The Lies we Steal (The Hollow Boys Book 1)

Alistair

“Make sure you pack a suit.” 

I hear as I shove another t-shirt into the duffle bag, scanning my room for things I might have missed so that I don’t have to come back here for anything else for the next several months. 

Snorting, “Yeah, right.” 

Collecting a new sketchpad and a set of pens off my desk, tossing them in there as well. Most of my things were already in my dorm, but when the Christmas and Thanksgiving breaks rolled around everyone left the school grounds and I was going to need something to keep me busy while we were visiting Thatcher’s family. 

All of his distant relatives on his mother’s side flew in to visit and I normally locked myself in my room by day two of the festivities. Even though it was loud and there were more people than I was comfortable with, I still preferred it over my own home. 

While I didn’t celebrate with them, the holidays always felt more authentic at Thatch’s. There was no insanely decorated ballroom or catered meal for a hundred people. It was a normal family dinner, with Christmas trees and jingle bells playing in the background. 

Had his father not be a raging psycho, Thatch might have grown up to be an ordinary wealthy dickhead. If things had gone differently, I know I would have hated him. We probably would have ended up being life-long enemies. 

Just so I didn’t have to hear him, I walk to my closet, clicking the light on and searching through the rows of clothing I’ve never worn. 

Mostly suits, tuxes, gifted to me or purchased when I was young and could be forced to wear them. 

“You’re not showing up in jeans to a masquerade ball, Alistair. It’s tasteless and you’ll stick out even more than you already do. We need to blend in.” He makes a point, but it doesn’t mean my skin stops itching when I think about wearing a collared shirt. 

“I don’t even see why we need to go. Besides giving you an excuse to wear something ridiculous.” I grunt, I pull a black set off a hanger, needing to see if it will even fit before I worry about packing it. 

Hopefully it was too small, that way I had a reason not to wear one. 

“Because it’s our safest bet. We know where all the teachers and students will be. It will give us more time just in case your pet tries to do something ignorant.” 

My pet. 

She’s the worst behaved pet ever. A beaten dog that won’t stop pissing on the couch just to make me angry. 

The All Hallows Eve ball was one of many outrageous traditions held by Hollow Heights. It was like college prom, but much worse. My mother still has pictures of her and my father when they attended. It happens every year and it only grows more extravagant as the years go on. 

Clearly it was not on my list of things to do, but like I said, Thatcher had a point. Everyone agreed it would be the best time to sneak back into Greg’s office guaranteeing us more time for Briar to do what we’d asked of her. 

Shedding my clothes and stepping into the slacks with my phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, I thought about how naive she had been. 

Making demands I had no intention of keeping. We knew she would be telling Lyra, which was fine with us. She wouldn’t talk and she’d already seen too much to not be involved. 

It was when she spoke like we were expected to leave her alone after she did this for us. Sure, the other guys would comply. But the stick and poke tattoo I’d decorated her finger with while she was passed out from chlorophyll, was there for a reason. 

She was mine. For however long I saw fit. 

Knowing she wasn’t a part of Rosemary’s death made her less of an enemy and more of a girl in need of breaking. Swinging her finger around ordering us to leave her be, never to bother her again. 

Did she really think I would stop? After coming so close to having her break into pieces in front of me in the pool, did she really think my terror would end that easily? That I meant what I said when I shook her hand? 

The tattoo had been for the possessive man inside of me. So that when Easton Sinclair asked her to study in the library again, he’d know who she belonged to. And if my brother crossed paths with her again, which wouldn’t be happening if I could help it, he would know that Briar Lowell was one of the few things he’d never have. 

I watched her, seeing her try desperately to hide the parts of herself she felt didn’t belong in a place like this. Like her dark desires were something filthy to hide away. But I knew, I could see it, she was not the kind of woman who ended up with a douche like Easton. 

He wouldn’t be able to feed the curiosity that lurked beneath her skin. Not the way I could. 

I had no plans on stopping. When I was finished, she’d see just how twisted she really was, and she’d love every second of it after it was all said and done.  

I’d slipped the black button down over my shoulders, listening to Thatcher talking in my ear. 

“Are you listening to me?” 

Not at all. 

“Yeah, something about your shirts missing. Are you asking me if I’ve taken them? Because that would be a seriously misguided question, I would never, and I mean this in the worst way, never wear anything you own.” 

“Pardon me for thinking my roommate was going through my closet. Maybe it was Rook. Anyway, I’ll see you later, what time are you gonna be here?” He asks, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Yeah, the pyromaniac is burning shit down in your ten-thousand-dollar cashmere shirts. 

But now that I think about it, Rook’s probably using it for flint. 

“The next few hours. I’ll text when I’m on the way.” We say our goodbyes before I toss the phone onto the bed, buttoning the rest of my shirt up, tucking it into the pants. Snagging the jacket off the chair, I stand in front of the full-length mirror as I shrug it on. 

When I glance up at myself, I catch the reflection of my mother behind me. Her shoulder resting against my door frame wearing a dark purple nightgown that shows just how much starving herself over the years has done to her body. 

I should have heard her by now or at least noticed her presence that’s giving away normally by the clicking of the whiskey tumbler or the smell of her Virginia Slims cigarette that wafts off her in waves, even when she tries to cover it up with Chanel perfume. 

