Landon & Shay: Part One (L&S Duet, #1)

by Brittainy C. Cherry

I never meant to be a monster, but sometimes I wondered if certain people were born that way, born with a darkness that oozed into their bloodstreams and infected their souls.

Their names combined should’ve made me a noble servant to the world, but I was far from it. If you asked most of my classmates what my name stood for, they’d probably say asshole. Rightfully so, too.

I didn’t know why so much darkness sat heavily in my chest. I didn’t know why I was so angry. I just knew that I was.

I hated that about me. I hated that I wasn’t a good person. I wasn’t even decent. I did a lot of ugly things that probably had both Lance and Grandpa rolling over in their graves. And why was I this way? I wished I knew. My mind was a puzzle, and I hardly knew how the pieces linked up.

My skin flushed and bubbled up from the sensation. It was a reminder that I was still alive, still able to feel, even though for the most part, I felt like dry ice—frozen solid and painful to whoever tried to hold on to me for too long.

The worst thing a broken person could do was hook up with another broken person. Ten times out of ten, it turned into a disaster.

Shay entered the room, and a knot formed in my gut. Since the year before, that knot in my stomach always appeared whenever Shay Gable entered the room. I wasn’t exactly sure what the feeling meant, or if it even meant anything, but dammit, the feeling was there.

I hated Shay Gable. If there was only one thing in life I knew for certain, it was that fact.

From day one, we never gelled. You know how people have instant friendships? She and I had an instant hateship. I hated her and her goody-two-shoes personality. Ever since we were kids, Shay never misbehaved. She was always getting good grades, always making friends wherever she went. She didn’t touch drugs, and she partied sober. She probably said her prayers and kissed her grandma before bed, too. Little Miss Perfect. More like Little Miss Fake. I didn’t buy her good-girl act. Nobody could be that good. Nobody could have so few demons in their closet.

Hating Shay was the most constant thing in my life. Hating her felt like a high I’d always been chasing, and as each year passed, I got more and more high off Shay’s dismissal of me. There was something intense about the hate we gave, and the older we grew, the more I craved it.

Not only was she beautiful, she was smart, too. She was the top of the junior class. Brains and beauty—though I’d never tell her so. For all she knew, my thoughts of her were completely filled with disgust and loathing, but sometimes, I’d watch her when she wasn’t looking. Sometimes, I’d listen to her laugh with her girlfriends. I’d study the way she studied people like they were art and she was trying to figure out how they’d been created. She was always jotting things down in notebooks, too, like her life depended on the words on those pages.

Shay glanced toward me with an uneasy, disdainful look. Hello, brown eyes.

I glanced up across the space to see Shay talking to some band geek or something. She was always doing that kind of shit—talking to people in all social classes. People didn’t just love her; they love loved her. Shay was Jackson High’s royalty, but not the bitchy, asshole kind like Monica and me. People liked Monica and me because we scared them. People loved Shay because she was…Shay, the Princess Diana of high school.

She looked like a princess, standing tall with bright chocolate doe eyes and plump lips that always smiled. Her skin was a smooth warm tone, and her hair was the darkest of black with light waves. Her body curved in all the right places, and my mind couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like without clothes on. To put it simply, Shay was beautiful. So many dudes called her hot, but I didn’t agree. Calling her hot felt idiotic and cheap because she wasn’t just hot like some girls at our school. She was a vibrant light. She was the spark that lit up the sky. A fucking star. As cliché and chick flick as it sounded, every guy wanted her, and every girl wanted to be her. She was friends with them all, too—every single person. Even if she dated someone, they never ended on bad terms. The split always seemed peaceful. Shay not only looked like a damn princess, but she acted like one, too. Cool, calm, collected. Poised. She never went without saying hi to anyone who approached her. She never excluded anyone from any activity. If she hosted a gathering, she’d invite the nerds, the band geeks, and the football players.

It was as if Shay was born with a mind light-years ahead of the rest of us and knew high school status wouldn’t mean shit in the scheme of things. She wasn’t a piece that fit one puzzle. She was a one-size-fits-all person. She managed to find a spot in everyone’s world, and it all seemed so effortless. The geeks at our school talked about Shay the same way the goths did—with love and admiration. She was amazing to everyone. To everyone but me.

The only thing Eleanor and I had in common besides DNA was our love of words and stories, which was enough to make us each other’s very best friend. Having an Eleanor in my life was like having a fresh bouquet delivered to me each day. She was smart, kind, and refreshingly sarcastic. I swore no one could make me laugh more than Eleanor. The quiet ones always had the best under-the-breath commentary.

To which she had replied, “Okay, Shay. I’ll make sure not to tell Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth Bennet what you’re writing about. Though, I can’t swear I won’t tell Harry, Ron, or Hermione.” She joked, referring to the fact that other than me, she didn’t have friends, which was too bad. So many people were missing out on the greatness that was Eleanor Gable.

