Forbidden Fruit (2 page)

“
I’m going out for cocktails with Joe,” she explained, sliding her phone and wallet into a clutch purse designed for the dress she wore. The emphasis she put on ‘Joe’ let me know he was her newest boy toy. She is a sixty-five year old cougar, with unlimited funds and, subsequently, unlimited dates with young bachelors. Her last fling was with a man closer to my age than hers.

I am not chiding her though; I am merely amazed at her lifestyle. She has been married four times, the last one being her most successful. That is if you are measuring success by money. Her late husband passed away several years ago from a heart attack. Ironically, he couldn’t be saved by the medicine his very own conglomerate of a pharmaceutical company touted as the cure for all things coronary. He left her with an obscene fortune.

“
Be safe,” I called out of habit. I was always worried when she went out. She was the perfect robbery victim. She was an elderly woman, though I would never tell her that, and she dressed as if she bathed in money, diamonds highlighting most of her thin fingers. She shot me a look over her shoulder that said she had no reason to believe she was in danger. This was one of the wealthy’s downfalls, they believed something as perishable as money could protect them from all the ugliness of the world.

“
Bye Lily,” she waved a thin wrist with clinking bracelets over her shoulder.

“
Bye Rose,” I returned. Oh, did I mention? No one calls her a grandmother, it’s either Rose, if you’re a friend, or Ms. Waring, if you’re employed by her. Generally speaking, you’re either one or the other.

I watched my unconventional grandmother exit her lavish estate on the Charleston battery, and slide in the door of an immaculately restored 1957 Rolls Royce, held open by none other than Jared, her personal chauffeur. Then I headed for the kitchen to see what dinner awaited.

The wealthy have personal chefs, yet another aspect of daily life I had to get used to. Ours is a kind, red headed, young woman named Ginger. I am not entirely sure if that’s her given name, or if that’s what Rose decided to call her. She has been known to call people who work for her by names other than their own. I don’t believe she does this to be rude or funny, but rather out of shear indifference for remembering.

Ginger makes Rose three healthy, yet delicious meals per day. She offered to do the same for me, but I chose the pre-prepared meal option that I can eat at times of my choosing. Rose and I aren’t exactly the ‘sit down and eat dinner together’ kind of family.

I rummaged through the fridge and found my favorite of Ginger’s snacks, mixed fruit and nuts. I popped a handful in my mouth and grabbed a glass of sweet tea. The later was the least healthy thing in Rose’s house. It was her only concession, because no southern belle could be caught drinking unsweet tea. I was glad for it; at least one thing in my life had stayed the same.

After my snack, I made my way back to my third floor bedroom, and stood in the middle of the expansive room. I stared at the floral screen saver on my laptop for a moment, trying to find the motivation to keep working. But I was done for the night. I would finish the lackluster term paper tomorrow. I hated waiting until the last minute, but my brain was finished for the night.

I washed up and crawled into my favorite blue and green shabby chic bedding on my Queen Anne style four-poster bed, an extravagance I loved. A minute after my head hit the overpriced pillow, I was asleep.

It was a magnificent garden, one that could only be created by the world’s great artists. Surely Monet dreamed this place into existence. I danced around in the glowing sun and fluttered about, caressing flowers of every hue. There were delicate pastel ones flopping in the breeze like feminine fingers. Stately ones of bright color carving their way through the field, creating a pattern of no real shape, yet beautiful all the same. I spun in a circle savoring all the beauty this place possessed, and feeling closer to home than I felt in a long time.

I heard a man call my name from a distance. He was not the one my heart so readily responded to, so I pretended not to notice his beckoning. I turned and walked further away from him, feeling freer than I had ever felt with each step of escape.

My trek through the garden unexpectedly lead me to a dense, wet forest. Dark moss and slimy trees were scattered through the gray fog coating the forest floor. A cold film tickled my skin, and I felt instant fear.