Choosing to stay silent as she watches me, her eyes looking me up and down before her feet pad into my room completely. I look down at the buttons on my shirt, pretending to be doing something with them. 

A cloud of smoke hits the front of my face and I lift my gaze with contempt. There isn’t a word spoken, nothing is said while she looks over the edges of my face like this is the first time she’s really seeing me. As if I was a stranger in her own home and to her, I probably was. 

For the first time in years, she lifts her hand, skimming her knuckles across my cheek bone and the coldness from her skin makes my jaw tense.

“Beautiful boy…” She whispers, her voice murky and filled with fog. 

I used to ask myself a lot why my mother never looked or touched me like other kids’ moms did. I watched as children would run into their mother’s arms seeking comfort and praise. The love that should be shared between the two, and I used to wonder what I had done that made my mother hate me so much. 

Why her touch always felt like wet slime and her gaze never felt warm, always chilled and judgmental. Why instead of chasing the bad dreams away, she brought them upon me. 

I pull my face back, glaring down at her, one thing they hadn’t planned on was me being so tall. 

“Yet so rotten to the core.” She adds. The thing is she wasn’t even trying to be mean. She wasn’t trying to hurt me, she just genuinely didn’t care enough to think about what she said to me. Hurting me would require her to give a shit, and she didn’t. 

“A shame a face like yours was wasted. At the very least, your father and I can say we made handsome children.” 

I sneer, my nostrils flaring, “That’s what happens when you raise a child in another’s shadow, mother. They become nightmares.” 

She lifts the white stick to her mouth, inhaling deeply, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiles a bit. Smoke swirling in the air between us. I didn’t bother changing out of the suit. I walked over to the bed, grabbing the duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder. 

“You should stay where you are headed until after Christmas, it’s for the best, darling.” 

Leave it to my faulty parent to require my absences instead of asking where it was I was going. For all they know I could be going to a drug deal. I think I have finally accepted that they would probably encourage me to go somewhere dangerous, me being killed would be a clean way to get rid of me. So they could stop keeping me around to save face. 

“Mom, have you seen my medical bag—”

Apparently, I was overdue for a family reunion because Dorian walked by the bedroom door, only to stop when he caught a glimpse of us inside. 

I was silently begging my father didn’t pop his graying hair around the corner. Even if he did, he’d look over me for a moment and then continue acting like I didn’t exist. I preferred him out of anyone. He didn’t even try to pretend he liked me. 

It’s a kid’s dream to have an older brother he can look up to. Someone who will defend him to bigger bullies and teach him how to throw a punch. Someone they can annoy until they give in and play video games with you. 

That’s what an older brother should be. A protector. A guide. Someone you can count on. 

I think mine’s just the antichrist. 

After graduating from Hollow Heights he left for Boston to attend medical school, I think he’s an intern or some shit like that now. I find it almost comical that he’s being trusted with people’s lives. 

How anyone can look at him and not see what a selfish, vile, prick he is. 

And knowing that my parents made me to be just like him. Creating me in his image. I wanted to skin myself thinking about it. 

He pauses, looking at me with revulsion, “You’re still here? Figured they would have already found you dead in a ditch by now.” 

“That would give you too much joy, Dorian. Can’t have that, can we?” 

“How anyone thinks we look similar is beyond me. It’s an insult to my genes.” 

“Believe me, I don’t want anyone telling me I look like a monkey’s ass either, but you work with what you’re dealt.” I say giving a disparaging smile. 

“They should have just broken the mold with me. Instead I’m stuck having to stare at my spare parts every time I come home.” 

I wanted to hit him for reminding me, but I didn’t want to deal with the backlash. “As fun as this was, I’d rather go kill myself than stand here with you two any longer.”

I stride out of my room, perfectly fine if that’s the last words I ever speak to either of them. Harsh, I know, but it doesn’t make it any less true. 

“Make sure you cut vertical. That way the likelihood of you surviving is slim.” Dorian adds, his voice bouncing of the back of my head as I descend the steps, trying to put as much distance between myself and them as possible. 

Slinging my stuff into my passenger seat as I jump into the driver’s side, starting my vehicle and flinging gravel behind me as I tear out of the driveway. Hoping I smash a window or two in the process. 

I don’t breathe until I’m off the estate and speeding down the road adjacent to my house. When I’m sure they can no longer hear or see me. 

I stopped feeling sorry for myself after I met the boys. When I was showed that family isn’t who you’re born with. It’s who you’d kill for. That even though my parents and brother are like living with actual demons, I still had the guys. 

We were six and at a country club summer bash with our families. That’s the first time I met them. When I found Rook and Silas trying to set off a small firework, while Thatcher distracted anyone who walked by. 

Three boys who all came from wealth but were still searching for the chaos in life. Needing the anarchy to cope with the horrors at home, in their minds. Even at that age. These people who wouldn’t view me differently or try to change who I was, three people who took me how I was and made me embrace who I am. 

We never made each other hide. We saw the good, the bad, and the worst. 

Underneath all the trouble, the torment, the evil, we were just boys who’d been broken. Innocent children who were thrown into this world with no protection. They gave us no choice, not really. 

So now, the monsters protect each other. 

And only each other.