Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)

I was always making up stories. It was my way of escaping. Right now, was starting to think about a quiet bad boy prince.

Tristan. I said his name a few times in my head.

Aunt Ruby walked into the living room with her hair a tangled mess and a cigarette dangling from her mouth with last night’s lipstick smeared across her chin.

I quickly shut the wallet and tucked it behind the curtains on the window sill.

“What you got there?” she asked. Reaching behind me, she plucked the wallet from its hiding spot.

I made a panicked grab for it. “Wait! Mine!”

“Shush, child. We both know that’s not true.”

I had TWO first names. Aunt Ruby never called me by either of them. Child was the most endearing thing she’d ever called me.

Aunt Ruby didn’t bother looking at the ID. Her only concern was cash. She took out a folded piece of paper and glanced at it briefly before dropping it to the floor. She removed the few bills and counted it out. Thirty-four dollars. She tossed the wallet at my feet, tucking the cash into her bra.

“At least, this little hobby of yours yields results,” she muttered, the stub of a cigarette hanging from the corner of her wrinkled lips. She grabbed her keys from the cluttered hall table. She didn’t tell me where she was going, but she didn’t have to.

Because I already knew.

The casino in Lacking, two towns over. It was always the casino. She put out her cigarette and lit another. Grabbing her purse from the floor, she opened the front door and flinched when the sunlight hit her face. She shielded her eyes with her hand. Without so much as a goodbye and with last night’s makeup clumping her eyelashes together, she was gone.

I sunk to the floor and picked up the folded piece of paper. My shoulders drooped in defeat. I really was going to give it back this time.

Maybe.

I unfolded the paper, but it wasn’t paper at all. It was a photo of a little boy version of Tristan and a woman with the same piercing golden eyes. He had his arm around her and they were both wide-eyed and…smiling.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Emma Jean!” Gabby said, running through the front door with her older sister Mona close on her heels. Mona ignored me and headed upstairs. Gabby looked panicked. Her long dark hair was matted with sweat on her forehead. Her dark eyes brimmed with tears.

“What?” I said, standing and tucking the picture into my pocket.

“I’m leaving,” she whispered. “Marco, my brother, he’s taking me and Mona in.”

“When?” I asked, panicked. Gabby was all I had.

“Next month,” she said before bursting into tears.

That night, I was upstairs with my foster sister and best friend, Gabby sleeping next to me in my bed when Aunt Ruby came home laughing with a man in the kitchen. I tried to drown out the noise and close my eyes, but all I could think about was Gabby leaving next week. I reached for the picture tucked under my pillow and held it to my chest.

I tried to fall asleep, imagining that I was a princess trapped all alone in a tower until Tristan came to rescue me. Only he was trapped, too, and I was the only one who could save him. I saw him reaching for me, but no how matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stretch far enough to get to him.

The light grew dimmer and dimmer until the last thing I saw before the darkness took hold was the bright golden eyes of my very first kiss.

My very first crush.

And crush me he would.





Tristan,

I’m sorry I stole your wallet. Here’s your thirty-four dollars back that was inside plus five dollars interest. My Aunt Ruby actually stole the money to go gambling, but I earned it back by selling vodka lemonades outside of the high school. I still have your picture. Would it be stupid if I kept it for a while? You look so happy in it. It makes me smile even when I’m feeling super sad.

Again, I’m sorry. Like, for the first time ever, I actually mean it. I went to give it back to you, but they said you moved on to another place. Do you like your new home? I’ve got to go now. The new magic special just came on PBS, and I never miss one.

-Emma Jean Parish

PS-I hope you don’t mind me writing to you. The people at CPS wouldn’t give me your address but said I could send this to you through them.

“Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them.” -Bruce Lee





Three





When you’ve been in the system as long as I had, you learned to look for certain warning signs when placed in a new home. Drugs, ulterior motives, ect.

I thought that was exactly where we were heading when we drove through a town looking like something straight out of a war zone. Lacking was the name of the town. I’d heard of it before. My mother had worked at the casino here.

The house we pulled up to might as well have been in another place. A large two-story with dark brown siding and an immaculate green lawn. A mansion surrounded by ruins.

Marci didn’t flash any warning signs either. She didn’t look strung out or desperate. Quite the opposite. Her eyes were clear and a deep brown. Her shoulder length black hair was wavy and glossy with a whitish blonde streak running through the front part swept to the side of her forehead. Her nails were painted a shiny red and matched the color of her lipstick. She wore ripped black jeans and high heeled black boots. Her Led Zeppelin t-shirt torn was torn at the collar hanging off one shoulder, revealing her red bra strap. Her makeup was smoky and heavy around her eyes, but it suited her, just like her clothes did.

Just like the house did.

On the inside, framed band posters with signatures hung on the high walls along with dozens of black and white photos of groups of people riding motorcycles and color photos of people I didn’t recognize peppered every mantle, coffee table, and windowsill.

“Thank god we’re free of the suit. Now, we can talk,” Marci said with a sigh, plopping down across from me on a worn, comfortable-looking leather chair in the living room while I took a spot across from her on the couch, my garbage bag at my feet. She opened a candy dish on the end table and pulled out a joint. She lit it and took a deep drag before shucking off her boots and crisscrossing her legs underneath her body.

She passed me the joint. I hesitated, wondering if it was some sort of test. She rolled her eyes and pushed it into my hand. “I’m not the suit. You’re not gonna hang for a little weed. Not in this house.”

I took the joint and a hard hit that burned my lungs. I had to clear my throat to keep from coughing. I NEVER coughed. Not only did my new guardian have weed.

She had good fucking weed.

“So,” Marci sat up and folded her hands between her legs. “You must be wondering what the fuck all this is about.”

I nodded, looking at her through the haze of smoke between us.

“Well, that’s…complicated, but I promise it will all be explained to you when the rest of your new family gets home.”

This time when I coughed it wasn’t from the weed.

“You have three brothers,” she explained. “Sandy, Digger, and Haze. They’re out attending to some family business, but they’ll be home for dinner. My old man Belly should be back soon, too. He’s eager to meet you.” She stood up suddenly. “You like pot roast?”

She handed me back the joint and walked into to the open kitchen. She waved for me to follow, so I did. I leaned against the granite counter while she opened the lid of a steaming pot on the stove, stirring its contents with a long wooden spoon.

I shrugged. I didn’t know if I’d ever had pot roast, so I didn’t know if I liked it. But it smelled better than anything I ever tasted, so it couldn’t be all that bad. My mouth started watering, and my stomach growled. Come to think of it, it had been a while since I’d last eaten.

“You hungry?” she asked pointing toward my loud stomach.

I nodded.