The Edge of the World

Chapter 2: The Crow and the Butterfly

The silence left behind in Cheyenne’s wake was tense and angry, gazes hateful yet resigned.

I almost flinched in surprise when he suddenly smirked at me. “Homeless?”

The taunt in his voice was unmistakable. If I hadn’t been sure I wasn’t going to like him before he spoke, I was positive now.

I spoke each word pointedly, barbs under the indifferent tone. “What’s your problem with your parents?”

Iriel’s handsome face collapsed into a deep scowl, he muttered a few choice words under his breath and started back into his penthouse (Why did he need a penthouse if he lived alone? Rich people…). I made to follow but the heavy door slammed into my face, smashing my nose painfully. I grabbed it and screamed “Fuck!” as loud as humanly possible. It was deeply satisfying to hear the curse echo again and again in the massive hallway. It was the sum of my frustration and not just a passing spark of anger from the unjustified injury.

There was a moment when the tiny survival instinct in my head sent out a warning bell. I didn’t really know why it was still there, though, it wasn’t like I ever actually used it. Raising my leg I proceeded to pound the door with kick after kick, pretending I was viciously beating his dark head in. I kept going even through the shooting pain radiating from my poor, abused foot. Finally, when I felt like I had probably bloodied up my feet enough I pressed my forehead against the cool wood, before bellowing:

“Open the door you fuck!”

I was surprised when my demand was granted immediately and almost tipped forward. Steadying myself I looked suspiciously at the older man. It couldn’t be that easy could it? Or maybe somewhere under that snobbish, self-aggrandizing façade lay a man who could actually understand other people’s feelings.

“Why would I let a crazed young man into my home? That would be stupid.” Or not.

I smiled in the same way Cheyenne did when she was at her scariest. I’d watched her do it a million times till I’d figured out that it all came down to a simple formula. One percent fake-sweet, two percent intensity, and ninety-seven percent murder. “Then how bout I get Cheyenne back up here to give that giant ego of yours an even bigger smack?”

Fear flashed in his eyes, so quick anyone not staring intently into them wouldn’t have noticed. Covering any emotion he simply went back inside, leaving the door conspicuously open for me. I felt a little like the kid who threatened to tattle tale to the adults, despite the fact that we were both older than Cheyenne, but the sight of Iriel actually backing down was too beautiful to truly regret anything. Besides it was a little adorable that he was afraid of his younger sister who was significantly smaller than him.

All that aside I had no idea how things were going to go from here. How was I supposed to live with someone so insufferable for more than a month? This sounded like a well thought out plan Cheyenne had concocted to get revenge on me for something I’d completely forgotten about but that she’d spent a generous amount of time mulling over. It wouldn’t be the first time.

---

It had been three days since I’d moved in with Iriel. In that time we’d only run into each other a handful of times the first day before we had figured out each other’s schedules enough to make complex plans on how to get to and from places in the house without incident. Well, that was what I was doing anyway. He was just avoiding my presence entirely with seemingly very little effort on his part. Which was fine with me. The prick.

And, yes, I’m allowed to call the guy who’s penthouse I was staying in a prick. Technically he hadn’t offered to put me up and I hadn’t accepted. We were both jailed up here as long as Cheyenne held the power over our heads. Why she’d insisted I had to stay with her brother was a complete mystery, a crazy mystery but a mystery nonetheless

I went to school after he went to work and came back before he did with enough time to safely make it to my bedroom before the both revolting and tantalizing sight of his chiseled features ever came into my line of sight. Obviously I hadn’t gotten laid in a while if I was stuck on his attractiveness despite the fact that his personality resembled a mix between Valentine’s and Hitler’s.

Unfortunately the peace was broken as I came yawning into the kitchen at around 10 am. The sight that greeted me almost knocked me flat on my ass, it sure as hell made me drop my jaw somewhere around the level of the pristine wooden floors. Iriel. Mild surprise. Iriel with a guy. Bigger surprise. Iriel sucking said guy’s face off while mauling him with his hands. Huge fucking massive surprise.

