, and I treated her like crap. We both have daddy issues that manifest in different ways.

“Can we talk?” I ask, but it’s barely a question, and she knows it. What I don’t think she understands is how serious her fuck-up is. Havoc isn’t like the football team here at Fuller High. We don’t steal lunch money and give freshmen swirlies. Like, Brittany is lucky we have some iota of compassion for her fetus. Otherwise, she’d probably be buried on Tom Muller’s property already.

Brittany gives a curt nod, throwing Jennifer a long-suffering stare.

It takes the dimwitted girl several seconds to figure it out before she winks conspiratorially and then reaches out to pinch my bicep. I let her do it, but I’d rather break her arm. The thing is, I don’t know if Brittany’s wearing a wire, if her VGTF daddy will show up, whatever. I have to act carefully here—especially considering this is my fault to begin with.

“You’re here because of the arrests,” Brittany says, and then, when I raise both my eyebrows at her, she adds, “and the rape charges.”

“Oh, just that pesky rape accusation. Brittany.” I lean down and put my palms on my upper thighs, like I’m speaking to a small child. “You are a rat. And a liar. You broke your deal with Havoc.”

Her entire face flushes red, and she nods. She still isn’t getting it. Like I said, Fuller High … is a very different crowd than Prescott. Shit, the Oak Valley assholes are less naïve. Rich people are fucking awful, cutthroat and nasty. They’re more used to this kind of thing than the middle-class Fuller brats.

“I know. I just … Hael, I really did love you.”

I just stare at her, and Brittany flushes, reaching up to comb her blond hair over one shoulder. It’s a much more yellow shade than Bernie’s. Bernadette’s hair is nearly white, with ashy gold tones. Dipped in red the way it is now … I have to exhale and look away, standing up straight and running a hand over my face to keep my focus.

“No, you didn’t,” I correct, glancing back at Brittany. She’s peering up at me like she thinks we might actually get back together. I’m far more likely to kill her. Why can’t she see that? But, like Bernadette, Kali haunts me. My father was quite literally put in prison for murdering a pregnant girl, some prostitute he picked up with his friend Travis. My skin ripples with disgust. I know that Aaron had no choice, that I would’ve done the same or worse to Kali, but I don’t really want to hurt Brittany.

Too bad she gave us no other option.

“Hael, look, this was all my father’s idea, okay? I told him not to press charges,” she sputters, like she’s done me some huge fucking favor.

“You know how awful it is to lie about rape?” I ask her, because I have a serious fucking problem with it. Seeing men hunt Blackbird the way they do, I can’t stand anything about it. I’ll choke a motherfucker to death, but I would never rape someone. Never. Besides, a real man can get ass without forcing it to happen. “Your point-zero-zero-one bullshit makes everybody else suffer. Get it together, Brittany.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think my dad would take it that far. What’s the problem anyway? You got out, didn’t you?”

I give her a look as cold as ice, the wind rippling the limbs of the willow trees that line the front walk. Students move around us, backpacks flopping, phones in their hands. Every now and again, one of them looks at me like they’re afraid.

Good for them.

I can’t very well tell Brittany that Bernadette almost died because of her, so I just shake my head.

“You broke your deal with us,” I repeat. I have to be so fucking careful about what I say. Brittany wearing a wire is a very real possibility. “You know what that means, right?”

Brittany just stares up at me with angry brown eyes, her full mouth brushed with gloss and pursed into a thin line. She’s annoyed, rather than afraid. I have a feeling she won’t grasp the severity of the situation until Callum is putting a lighter up against the sensitive skin of her underarm.

“Look,” I start with a sigh, knowing that I’m supposed to be here playing a part. I’m fucking it up royally, too. Victor does a better job with Trinity. Bernadette did a similarly terrible job with James. My lips twitch in an almost smile as I take another drag on the cigarette. The genuine expression of pleasure on my face helps seal the lie. “I have to tell you something. You’re gonna be pissed, but it is what it is.”

Brittany leans into me, wrapping her arms around my bicep in a way that she used to do when we were dating. I think about Oscar, about him being a goddamn virgin. I mean, it’s not that weird to be one at seventeen, but … I make fun of him because I’m envious. He has control that I never had.

“What?” she asks, her voice breathy in a way that I used to find attractive, but which now just sort of annoys the shit out of me. I take the cigarette between two fingers and lower it away from my mouth, letting the smoke trail in a gray arc behind it.

“The DNA test,” I start, readying the lie to my lips. Bernie’s face last night, when Victor and Oscar laid out this part of the plan, man but it was priceless. She was furious. She might actually like you, eh, Hael? “Oscar tampered with the results; the kid’s mine.”

Brittany’s face lights up in a way that almost makes me feel bad. Almost. I mean, the idiot is leveling rape against me when she’s the one that panted after me like a bitch in heat. I wish I found more pleasure in destroying other people. Really, the only thing that gets me off is when I destroy myself.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Brittany finally says, her cheeks reddening even further. This is, like, a dream come true for her, but she at least has to pretend to be pissed off about it. I hate telling this lie, hate it, hate it, fucking hate it. It’ll help protect us though, help protect Bernadette. Brittany will be more pliant, more willing to please.

After this … it’s all up to Cal. I don’t do torture. Explosives, sure. But not torture.

“We need to sit down and discuss what we’re going to do,” I say with a long sigh, like I’m just another Fuller High asshole who made a mistake and found himself with a baby on the way. It must seem like the end of the world, to people who’ve never seen the edge for themselves. “Maybe we could get together and talk?”