Trigger warning: sexual assault. 

SONG: Nick Jonas - Jealous

🌼

April Levesque

"Oh. It's you."

Overwhelming rage courses through me. I want to see him suffer. Hushed, I turn to leave—

"Have you seen Derek and Tanner Matthews?"

"They're not here."

The sky is a brilliant black, angelic and tremendous. The opulent neighbourhood is embroidered with dying cherry blossom trees, their petals scattered across the sidewalks like a wedding aisle. In the distance, the city's skyscrapers blend with the soft hum of traffic. The night is so beautiful, I crave a peaceful solitude to gather my thoughts. Too bad he's here to ruin it.

"Wait!"

My hands freeze on the doorframe, wanting to leave. "Yes?"

His shadow stretches toward me. "I want to talk to you. Please. And, erm, don't worry." He tries a smile, and it almost looks genuine. "I won't bite."

"You expect me to believe that?"

He hesitates, hooded and analytical. He looks disheveled, wearing a worn-out hoodie and flabby jeans that hang loosely around his hips, almost showing his rear—ugh, I hate when guys are dressed like this. His dreadlocks are tied into a low ponytail, revealing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. "I get it. But I'm not the enemy here."

I swallow the bitter taste of bile rising in my throat, quickly flickering to the rooftop. They're too drunk. I don't need anyone to protect me. But if Bodie attacks, will my strength be enough?

Bodie follows my hopeful gaze. "Why are you friends with that crowd?"

"That crowd is huge. Who do you mean?"

"You know who I mean."

"I'm not friends with them."

He tilts his head, his dreadlocks falling aside. "Your Prince Charming is." As if on cue, Roy's laughter rings out, loud and carefree. "You attract what you are. You're a reflection of who you surround yourself with—reflections of your subconscious."

"He's not friends with them. He's just being polite."

"So no one could piss him off, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He lazily shrugs. "Birds of a flock stick together." In the dim light, I discern a tattoo creeping up his neck, barely visible beneath his shirt. "Did Roy tell you about Ishaan Shah? No? Not surprised. You're a good girl, April, and good girls deserve to know the truth—like how your boyfriend got away with murder. Twice."

The air grows heavy. "Murder?"

Roy's glass nearly slips from his grasp. If someone in our school died, I would've remembered the name.

Bodie distantly stares past me. "Ishaan Shah was found dead on an empty street. Guess who the culprits were?"

Phlegm clogs my throat.

"You know, I've done a lot of shit," he continues, his voice low. "But it opened my eyes to how the world works. People are blind, April. They don't want to see the truth because ignorance is bliss. Status, upbringing—it all shapes who we are. And people like Roy, Rhett, and Hunar? They're the worst kind."

I shake my head. "You're-you're lying."

His eyes harden. "Why would I lie? They're prejudiced. So are your fucked-up friends. Camila, Aasvhi, Destiny—"

"I'm not friends with Destiny. I hate her."

"But your friends are. Camila's casually racist. Her Black friends give her the pass, so she calls me the N-word more times than I can count. Aashvi hates anyone who's not straight and uses her religion as an excuse. And Destiny? She degrades anyone who's better than her—"

My chest tightens. "I'd know if they're like that. Especially Roy."

"But you don't," he says, this time strangely soft. Pity. "You don't see it because you're too caught up in your brother's death. And for that, I'm sorry."

My breathing grows ragged. Get a grip. He's messing with you. Just leave—

"Did Roy tell you about his ex?"

Silence.

Bodie smiles sadly. "There's a reason he moved from London, April. He's not who you think he is. He's hiding something. Something dangerous. Talk to people from his old school. They'll tell you the truth."

"If what you're saying is true—about Ishaan, about Roy—why didn't you go to the police?"

"You don't think I tried?"

My heart sinks. I never experienced it. Mum did.

Bodie sighs. "But enough of that."

He steps forward. I instinctively step back. His face flickers with sadness. "I just want to talk. Please, April. I'll stay here, far away from you, if that makes you feel safer. I just... I need someone to listen. No one else will."

"What makes you think I'll listen?"

"You're strong. You're fearless. You stand up for what's right. In a way, you're more like Derek. You both hate hypocrites, and you're both good people. Just... hear me out. I don't have much time left—" He freezes, realising what he almost said. His hands retreat into his pockets, his eyes pleading.

I glance at the kitchen. The others are too absorbed in their conversations to notice us, and I see many settling to smoke inside.

Curiosity gets the better of me. Reluctantly, I nod for him to continue.

