The Arrangement 12(15)
He chortles and presses his fingers to his temples and seems to relax again. No one speaks and I keep wondering the same question. I know I shouldn’t ask it, but I do anyway. “Mel?”
“Yeah?” she says from the floor. Her arm is over her face and she’s lying flat on her back.
“What’d it feel like?” She pulls her arm off her eyes and sits up a little.
“You don’t want to know that for real, do you?”
I’m stupid. I nod. The thing is, if I had to defend myself, I wonder if I could. I’m squeamish around blood, so how could I inflict enough damage to keep someone from killing me? I wonder if it’s like some other part of the brain takes over and that’s that.
Mel sits up and puts her arms around her knees. “I knew what I was doing, if that’s what you mean. The moment I saw her, I knew something was wrong—like way the fuck wrong. When someone threatens you with a knife, gun, or whatever—there’s no time to second guess anything. It’s you or them, and I’m not dying.”
Trystan’s eyes flick between us as we speak, but he says nothing. I wonder what horrors he’s seen because he doesn’t react to anything we say. He just sits there, listening, like he knows what Mel’s talking about.
“But how can you do it? I don’t think I could.”
That’s when Trystan speaks up. “There’s something inside of you that will wake up if you need it. I hope to God that you never do, but don’t doubt that it’s there. Like Mel said, your body will want to act—to protect you. Don’t think. Just do it, and you’ll live another day.”
Mel and I stare at him. There’s a second where his words are frightening, but then I feel nothing but empathy for him. He must have learned that from living with his father. The guy beat the shit out of him when he was a kid. It was in the papers and all anyone talked about for a while. Trystan Scott is a beautiful, charismatic, and charming singer. Everyone who meets him, loves him. He doesn’t seem to have a violent bone in his body, but he came from a bloody and battered past. There’s more story there, things I’ll never know, secrets he’ll never tell.
I nod, and am saved from finding an answer when Sean appears. “Let’s go. Jon can deal with his own shit.” He glances at Trystan and seems like he wants to tell him off, but doesn’t.
“Wait, what about Mel?” I ask, as Sean’s leading me toward the door.
“She knows what to do. Don’t worry about her. Come on, I have the jet waiting at McArthur Airport.”
The jet? Where are we going? I know better than to ask, so I say nothing and follow him outside. There’s a limo waiting. We duck inside and take off. Sean is still angry from whatever happened with Jonathan. He lets out a rush of air and says, “My brother’s an idiot.”
I smile at him, trying to lighten the mood. “Which one?”
Sean smirks and glances over at me, before wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me to him. He kisses the top of my head and starts talking. “Jon thinks I abandoned him when he was a kid, but that’s not what happened. Pete seems to understand better, but not Jon. He won’t forgive me, and he acts like his childhood was hell and it’s my fault. The guy has everything, including the family fortune, then he goes and does things like this. I could understand this behavior from Bryan or Trystan, but not Jon. He’s got too much on the line and our mother isn’t exactly forgiving. There are things he doesn’t know.” Sean sighs and stops talking. It seems like he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t.
“I wish I had a brother or a sister, even if we didn’t get along. I envy you.” Sean makes a sound of disbelief. “No, I’m serious. Having crappy siblings is better than having none. You’re not alone. I am. Besides, Peter seems to have forgiven you. Jon will understand sooner or later.”
Sean doesn’t say anything, he just holds me tighter and stares out the window until the limo pulls up to a little jet parked on the tarmac. The lights glow softly from inside and the door is open with a staircase beckoning us to board. Sean takes my hand and leads me onto the plane. When I step inside, I don’t know what to do. There are eight huge leather seats that look as if they spin around. There’s a table, a bar, and a huge paper-thin television on the back wall. Everything looks pristine and has that new car, uh, new jet, smell.
“Sit wherever you like.” Sean gestures for me to continue into the back by myself. He disappears behind a curtain in front and speaks to the pilot before returning. By then I’m sitting in the last row and looking out the window.