Page 130 of Chaos at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 2)
“So two votes for me, one for Callum, and zero for any of you assholes,” Aaron clarifies, pointing at Oscar, Hael, and Vic. “I’ll take it.”
“From the mouths of babes,” I murmur, grabbing the black veil I laid out on the counter and tucking the comb-part of it in my hair. It hangs over my face like I’m attending a funeral. Gross. I take it off and chuck it across the peninsula, deciding that I’d rather have my face bare anyway. I want to actually see Vic when I marry him, not hide behind a mosquito net while I walk down the aisle.
“Yeah, well, from the mouth of the boss, you’re marring me regardless of who they ‘ship’,” Vic growls, snatching an apple and flipping the girls backs off as they run up the stairs. They don’t see him do it, but it’s honestly funny as shit. “You ready for tomorrow?”
I nod.
Because the wedding is not the hard part, the courthouse bit is.
After school, we’re meeting Pamela so she can sign the papers of our marriage license.
I’d rather give myself an enema with battery acid.
“Not really,” I reply, because out of all the people on my list, Pamela is the one who holds the most weight.
Neil, arguably, is my most hated … but Pam? She was supposed to be my mom. There’s no bigger betrayal than that.
“Too bad,” Vic says, grinning around a bite of apple. “Because it’s happening, whether that bitch mother of yours likes it or not.” He pauses to look down at the piece of fruit in his hand, like it’s Snow White’s poisoned apple or something. “I hope for her sake that she cooperates. She wouldn’t want to see the extent of my temper if she doesn’t.”I’m quite literally shaking as I stand on the courthouse steps in the sexy white dress that Havoc picked out for me inside of Billie Charter’s trailer. When I put it on after school and looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.
To clarify: I didn’t recognize myself in a good way.
I do not look seventeen. The dress clings to my curves and the back dips low, showing off a pale arch of spine and what little there is left of me that isn’t inked. The ends of my hair are dyed a fresh pink, and the blond waves are hanging loose around my shoulders.
To be fair, I haven’t looked my age for a long time. Pain and loss and violence, those things worm their way into your eyes; they change a person. So if someone were to look at me, they could see in the emerald green of my irises that I’m an old soul.
Today, it’s my makeup, and my body, and my tattoos that tell a different story.
“The combat boots were a hideous choice, really,” Oscar says, checking the time on his iPad and frowning hard. Pamela is late and he doesn’t like it. Sorry to tell him, but she hasn’t shown up on time to an appointment in her damn life. We might be waiting awhile.
“Shut your face, Oscar Montauk,” I grind out, shivering, my teeth chattering against the frigid frost of late fall. “Have you ever stood on cement in heels? It hurts. I wasn’t about to wander around the courthouse in them.”
Oscar just purses his lips and pretends like he doesn’t care what I have to say. My argument to that would be … why did you bareback fuck me on my period? I mean, come on, man. He can’t fool me anymore. He literally confessed to being in love with me. Did he think I was just going to forget that happened?
“I suppose this wouldn’t be a good time to offer you up the birth control pills that we stole?” he asks in just such a way that I know he’s needling me on purpose. “You’ll most definitely need them for the honeymoon though.”
“As soon as this is over,” I say, gesturing at him with the bouquet of white roses in my hand, “I’m going to beat the snot out of you, do you understand that?”
“So you don’t want the pills then?” Oscar asks, lifting his head up to look at me. Something he said the night we went after Donald pops into my head at random, and I feel my cheeks flush with heat. “I'm a master of knots.” Is he really, though? I’d be curious to find out.
“I’ll take them,” I snarl and Vic laughs.
“Or not,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. I ignore him, which is actually a pretty difficult thing to do, seeing as he’s wearing the tux he bought for the wedding. Since today is more casual though, he didn’t bother with the pink tie I picked out.
Pink, of course, for Penelope.
The only reason we’re dressed up at all is because getting the license is the important part. After this, all that has to happen is we sign and date and mail that shit in on Saturday. The rest of this operation is just for show.