There was something near, something I feared, something dark.

I heard hooves charging behind me and turned to see my assailant. What I found took my breath away. Two monsters of grotesque proportions were plowing through branches straight toward me. Thick, black, wiry hairs were a stark contrast sprinkled over their light gray, leathery skin. They looked like a pair of over-grown rats in the face with no less than six feet of muscular, canine frames. Their bipedal movement was awkward, and the two limbs protruding from the front had long, sharp, yellowing claws. Their teeth were barred, ready for a fight.

I ran.

My breath came out in cold puffs and my skin coated in ice. I tried to push through the increasingly thick underbrush of the deep forest, unable to see my feet in the fog.

Panic set in as I found myself quickly slowing. My feet wouldn’t function properly and the branches fought me, twisting around arm and leg, until they locked me in place.

The monster was so close I could feel its damp breath, moist on the back of my neck.

Panic washed over me. I fell to the ground, and assumed the fetal position, hoping whatever the monster had in store for me would be quick.

My last thought was of
him
. The one I wanted to have called my name from across the garden. A wave of nausea washed over me as my heart twisted and I felt a bottomless ache. I knew he wouldn’t call my name, not anymore. He wouldn’t save me from this monster.

I would never see him again.

I don’t know how I knew, but I was sure I would never gaze upon his beautiful face or feel the sizzling touch of his skin against mine. My heart broke into a thousand shards as huge, yellow claws sank into my back, and tore through my chest.

As I peered at the slick, wet talons protruding from my front, I let out a shriek. I screamed over and over, a rhythmic pattern that sounded so strange coming from my mouth.

I sat up, ramrod straight, with sweat mating my hair to my neck. The rhythmic screaming took the form of my annoying alarm clock. My shaking hand swiped at the off button with unnecessary force, sending it flying from my nightstand.

Though my body was sticky with sweat, I still felt cold, as if the nightmare had settled into my bones. I tried to wash away the residual feelings of slimy forest and monster claws in an extra hot shower. It worked. I felt much better when I stepped out of the supersized shower, and slipped on a terry cloth robe. Water has always been my element. I could wash away nightmares and the residual funk of a bad day with a nice long bath or brighten my soul by basking in the sun near the ocean, listening to the soft waves crashing on the shore, nature’s hypnotic therapy.

I scanned the room I called a closet for something to wear only out of habit. I had tons of new clothes, courtesy of Rose, many of which I hadn’t even had the chance to wear. At Legare Prep, we wore uniforms, as if there was a need to standardize all students. They were already standard; each was rich, raised in the lap of luxury with all the privilege money can buy (which happens to be a whole hell of a lot). My guess is that the uniforms were for the people outside looking in.

I grabbed my green and black plaid skirt, chose the gray, knee high socks and gray, v-neck top today, then flat ironed my naturally curly hair into a sheet of gold.

When I finished getting ready, I went down stairs and met Ginger at the door. She was waiting with a pre-packed lunch and a frappuccino. She knew me so well; I only ate breakfast on the weekends. It made me feel sick to eat right when I wake up, though around ten o’clock I usually regretted the pass, because I would be famished until noon. I flashed her a grateful smile and headed out the door.

I drove myself to school in what I still couldn’t get used to calling mine. It was a sapphire blue, 600-horse power, Viper with every possible upgrade. Rose took care of me the only way she knew how, with plush leather and shiny paint.

The campus of Legare Prep was situated on the outskirts of the Charleston peninsula, overlooking the Cooper River. The layout was more like a college campus than a high school. There were separate buildings for each department and large courtyards meant for study groups and friendly interactions between the rich youth. I frequently wondered if the staff had any idea what went on in those study groups and what kind of ‘interacting’ the kids did.

“
Hey Lily!” Bailey called, bounding after me.