Both sets of eyes turned to stare at me, one flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal while the other just glared in annoyance. Yeah, well fuck you, too, buddy. Not like I wanted to see you molesting some poor sop this early in the morning.

“Ew.” Was the only thing that fell out of my mouth, nose wrinkled in distaste. “You have a huge mother-fucking bed to do that in, you know. No need to flash my innocent eyes.”

Iriel snorted but backed away from his victim, who leaned towards him as if it physically pained him to lose the dark haired man’s touch. Woah, what a needy guy. I wondered vaguely if that was his type or something before taking the privilege to rummage through the contents of the fridge. I’d been about to curl my fingers around a small carton of liquid bliss (aka: mint chocolate chip ice cream) when a hand shoved the door closed. I yelped as my hand was almost slammed shut with it. Fucker. I turned to glare and possibly give him a few choice words, but he beat me to it.

“How the fuck do you know how big my bed is?” There was a steely tone to his voice that should not have had me shivering in delight. Bad thoughts! Bad penis!

I rolled my eyes so that he could see. “I’m pretty sure anyone could have guessed that.”

A noncommittal grunt dropped from his lips before he slipped away from looming over me to whisper with the blond guy, who looked like he no longer cared if I was there or not. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood so I wouldn’t start laughing my ass off like a lunatic. That would alert Iriel’s paranoid side, which I had just been privy to literally a second ago.

But, really, how was I supposed to stop the shit eating grin from crossing my face as I flashed back to what happened yesterday afternoon? I’d gotten out of class early, making a quick trip to pick up a friend of mine before settling back down in the penthouse. I didn’t feel comfortable calling it my penthouse. Anyways as soon as we’d gotten there an idea had struck me while Sebastian was otherwise busy with his mouth. Why the fuck shouldn’t I have amazing sex all over the smug bastards nice bed?

We’d done it all day until a little before Iriel actually came home. It had been a great day since I’d gotten to feel the thrill of doing something I sure as hell wasn’t supposed to, not to mention how satisfying petty revenge could be.

A thought flittered through my mind that had the laugh pouring out of my mouth before I could stop it. Had Iriel even noticed enough to wash the sheets or had he slept in the cum and sweat covered sheets as I’d left them? That was actually pretty gross.

“What?” Came the predictable hiss from across the room.

Grabbing the carton of ice cream I scooped one heavenly spoonful into my mouth, moaning in delight around the cold metal. God, this was second only to sex. Then started to walk away down the hall to my room, but not before calling back. “I just hope you enjoyed rolling around in the sheets last night. I would have found it a bit uncomfortable myself, seeing as how much I’ve cum all over them.”

The snickers were uncontrollable now. I should probably get checked out by a doctor to see if I had suicidal tendencies. But, come on, who doesn’t notice that kind of stuff? Footsteps sounded heavily behind me which was my cue to full out run to my door, slam it shut, and lock it. I’d been in such a hurry I’d managed to completely disregard and drop my ice cream, that was unheard of.

Even with the pounding and cursing on the other side of the door I felt safe here. Safe enough to smirk and give the man the finger through the door. I would have done it to his face but my first priority was keeping my various limbs attached to me.

I jumped when the door clicked open and a furious Iriel stood looking at me with murder in his eyes. A key swung tauntingly from its key-ring. I squeaked a little and took a couple step backs. Bad idea, he lunged and pushed me against the nearest wall, one hand wrapped tightly around my bobbing throat. I drew a pain-filled hiss of breath between my lips, he just smiled. Sadistic fuck.

Iriel leaned close, lips brushing my ear as he bit out each word with great severity and malice. “Don’t. Ever. Touch. My. Shit. Again.”

Whatever. Like that was actually going to happen. How else would I get my shits and giggles? I must have made a derisive sound without realizing it because he pulled me away from the wall to slam me back again. Ow! Jesus christ!

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that, Skylar? You were saying you wouldn’t touch my shit anymore, riiiight?” He drew out the tone in a teasing manner that -no, joke- scared the ever living shit out of me. It was so creepy! Not that I would ever tell him that. I just smirked and brought one hand up to salute him with.