He advances slightly further, maintaining the promised proximity. He tries to begin, but his pain is too melancholic to scream the truth out at once. His lips quiver, and for a moment, it looks like he might break down. Instead, he quickly closes his eyes, his exhale smoking the air.

My Cross singes my collarbone like a brand. "Wow." Of course, he will say something nonsensical. It is so foolish, I scoff. "You make me sick."

That was enough to break Bodie Banks into tears. The wind whimpering, moonlight sings through the breeches in the clouds, caressing a soft glow over his collapse to his knees. His fingers quake, consumed in pain. His shoulders shake uncontrollably, a silent sob escaping him, one hand clutching the wet grass for support.

"I didn't do it. I didn't do it," he chokes out, tears streaming down his face. "Lord knows I'd never hurt a girl." His voice cracks as tears drip onto his thin, quivering lips. "It—it happened at Ines's house. They were drunk. They told their parents for help. Camila's father came to my house and threatened to hurt my family if I ever told anyone."

With trembling hands, he pulls out a small bag of pills. "I do this for my family. In a fucked-up world like this, life depends on money. We depend on it so much—human over God—that Aashvi's mother offered me ten grand to keep me quiet. I refused. I've already got too much shit on me, like that fucking old man expecting me to be at his doorstep like a fucking slave. I don't need their filthy cash—"

"You deal drugs," I interrupt coldly. "The money you get from that is just as filthy."

His mouth slams shut. I've hit a nerve.

"Like you said, I don't like hypocrites." Was that too harsh? "Did you want to tell Derek and Tanner this? Their friends are here. I can get them for you."

His pain mirrors mine. "You don't believe me."

"Sorry, I can't."

"Why?"

"Why? I've seen the aftermath of what you did to Camila—"

"Did you see me?" he whimpers. "I couldn't walk... I still can't. Ever since that day, a part of me was stolen. My dignity. My sanity. I don't know. It broke me so much that I don't understand how I can keep breaking down every day."

"She had bruises all over her body!"

"Did you see them?"

I hesitate. Aashvi told me. Destiny told me. I never saw them myself. That day, at the party, we had to run.

Still, Camila's suffering endlessly. The way she tortures herself is heartbreaking. Bodie's audacity to convince me she's at fault is sickening.

Bodie's every flicker of hope extinguishes. "Forget it." With a deep, prayerful inhale, he unsteadily rises to his feet. "You deserve better. A man, not a boy." He stuffs the bag of drugs into his back pocket. He doesn't bother wiping the tears from his face, letting them streak down his cheeks like snail trails. "Roy's afraid of you. You don't realise it, but that incident last October?"

I met Ines Chey through Jasmine Saint. Jasmine met her at her brother's basketball game—Ines's school was the opponent. Turns out, Holden Tasse wasn't really cheating on her. 'Cheating' was the less triggering term Destiny ignorantly used. Holden was friends with boys from our school, and together, they lured girls into the dorm bathrooms and sexually assaulted them. Forced them to give blowjobs, stole their dignity, and left them broken. I reported it to the police. The offenders are now in juvie or jail.

"You're not afraid to humble the wrong," Bodie continues. "And any guilty person would be afraid of you—"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Roy stands in the doorway, gripping the pearly curtains. He tramples onto the grass, scrutinising the distance between us. "What the fuck is going on?"

*

Bodie wipes his nose with the hem of his pallid shirt, tears parched on his bronze cheeks, his mourning lips as bruised and chapped as autumn leaves. "We're just talking."

Roy averts his bothersome cynicism to me. "Why the fuck are you fucking talking to him?"

"Wh-what?"

His glare constricts. "I said why the fuck are you talking to him? Do you need hearing aids?"

The baby hairs on my neck stands upright like soldiers at a firing squad. I couldn't respond, too dumbfounded at this uncanny demeanour, this microaggression, the way his voice rose.

Bodie protectively steps in front of me. "Watch your mouth, cunt—"

"The fuck did you just say?"

"You talk to her with respect." Bodie demanded the last word aggressively.

Roy's jaw clenches so tightly I hear his molars grind, his face darkening like a stormcloud. "I can talk to her however the fuck I want to."

My voice cracks like thin ice, "Excuse me?"

Bodie's glance over his shoulder at me is as soft as a candle flame."Anybody ever tell you you're way too good for him?"

"Let me fucking remind you why you're the way you are—" I push in front of Bodie, a human shield halting Roy's seething rage. His glare flashes with something feral, a hidden newness clashing with acute bewilderment. To Bodie, "Get out."