We ran in the same group of friends, and I pretty much loved them all, but somehow, Landon and I never connected in a positive light. Even when we were kids, he hated me. Once, he called me a chicken because I wouldn’t smoke pot at a party. After that, Chicken became his nickname for me. I called him Satan—for obvious reasons.

As I watched him cry, I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only thing I could think of. I went and I sat beside him. I loosened his tightened tie and held him in my arms as he sobbed uncontrollably in my embrace. He fell completely apart, and I saw every piece of him shatter.

“Do you want to come to a party with Tracey and me this Saturday?” “Is it a reading party?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “A reading party?” “You know, where a group of people get together, sit in a circle, and completely ignore one another for hours as they dive headfirst into a novel of their choosing? Does it happen in a library? Will there be bookmarks?” I laughed. “Well, no.” “Oh. Then that’s a hard pass for me.” She went right back to reading. I swore one day, I was going to drag her to a ridiculous high school party, and she was going to have an awful time like the rest of us teenagers.

That said, I had a feeling Eleanor would’ve lived a perfectly content life being locked in a dungeon with five million books surrounding her. Oh? And how did Eleanor Gable die? Surrounded by a million happily ever afters and a handful of what-the-hell endings.

The intimate moment of our momentary slip in hatred was so vibrant in my mind, I swore it felt as if it had just happened the day before. I saw his deep blue eyes swimming in the sea of his sadness, I felt his body tremble against my touch, and I felt his pain, so raw and unfiltered. He’d been the complete opposite of how Landon presented himself at school. He always seemed so unbothered by the world as if he was in it but not a part of it. He was cockily cool, calm, and collected as if nothing and nobody could or would ever bother him. That night as I sat on his bed with my arms wrapped around him, I saw his heart, his gentle, pained heart, and it bled just like everyone else’s did. It might’ve even bled a little bit more than most people.

If one of the first things they mentioned about me had to do with my body, I knew it would never be theirs to have.

I’d done it. I’d crossed the entrance into Satan’s den and lived to tell the story. And, shockingly, I wasn’t set on fire. Angels like me weren’t supposed to dance in the same ring as the Devil.

Speaking of hearts, mine did an odd skipping thing the moment Landon entered the room. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t look handsome. He’d grown up over the years from an annoying boy to an annoying man, and I’d watched it happen from a distance. I wished he would’ve lived a little longer in the awkward teenager-with-braces phase of his life, but I hadn’t been that lucky. Now, he had a perfect smile to go with his perfect blue eyes, messy brown hair, and built body. I swore he’d gone from skinny boy to the Incredible Hulk overnight. His muscles had muscles, and every time I looked at them, it felt like they were flipping me off.

I hated how he smiled at me. It always seemed so sinister. I also hated that a small part of me was attracted to said smile. A part of me craved that smile. Sometimes, I’d study Landon from afar, wondering if his lips would curve up. For the most part, he lived with a constant grimace. If he were a Care Bear, he’d definitely be Grumpy Bear.

He got off on seeing my irritation, too, which was why I worked so hard to keep my emotions in check whenever I was around him. I didn’t want to give him any pleasure from my pain. Sure, perhaps my heart beat out of sync when I was near him, but he didn’t have to know that.

“You really want to play with this fire, Shay?” “I’d love to see you try to burn me,” she replied, still smiling.

I stepped in closer to her. “You sure you want to put yourself in this position, Chick?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Because once you love me, every other man you ever date will be an utter disappointment.” “And once you love me, you’ll never be able to get me out of your head,” she said, stepping even closer. We were so close that her chest almost pressed against mine. At six-feet-two, I towered over her by quite a few inches. Yet she still kept her head held high.

“Please.” I smirked, lowering my head down toward her face. My lips were centimeters from hers. “I’m going to love every second of owning your body and your heart.”

Making Shay Gable fall in love with me was going to be a perfect distraction.

I kept thinking about how she’d held me weeks prior and stayed with me during the lowest point of my life. She had been there—my enemy—taking care of my scars. And as I’d stared at her in the hallway, I’d thought about thanking her—walking over to her, parting my lips, and giving her my gratitude. I wasn’t used to people doing shit for me with no hope of anything in return, and Shay had done it without any expectations.

Don’t let her read your pages, Landon. She couldn’t have even handled my prologue. All my walls were up, and I wasn’t going to let her knock them down.

I stood there, frozen in place, with the thought of Lance on my mind, and then, like a waterfall, all thoughts of him came rushing back to me. I couldn’t breathe as people pushed around me, partying, drinking, not noticing the panic attack consuming me, not noting the pain in my soul, which felt like it was being lit on fire. I wanted to drown. I wanted to drown so bad tonight. In vodka. In whiskey. In tequila. In tears.