“Suuuuureeee thing, boss-man.” The words were croaked out, broken, hoarse from lack of oxygen but I was proud to say they still held a firm amount of my usual sarcastic drawl.

He shook his head and dropped me. “How the fuck can you be such a smartass all the time?”

It was a rhetorical question but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to re-instate my pride. It was somewhere below his feet, being trampled on as we spoke. “It’s a gift, really.”

Another snort sounded before he left me alone to lick my wounds. Bipolar bitch. I hoped he choked on blondie’s cum and keeled over. It seemed a fitting death for such a raging cunt.

After that we didn’t make so much of an effort to avoid each other. It was like we’d mutually decided it was a pain in the ass. So instead we spent every waking moment in each other’s presence making life hell for the other person. He put my finger in cold water while I was sleeping (so juvenile by the way), I spread red jam across his sheets, he put hot sauce in my ice cream when I got up to get the whip cream…you get the idea. This was, of course, in between the firing of insults back and forth without any real end or beginning.

One time I’d been busy texting a friend and failed to notice my surroundings enough. Iriel had stuck out his foot and sent me sprawling down the stairs.

I’d spluttered indignantly. “You could have killed me! What would you have done if I’d snapped my neck?”

Gracefully, Iriel had just stepped over my prone body before sending me a cynical sneer over his shoulder. “I would have been forced to believe miracles do happen.”

“Yeah, and then be locked up for murder until you rot.” I muttered dryly.

“Santa’s real~!” Came the mocking voice that floated back to me over his shoulder. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Ass.

That was how our days usually went. A weird and antagonistic harmony had been established between us. 

---

I wasn’t completely sure how I found myself out clubbing with Cheyenne and the rest of our friends. Don’t get me wrong I love hanging out with my group and I loved clubbing, I just wasn’t sure how she’d wheedled me into going with her when I was so pissed off at her. It was like she cast spells over people, you couldn’t deny her anything once she set her mind to it.

“Bloody magical freak.” I mumbled to myself but she gave me a quizzical eyebrow raise and an amused smile.

“Since when were you British?”

“Since, never. I like using all their cuss words though. Despite the fact that you’re cursing someone out it still sounds like you’re offering them tea. Bloody brilliant!” I finished with a fake accent just for emphasis, and because why the hell not? I actually had a philosophy based on that. Doing things just because why not. It was a religion unto itself if you really thought about it. It took dedication. Or something.

I might have drifted off into even more philosophically jargon-filled musings had a familiar pair of guys not dropped themselves into the booth across from me. I froze. I just…froze. Why the hell were Parker and Kael here? I whirled to the side to send an accusing glare at Cheyenne.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Look,” she whispered close to my ear, “I didn’t invite them okay? I’m sure someone else did, though. They ARE our friends you know? You’re going to have to stop walking on egg shells around them eventually. Cause no one wants to have to pick between you guys anymore.”

 

I wanted to rage and scream and stick my tongue out and generally act like a four-year-old little beastie. Why did she have to pick the worst moments to be reasonable? Jumping off a bridge into arctic cold waters with me at my suggestion? Yeah, sure, that's fine. Wanting to avoid you’re somewhat former best friend/ex-boyfriend who you sort of royally fucked over and his annoyingly perfect boyfriend (who I’d fucked a couple times)? No way, Skylar, that's a silly idea. Cheyenne's priorities were seriously skewed.

Somewhere inside of me the mature adult acknowledged that I missed having them around. No amount of drama was good enough to just stop talking to them. It wasn't worth a friendship.

On the flipside, how was I supposed to act around them? I was living with a guy who had the strange condition of being a chronic asshole, I think I deserved a little time to relax before more shit hit the fan.

A beer was set in front of me and I looked up in a mild daze to see Ari’s girlfriend smiling sweetly down at me. Only Alice could discreetly try to get me drunk to make me feel better while looking completely innocent and down right angelic. I took a giant swig of beer before standing up. The beer was nice but I wanted something more to block out the nasty sight of them cooing at each other. Grabbing Alice’s petite little hand I dragged her reluctant frame with me into the heart of the dance floor.