"I don't want to leave you alone with him."

That provokes my intuition to scream. "I've been alone with him many times." I cup his arm reassuringly. "It's fine."

Bodie checks his platinum watch—a gleaming anomaly against his frayed sleeves. "I'll go. But I'm tired of guys like you. If anything happens to her..." His threat hangs in the air like smoke. "Charlotte."

The name hits Roy like a physical blow, and his pupils dilate until his eyes are ominous pits. "Get—out," hissed Roy through gritted teeth.

"You hurt her," Bodie threatens again, "I got friends who'll happily destroy you. I bet they'd even hire an assassin to kill you in your sleep." He quickly locks a warning with me, as heavy as a tombstone, and the building swallows him.

The moonlight disappears.

"What was that?"

His response pisses me off. "What was what?"

"You were so..." I hate to say it. "...aggressive." His shrug irks me. I flicker to the balcony. "Okay, then." I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious. "Who's Charlotte?"

He freezes mid-breath. For a second, I feel the fickle of guilt, sharply disguised in an exhale. "My ex."

"You never mentioned her."

"She's irrelevant. Crazy, actually."

"Did you do something to her?"

"Be careful of people like Bodie." His voice is suddenly smooth, too controlled. "Stay away from him. He's a pathological liar—"

"You didn't answer me—"

"I don't want to!"

I flinch into the glass doors. My heart jackhammers against my ribs, trying to explode and escape.

His hands cup his mouth, muffling a grunted curse. Slowly, the unusual anger forcefully subsides. "I'm sorry. It's my first birthday without Dad ... and it sucks."

"Oh." Stupid. Of course. "I'm sorry."

"No." He approaches and tightly hugs me as if he's terrified I'm a mirage. "Don't apologise. I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you. It's not right."

At least he's self-aware. My forgiving arms enclose his waist. "Did he visit?"

"No, but it's okay." His breath reeked of liquor; his clothes a saccharine scent. "He's busy, anyway." He places his chin on my head, my eyes peeking over his shoulder, at the terrace. No one noticed us. "Thank you."

I look up at him, noticing how tender and affectionate his smile is. "For what?"

He thumbs a rogue strand off my cheek, his simper unwinding and unwinding. "For being you. I'm a mess and I don't know how you keep up with it."

My arms slide up. "I have my ways."

"You do," he agrees and kisses me. Softly. Lovingly.

I deepen this interconnection, hoping it diminishes his despair. His lips are sweet, tasting of liquor. He cups my nape, slanting my head up. In the next second, our kisses intensify so heavily — quick, concise and needy — that my chest constricts, solidifies at the lack of pause, of breath. His tongue skims my bottom lip, imploring for an entree. Leisurely and sensually, his hands dive to my hips, grasping the flesh of my thighs beneath my ruffled yellow dress.

He heaves me up, earning a gasp. He thieves this chance, his tongue thrusting inside. My legs lock his stomach, arms lock his neck. I couldn't help the moan that left me as I felt his rocked groin. Our tongues exploring, a quarrel of power and command, but there was something different in the way he melts into me.

His cold-warm hands compress my ass. My hair wisps forward as he moves us to a table, situating me on it, gently pushing me back. I shudder at the coldness, his body towering over, cramming into mine, kissing me again as if he wants more, as if he can't get enough. 

The ends of his blond hair prickle my cheek as he angles his head, his hips and crotch grinding hard onto mine, his mouth executing wonders on my neck and shoulder. Oh my. He quickly covers my mouth, and I harshly bite his palm, a moan muffled.

"Fuck," he groaned as I wrench his hair, his rubs severely increasing. I bite my lip, eyes fluttering close in ecstasy as I arch my back, my breasts grazing the thin material of his shirt.

A feeling of exultation overpowers me. The world disappears into nonexistence as we're both lost in this moment of felicity. He's gripping my thighs so tight, red marks will certainly be left behind.

The crows' melody weakly returned my senses, the slightest flicker. "Roy," I breathe. "We should stop ..."

"Roy ... wait ..." 

It is when he abruptly trundles my dress higher up my thighs, anxiety deluges me. The door is wide open. Only a thin curtain separates us from the inside. If someone sees us ...

"Stop."

"Stop."

"I don't want to do this. Not here."

He either didn't hear my weakening voice or chose to ignore it.

"Stop—Ow."

He bit my neck. Stinging pain erupts.

"Stop." His fondle escalates to my breast, mauling it so firmly, it hurts. I whimper. "Roy ... Please ... Stop ... Stop!"

