The Autumn Prince

Interlude: The Faces of Rachel Ward

"So, costume party, or what's the deal?"

Rachel stared absently at the headlamps of oncoming traffic. "Yeah, something like that," she answered automatically, shifting in the back seat to prevent the faux leather of her thigh boots from pinching under the knee. They weren't practical, but neither was the decision to leave Meridian on her own. She'd wanted to bitch out Tom after he ran off to help Gloria without telling anyone, and here she was doing the same damned thing. No, she told herself again and thrust doubt from her mind. That was different. One way or another, the nightmare needed to end.

She didn't blame Tom for her problems. She had tried to kill him, and he still welcomed her into his life, shielding her from madness. Even now, he was trying to remain a good man in a bad situation, and if he just boned every woman who asked for it, it would make him—well, it would make him not Tom. He'd be just like all the college fuckboys who tried to stick their dicks into anything with a pulse. Or worse, like his father. The fact that he hadn't compromised himself, despite all the unfair bullshit that kept piling up, was one of the reasons she'd fallen for him in the first place.

Of course she'd been far too late. She had to admit it was probably for the best. Rachel hadn't been emotionally available since she alienated herself from her papi. She needed someone willing to fight past her barriers to get to the woman underneath, someone even more bull-headed than she was, without bringing their own baggage into it. It was more than she had any right to ask, but she'd never been strong enough to tear down those walls on her own.

"...a little late for Halloween though," the Lyft driver went on. He was still trying to catch her eye in the rear view mirror between casual glances at the smooth curve of her tits beneath the telltale latex. Most guys did a piss poor job of hiding their interest, pretending they were chill. Not Tom. The effort he put into shielding his eyes was comical and occasionally sad, because when he did catch an illicit peek it tore him up. She hated that about him, but she wouldn't have changed it if she could. Goddammit, why did life have to be so messed up?

"Eyes front," she finally answered. "I'm paying for a ride, not therapy." The driver would start hitting on her openly if she didn't cut him off, and she wasn't in the mood to do it nicely. He mumbled something under his breath, but took his eyes off the mirror and didn't speak again.

Rachel reached inside her purse for the gloves she'd brought with her, and brushed against the heavy metal in the hidden compartment. Part of her hoped it would stay there, that she was on a wild goose chase, and the worst thing she'd have to deal with was getting a lecture when she called Katherine to pick her up.

The others never realized how hard it had been for her. They still acted like she was some junkie strung out on heroin, who could be mollified as long as she got her hit, but she knew better than anyone how much Tom's mother must have suffered when he—when that ass-wipe—abandoned her. Tom could keep Rachel alive, but his ministrations couldn't erase his father's face from her memory. She could see him as clearly as the day he stopped her on the street. She could recall his firm hands when they cupped her chin and she stood powerless to do anything but stare up into his bright, soulless eyes. She could still smell the stink of whatever he'd been smoking, the foul weed that made his kiss taste like decay. The thought of it aroused her, and she hated it with such furious passion that she'd considered, more than once, blowing those memories out the back of her head with her own gun.

She would have if not for Tom. He wasn't weaker than his dad, as she'd first thought. The difference was like a smooth whiskey that warmed you from the inside versus the cheap shit that clawed its way down your throat. That was a good analogy. She wished she'd thought of it while she still had someone to share it with.

If that was all she had to contend with she could be happy. Hell, it would take a serious bitch to not be happy at Meridian, living with a good-looking guy who could jack you all the way up just by thinking about it, who could kiss you and make you feel, for a little while, like you wouldn't care if the whole world fucked off, as long as you could be near him. Instead of threatening her independence, it gave her everything she needed without taking anything away. But that was the problem. She got to keep the nightmares, because part of her, the part that couldn't forget Caratacos' touch, wanted them to stay.