Shy as she might be Alice was a killer dancer. I’m telling you, absolutely killer. She let out a little laugh and wrapped her arms gently around my neck and swayed softly with me. We talked about nothing and everything. Just enjoying the thumping beat pounding in our chests and throughout the rest of our body. It was something we had in common. The dance floor was a place to find peace, relax, be at ease. And since zen seemed to be the word of the week for me, why not throw that in there too.

A light tap cut through my reverie and I turned to a grinning Ari. “Can I cut in?”

I laughed and childishly grabbed Alice close to me. We pretended to play tug-o’-war over her until she scolded us, which would have been more convincing if the tiny smile hadn’t been creeping up her face the whole time. Finally I relinquished my hold on her. It was always a heart warming thing to see them together, the way they looked at each other just couldn’t be replicated. If you’re thinking something along the lines of “how gay of him” then screw you. Contrary to popular belief there are a few instances were guys can find something emotionally moving.

That isn’t to say I don’t have my gay moments. I cried watching “Dear, John”. That movie is ridiculously good. In my opinion it’s a better done version of “The Notebook”. I mean come on, what would you like better? Old people or Channing Tatum? The abs! They’re drool-worthy.

I stopped a few paces away from the booth we’d all crushed ourselves into and watched as Cheyenne whispered something in Kael’s ear that made him blush tomato-red. Watched as Parker chuckled and poked him in the side causing Kael to swat at him. Suddenly I wasn’t in such a party mood. I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s mood by being here, either. What kind of asshole would I be to want to sit there and sulk, bringing everyone’s happy mood down with me?

Sideling up next to the Cheyenne and bent down to whisper in her ear. “Hey, I’m sorry but I’m exhausted Shy. Can I call a rain check on hanging out?”

She blinked a few times before concern creased her face. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah!” I uttered quickly. I didn’t want her thinking something was wrong with me. “Just tired.”

She accepted that with a nod, hugged me goodbye, and promptly went back to teasing Kael mercilessly. That was the strange thing about Cheyenne, she was the only really close friend I had that was a girl but she was completely dense when it came to emotional matters. It was ironic that most of my guy friends could spot my emotional mess a yard away. Case in point: from the look Dante shot me I could tell he thought my excuse was utter bullshit.

I waved to the rest of them before exiting the club but I wasn’t quite ready to go back to the penthouse. I wanted to be somewhere relaxing. Somewhere where I didn’t have to think about college, ex-boyfriends I screwed over, or a hot but angry penthouse roommate (pentmate?). A shoulder bumped softly against mine and I turned to see Dante standing there with an understanding expression.

We walked on mindlessly without really knowing where we wanted to end up. Finally we collapsed on the grass of a small park and stared up at the stars. It was silent for a long time before Dante had me laughing by calling all the constellations by wrong names. Then we just talked about everything and anything and nothing. The conversation never ended or faltered just segued into a new topic. Somehow we got to talking about sex, then STDs, who had them, then condoms. Which led us to a rousing game of who could list the best condom slogans.

“Don’t be a fool, wrap your tool.” I started out, barely hiding snickers as I bit the inside of my cheek.

He followed up with, “Cover your stump before you hump.”

I wrinkled my nose at the word stump, but continued. “No glove, no love.”

“If you think she’s spunky cover your monkey.”

“Don’t be silly cover your willy.”

“If you can’t shield your rocket, leave it in your pocket.”

“Don’t be a loner, cover your boner.”

“Cloak the joker, before you poker.”

“Before you penetrate cover that magistrate.”

“If your nude tube your dude.” I snorted with laughter, rolling around on the soft ground. Damn, that was a good one.

It took me a minute to think of a better one. “Cage that snake then shake and bake.”

We erupted into loud laughs, tears rolling down our faces. It was something kids did in middle school but it made me feel a hell of a lot better. I cupped my hands around my ear and asked, “What’s that?”