I looked to my left and found one set of eyes staring at me. As everyone else looked through me, those eyes watched me as if I were a case study, a mouse in a cage being experimented on. A set of beautiful, sad eyes pierced my soul. Shay was the only one who bothered to look my way, and she was doing that same shit she’d done in the closet earlier. She was reading me, digging deep into my psyche and exploring my pages, unwelcomed.

I forced myself to move and pushed past her, brushing against her shoulder. “If you’re not going to blow me then stop staring at me, sunshine,” I huffed out. “Don’t call me suns...

I swam deep and stayed under the water as long as I could. I’d jumped into that pool every single night since Lance passed away. I was good at staying under. It was what I’d spent the last few months of my life doing—holding my breath.

If they’d been talking to the real me, they wouldn’t have been impressed by the fact that it took every inch of strength for me to pull myself out of bed each morning. For a while, I wondered if it was this hard for everyone—getting up each day, dragging oneself out of bed. There were days when all I wanted to do was bury myself deeper into the blankets and not emerge from my room until weeks had passed. I couldn’t sleep, but I wanted to sit there in bed, alone with my dark mind.

“How’s your heart today?” she asked me, the same question she asked every time she stopped by. “Still beating.” “Good.”

The more I knew about her, the easier it would be to get her in my bed. Actor. Writer. Beautiful, too. That didn’t matter, but it crossed my mind enough to make note of it.

Today I was happy. I figured I should write it down because it seems like a lot of my days are getting darker. Harder. I feel my mind slipping into the darkness again. I’m still taking my meds and working hard to keep my head afloat, but I feel it. I feel myself slipping. I spend more time with my family because there’s something about them that brings me peace. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to not drown. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but today I was happy. Today I am happy. And that’s worthy of being written down.

I knew what caused my anxiety, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was the cause behind Landon’s. It blew my mind how he could stand in a room, surrounded by dozens of people who claimed to be his friends, and no one even noticed his pain. Except me.

I was a people person by nature. It was my gift—seeing people from all sides, all angles. I’d learned early on that there aren’t any real villains in life, just heroes who have been beaten down for so long they’ve forgotten they have the ability to be good.

“He’s not okay lately, and I don’t think he’s been sleeping,” he told me. “He’s the kind of sad you only notice if you look closely enough, and most people don’t look. He’s one of my best friends, though, and I see it all. Ever since Lance died, he hasn’t been okay, and Saturday was Lance’s birthday, so I know that triggered some of his issues. I know you two have your own hate and stuff, Shay, but Landon is a good guy. He’s just lost, that’s all—just like all of us, I suppose.”

I studied him. Not just the words he was saying, but how he was moving. How his fingers fidgeted. How his crooked smile frowned. Greyson’s words floated through my head as I looked at Landon. He’s the kind of sad you only notice if you look closely enough. His eyes. His beautiful, sad eyes. His eyes were heavy and miserable, filled with a story he was too terrified to tell. He kept something to himself. His hurts? His pain, maybe? His truths? I wanted to know more about those parts of him. I wanted to study the angles he kept hidden from the world. I wanted to know about the boy I hated and why he hated himself even more. I was absolutely certain there was no one who hated Landon as much as he hated himself, and that idea alone made me feel bad for him. Not pity him…but just…feel bad. He had to be the most complex character I’d ever crossed as a storyteller, and I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by the idea of seeing how his story would unfold.

Still, somehow, I wanted it for reasons unknown to me, wanted it more than I should’ve. Whenever I was near him, I felt this heat in my body that I’d never felt from anyone else. I wanted to know why that was a thing. I wanted to know if he felt it, too. I wanted to know his story. His ugly, hard novel. I wanted to read his words, even though they seemed to bleed across the page in the most painful way.

I thought it was the most romantic thing in the whole world—a tree filled with lovers. I wished someday to carve my name into the tree, too, with my future love.

I had no doubt that I’d win our bet, because I knew Landon wasn’t the type of person people loved. Lust, perhaps. But love? Never. He wasn’t built that way. He didn’t have the ability to let people in the way they needed to be invited into his soul in order for them to love him. His heart was shut off from allowing others to hear how it beat. In my mind, Landon Harrison would never be the hero. He was always the villain of people’s stories, including mine. I knew I’d never carve his initials next to mine, because a person like me could never love a monster like Landon. In fairytales, the beauty fell in love with the beast. In reality, the beast destroyed beauty. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I wasn’t going to fall in love and be left with shattered shards of my soul. I might have had a sensitive heart, but I refused to let it be sensitive to him.

My favorite thing about Shay was how easy it was to make her blush. She was a good girl, and you saw it all over her face.

Never in my life had I thought it would have been Shay who kept my mind clear.