I turned to meet her friendly smile. Only I knew that those sparkling brown eyes of hers weren’t at all happy. Depressing as it sounds, that shared sadness was what initially brought us together. She and I had a mutual sorrow. Mine was for the loss of my parents, and hers was for never having known a real mother. Her father was currently divorcing wife number six, for the same reason he divorced them all, he was upgrading to a newer, younger model.

“
Hey, you cut your hair!” I noticed.

“
You like? I so needed a change,” she asked as she stroked her bobbed do. Bailey mysteriously needed change whenever her father needed a change. I just went with it, as I always did, supporting her unconditionally, in hopes that some amount of consistency in her life would help.

She chopped her beautiful, long golden brown hair to her chin. Luckily, she was the kind of pretty girl who could pull off any look. She lacked the height of a supermodel, barely skimming five foot, but she was thin and had curves most guys drooled over. I imagined she would look just as beautiful with a shaven dome. I just smiled and gave her a dorky ‘thumbs up.’

When we passed through the antique, wrought iron gate, we found the usual group of kids loitering in the main courtyard, seniors around the center waterfall, and all others skirting the perimeter. The school was small enough to where everyone knew everyone. There weren’t enough people to form solid popular kid groups and dork groups. That’s not to say there weren’t teen queens and kings who reigned, there definitely were, it’s just that they reigned over a small number of kids, making a little court of supposed followers.

The current queen was Lacy Van Stanbrook, heir to the Van Stanbrook real estate group. She was as one would expect the queen of a rich prep school should be, a blonde bombshell, blue eyes at no extra charge. Rumor has it she was already using Botox injections to preserve her youthful, porcelain doll face. The current King was Eric Pope, first born son of the biggest and scariest lawyer around. Gifted as he was privileged, he was the king of popularity, and the king on the football field.

“
Bailey, Lily!” Alicia beckoned us over as we approached. She is Lacy’s second in command, and everything from her blonde hair to her blue tinted contacts is an effort to be Lacy’s twin. They are always scheming together. The two create about ninety percent of the gossip in the school. Needless to say, it’s wise to stay on their good sides. “You guys
have
to come to the party Saturday. Eric’s parents are out of the country for the weekend, and he is going to have the sickest party ever! He even has a live band booked.”

Bailey’s eyes lit up, “Count me in.” She was a natural born party animal, always ready to drown her latest home life drama with a healthy dose of liquor.

Alicia turned to me expectantly.

“
Actually, I would love to come, but I have this thing for Rose’s birthday. She would die if I missed it,” I explained. She really would. Saturday was her birthday bash. I wasn’t entirely sure how old she would claim to be this year but I could rest assured it won’t be within twenty years of her actual age.

“
Aw, too bad,” she turned to the next approaching students, all concern for me forgotten. I never understood her dislike for me.

“
Oh, I forgot about Rose’s thing, did you want me to come?” Bailey asked. This was why I loved her, she actually cared about me. I knew she would miss the party of the year to go to my grandmother’s audacious birthday fest, and that was all I needed to know.

“
Of course not. Eric’s party will be awesome, and I couldn’t possibly let you miss it for an old lady’s birthday party!” Then to seal the deal, I added, “Besides, I bet
Nathan
will be there.” Nathan was her latest fling. He was Lacy’s leftovers, which by default should have gone to Alicia, but he seemed to have eyes only for Bailey.

“
Nathan shmathan! I hope the twins are there!” she said with excitement.

“
Twins?” To my knowledge, the only twins at Legare prep were freshmen and of the wrong sex for Bailey to get excited over.

“
Where have you been? Jason and Derrick Stone! Only the hottest guys to set foot in this school! They just started today.” I knew she had a habit of exaggerating the hotness of guys. Just last week Nathan was the sexiest thing to walk those halls, now he was merely “Nathan shmathan.”

“
I have to introduce you!” Before I had time to think, Bailey had dragged me to a group of curious onlookers, gloating over the fresh meat, packaged as two…wow! She wasn’t kidding; they were hot.