He rolled his eyes where amusement still shone. “You win.”

“That’s right…bitch.” My tone was smug and I was fully aware of it.

In response he picked me up and spun me upside down, letting the blood shoot straight to my head. What was with people manhandling me lately? I squirmed and squirmed till he finally let me down gently, thankfully not on my head. I looked up at him then held my hand out for him to pull me up.

A yawn split my mouth open wide and my body felt heavy.

“Mmm. Thanks for cheering me up, D. I’m actually tired for real this time. Let’s catch a cab home, yeah?” He made a soft sound of agreement before ruffling my fire-engine red hair and hailing a taxi. I had never been able to multitask like that. I probably would have accidentally slapped him in the head and then whapped myself with the other hand then somehow manage to trip over nothing right into the street where the awaiting taxi would run me over. That was how awful my own lack of grace and lack of luck was.

One cab ride later I said goodbye to Dante and headed upstairs. It had become a custom for me to spend a long moment breathing deeply just staring at the ominous wooden door that led into the Penthouse of Doom. I was building up my mental walls, readying myself for the battle that was every second I spent in Iriel’s company. And it was late enough that he was home, but not quite late enough for him to be asleep.

I ambled in and made my way to the kitchen. Halting in the doorway I saw Iriel sitting with two beers, one half drunk, and scribbling furiously on a stack of papers. What caught my attention, and my breath, was the fact that he was doing it shirtless. That long torso was made up of slightly defined muscles with abs that kicked Channing Tatum’s abs’ asses. I sat admiring him without his awareness for a few seconds more but then a streak of color on his left shoulder, the one facing me, caught my eye.

Without any conscious thought I moved so I was behind him and stared at the crow that dove down the expanse of his shoulder blade. It was really well done as well as being incredibly sexy on him. I loved men. I loved tattoos. And I loved men with tattoos even more. Suddenly Iriel’s head whipped around, he opened his mouth as if to cast me another verbal assault before closing it and quirking a brow.

“What?” For once his voice wasn’t filled with any maliciousness. Only confusion.

I blinked, coming back to myself. “Nothing. I just love tattoos.” I would have left it at that but the filter on my mouth had long ago been broken so I couldn’t help the burning question that flew past my lips. “Why’d you get it?”

He looked at me for a moment, not with anger, not with annoyance, with no emotion to speak of really. Just a blank face. I was pretty sure he’d had quite a few drinks before this. That was the only reason I could think of that he hadn’t thrown the other beer bottle at my head.

“Someone I knew compared me to a crow once. He made some good points. I thought it was a good enough comparison to warrant a tattoo.” He sounded like he was choosing each word carefully like he didn’t want me to understand any underlying reasons why he had gotten it.

I nodded and then sat down next to him, snagging the second beer. I opened it and chugged a third of it. I hadn’t really drank that much at the club so I wasn’t even really tipsy right now. It was a good thing because I was a talker when drunk. I went on very long, very personal tirades about anything I could think up.

“Yes, you are allowed to drink my beer.”

I shrugged. “You shouldn’t be drinking when you’re doing work anyways. You’re probably seeing double and writing your name twice.”

A snort, then, “What about you? Why did you get the butterfly tattoo on your back?”

Startled I looked up at him, he was scrutinizing me thoughtfully. “How did you know about that?”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that you walk around with only boxer’s on half the time. No, nothing at all.” Note how heavy his sarcasm was, his words were absolutely dripping with it.

I chewed vigorously on my bottom lip. There was no way to say why I'd gotten it without sounding cheesy as fuck but oh well. “There was a person I knew who idealized butterflies as the most beautiful creatures on Earth. He died so its in honor of his memory.”

He grunted once. Then continued with his busy work. I downed the last of the beer before stumbling, preoccupied with memories, down the hall to my room.

Laying down in bed I was struck by a thought. Iriel and I had been civil to each other. More than civil even! We’d actually had a conversation about normal conversational things.

They were officially in the twilight zone, now.