His hands unzip his jeans—

I shove him off me. He staggers backwards, hitting the emaciated bark of the tree, startling the crows. Deadly shocked on the table, in a burning chill, I watch them flee in a croaked song.

I haul up, his cold eyes enlarged and stunned. My chest heaves and heaves, a challenging, ragged breath. His grey boxers and a significant bump is exposed. Bile rises in my throat at the sight. My hands shaking, I get off, smoothing my dress down, gripping the edges of the table.

I'm scared.

"You—You were groping me." I couldn't look at him.

"Yeah," he mumbled incoherently, insensitively. "Alright."

"Alright?" I echoed. "It's not alright. I told you to stop ... So many times ..." I practically begged, as if death was near.

His jaw clenches. "Didn't seem like you wanted me to."

Scarred tears brim my eyes. What is this? "I said it, Roy."

Jeans zipped. "Your body said otherwise."

Is he being for real? "I said it," I repeat, my voice rising in fear. "I said it and you didn't listen!" I feel exposed. Dirty. Destroyed. 

His eyes are darker than usual. "What is this, April? You were into it a second ago and now you don't want me. Is it because of your fucking religion?"

I clench my hands into fists. Why can't people respect each other's values? "You're drunk right now. Talk to me when you get yourself together."

"No, let's talk now," he says brusquely. "I don't get it! You say all these things that make me go insane and I just want to fuck you, but you don't want to do it. How does that make sense? And who waits till marriage? What, do you think you and I will last that long?" He laughs. "Come on, babe, you're supposed to be smart."

I got carried away. I realised Roy is drunk and high. Frankly, it doesn't have to be after marriage — I'd rather do it when I know I am fully prepared. This ... this occurred in the spur of the moment, in the midst of longing that was so sudden.

"Admit it — you're a coward."

"That doesn't make me a coward."

"Why?" he shouts. I cower. "Why are you not ready?" He shoots a hand at the table. "You definitely wanted me to fuck you."

I don't want to show myself to Roy if he continues to act like this. Sure, he's drunk, but: "I prefer to do it when neither of us is wasted. Not everything is about sex—"

"Sometimes it is."

I swallow a surging, miserable block. "Were you embarrassed when Rhett asked us if we had sex?"

Roy doesn't have faith. Not that it's a bad thing. He doesn't understand that my religious values interfere with my everyday train of thought. We had this talk before and he respected my decision. Where is that respect now? Or was it all a show?

You don't know what's happening around you because of your brother.

He takes a step forward. I automatically move back. A reflex.

He stops, astounded and upset by the reaction.

"Why did you get so angry when I was talking to Bodie?"

"Because he's a guy—"

"Oh, so I can't talk to any boy then?"

"Not when you're with me."

Wow. "Do you trust me?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with this?"

"I never suspected you of anything. Never doubted you. Now it sounds like you're doubting me—"

"I'm not doubting you!"

"Then why did you act the way you did? A relationship has to correlate around trust, Roy. Trust is the source of a relationship. Without it, it will never work out. If you trust me, you wouldn't be worried about me leaving you for someone else when you and I both know, for a fact, that I'm loyal. So, tell me. Do you really trust me?"

As I emphasised the last words, my voice broke. I blink to push back the tears, fearing the outcome of this conversation, despite his behaviour.

I've never seen this side of Roy, this alter ego. He never spoke to me like that. He never touched me like that. I don't understand why he's so angry and possessive.

The luminescence of the villainous full moon coruscates on his face. Roy rakes a hand through his dark locks, forcing his gaze on the grass.

He leaves, abandoning me close-mouthed beneath the cunning milky glow.

I dash after him, getting lost in the humanoid labyrinth. Calling out his name, I endeavour to distinguish his figure. 

When I finally grab his arm, saying his name, he whirls on me, hissing, "You let those guys talk to you."

"What? Who?"

"At the rooftop! All those guys talked to you!"

"I can talk to whoever I want to."

"No!" he shouts. "Tanner. Theo. Jackson. Adam—"

"Adam is gay!"

"They look at you like you're a fucking prize."

"They're my friends—"

He shoves my hand off. "You're too friendly. Rhett was right. What a slut." The words cut me like a knife's sharp edge. Tears begin to fall. "Fuck off, bitch."

He leaves me standing there, the night air clotting my lungs.

He jerks his wrist out of my grip, looking at me one more time in the teary eye before meandering away. 

🌼

Q: Do you think Roy have the right to act like that? 

Was April overreacting, or did she have a reason to question Roy's thoughts?