Page 2 of These Vile Hearts

“Momma, run!” Maddox screeched.

Orwould havescreeched, if one of the dryads hadn’t come up behind her, hadn’t wrapped an arm around her shoulders and covered her mouth with a calloused hand. Her own hands flew up, nails digging into their skin. The dryad only laughed.

Maddox watched as the antlered dryad stood behind her sobbing mother and drove a blade into her back. Watched as they did it again and again.

The forest was silent no longer.

Her mother’s screams grew faint after a time. Then she was gurgling, too, blood pooling with her husband’s. Wide eyes stared unseeing at the creatures who had just stolen her life.

“You’re welcome, Maddox Sinclair,” the beast behind her whispered in her ear, the words carrying a chill that felt like knives down her shoulders.

Then they were gone, their laughter lingering on the wind in an eerie song. Until the silence returned, punctuated by Maddox’s gasping breaths. Dizziness swirled in her brain as she stood before the still forms of her parents, as she watched their blood pour onto theground. Her heart wouldn’t slow, hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Even though she’d watched it all unfold, she couldn’t wrap her head around what had happened. Couldn’t understandwhy.

When she knew she was alone, Maddox began to scream.

But no mortal heard her. She sobbed, but no one came. Not for hours.

If a girl falls apart in the forest, and no one is there to hear…does she even make asound?

1

Maddox

I sit in the open back of a neon pink moving truck, legs tucked beneath me as I flip through a photo album gifted to me by my best friend and, as of today, ex-roommate. When I get to a Polaroid of the first night in our shared apartment, I pause.

The floor is littered with boxes, open take-out containers, and bottles of cheap champagne. The green fairy lights Javen wound haphazardly up the wall cast us both in an emerald sheen that is more flattering on his deep brown skin, whereas I just look sickly. Even more sickly. But I’d been so fucking happy that night. A rare smile brought out the dimple in my freckled cheek, my gray eyes turned to half-moons with unconcealed joy. Content and full and ready to take on life with the person who knew me best. Didn’t matter that we didn’t have parents or any stable partners. We had each other, and that was enough.

Now a painful lump swells in my throat, and my stomach churns. I swallow the emotion. There will be plenty of time to fall apart later, after Javen is well on his way to San Francisco to realize our shared dream of escaping this dying logging town. The lingering buzz of apanic attack hums just beneath my skin, waiting to take over. Not yet, though. Not just yet.

I reject the feeling. Lock it down.

My attention is drawn away from the frozen memories at the sound of a high-pitched squeal emanating from the bushes lining our apartment’s walk. A pair of vibrant blue pixies are seemingly fighting to the death over a plump huckleberry. I used to watch them all the time when I was little, giggling at their antics. Now I merely glower. There is nothing funny or cute about the fae.

Javen shoulders his way out of the front door with three bottles of cider in hand and a family-sized bag of sweet onion chips clenched between his teeth. He breezes right by the tiny fairies, nearly crashing into one, but they disperse in a huff before he’s able to.

Even after all this time, it still feels strange that no one else can see past the fae’s glamoured veil. Once upon a time, I thought the Sight made me special, blessed by some magical god. Now it feels like a curse. Every winged creature or horned beast I stumble upon makes me see red. The same shade that pooled in the dirt as I screamed for help on Myrtle Tree Trail sixteen years ago.

“Three ciders?” I call to Javen, closing the photo album and placing it atop a box labeledMore Costume Shitin bright green marker. “Please tell me you didn’t invite one of your weird coworkers to see you off too.”

He makes a face. “Ew, of course not. One cider for me since I’ll be driving, and two for you, to help you cope with the fact that you won’t get to see my glorious face every day.”

The words are said in jest, but they’re far too painful for me to offer more than a tight-lipped smile. Cloaking misery in humor is a habit Javen and I both acquired in foster care. Succumbing to emotions in a house with people you didn’t trust was not an option, so we made light of heavy things. It made them easier to carry, alongwith the black trash bags of meager belongings we toted from house to broken house.

He settles beside me now, popping the top off a spiced apple cider with the edge of the pink truck. “When are you taking all your stuff over to the new place?” he asks. “You talked to the landlord, right?”

I hide the lie I’m about to tell with a deep glug from the bottle. “Tomorrow, probably. Wanted to spend today wallowing.”

“Valid.”

Javen tried to convince me to move with him to San Francisco, but I told him I needed to save money. The understatement of the century, as I’m currently down to my last hundred dollars. And two days ago, I had to inform our tiny apartment complex that I won’t be able to afford the deposit on the one-bedroom I’d been planning on moving into.

Lack of money aside, I can only apply for Medicaid in Oregon as a former foster youth in this state. So I can’t go to California until I get a job that would either pay enough to cover my medical supplies or has excellent insurance. And, for some reason, none of the places I’ve applied seem particularly impressed with my measly high school education, my handful of service and hospitality jobs, or my five-month stint as a virtual assistant.

As of this moment, my house is none other than the Jeep I bought back when I naively assumed I’d be able to afford the monthly payments with my fancy new corporate job. That’s what happens when you believe the bullshit promises of a tech company selling you a dream only to let all their remote workers go a few months later.

Javen rips into the bag of sweet onion chips, grabbing a handful before passing it to me. “Want me to get your diabetes bag? It’s in your car, yeah?”

“No need.”