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  Devious

  by

  Aria Declan

  Text copyright 2012 by Aria Declan

  All rights reserved. Expert as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the author. This book should not be shared onto other sites without permission or legal action will take place.

  Smashwords Edition

  There is no paperback version of this book as of 2012.

  Devious: a short novel / Aria Declan

  Summary: It's 9 am and Leanna, a modern day lolita, cannot remember what she did the night before. She is fully dressed and her neighbor has just been discovered dead. She is suspicious of the new neighbor, who is sketchy, but yet she cannot stay away from him—he's all she ever wanted. As the people closest to Leanna get their lives cut short, the only thing on her mind is all the men drowning her life.

  Book cover by AcidicGlamour here

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  Contents

  Driving in Cars with Boys

  Video Games

  Kinda Outta Luck

  Blue Jeans

  Kill, Kill

  Summertime Sadness

  Without You

  Born to Die

  Million Dollar Man

  This Is What Makes Us Girls

  Prologue

  “I was born bad.

  But, then I met you.

  You made me nice for a while.

  But, my dark side's true.”

  -Lana Del Rey “Kinda Outta Luck”

  Chapter 1

  Driving in Cars With Boys

  I puckered my red lips to kiss the stubble on his chin.

  He frowned, and with his large hands he gently pushed me to stand back. His dad, who looked like a psycho rapist that would pick up an underage cutie outside a bar, drove up to us. He pulled up to the curb next to me in his old red truck and rolled down the passenger side window.

  I bit down on my oversized lips and tried not to make eye contact with him. Not because he was the town's most hated, but because me and my man spent many useless nights in that truck.

  “Hello, Mr. Carson,” I said in my soft tone, that many men thought I faked because it was much too sultry for a seventeen year old. “Isn't it late for you to be out here; especially with a murderer loose?”

  He laughed as if he were at a comedy show, which made me cringe. Just hearing him laugh made me think about an old creep up to no good. “Do you need a ride home, baby doll?” Mr. Carson kept his green eyes pierced on me as he leaned over and opened the passenger door. “I'm going by your Mama's house right now, doll.”

  I stared into my man, Tyler's worried eyes and then looked away. “It is getting late. I should be heading home,” I whispered, knowing he would be angry if I left him alone.

  Tyler rolled his eyes and without a word, walked away to his job as a waiter at the sixties' diner, Margret’s Chair. I did not bother chasing after him, because that was what I did ninety percent of the time. Like fifty percent of woman, I needed to learn to let go and learn what I was worth.

  I really wanted him to kiss me good night; it was all I wanted, but he would not dare. He only liked the bad girls. Unfortunately, he was missing out on the baddest one.

  And not bad in the sense of selling drugs and having cocaine binges, but the reckless kind; the kind that thought I could live forever.

  “Well...” Mr. Carson said as he waited for me to get into his truck. He played with his disgusting biker mustache and hummed to me, what sounded like a Madonna song. How would a “gangster” man like him know a Madonna song?

  I swung my cheap swap-meet purse, that carried way too many things, over my shoulder. I held my little hand out for him to pull me inside his truck, as I only stood at five foot four. I was more worried about my overly tight shorts ripping, and how my long hair that went straight down my back could get frizzy.

  As I put my seat belt on, he slowly drove down the silent empty streets. I kept my eyes on the homes we passed through; all simple brick homes with perfect lawns that struggled to stay green in the cold autumn weather. On boring days, I liked to ride in Tyler's truck and wonder what people did in their brick homes. I always imagined the good happy family stuff. But, now all I thought about were chilling things, like people being killed and tortured to death because that was all the local news talked about.

  Mr. Carson, who mainly went by Derek, leaned down under his seat to find his CDs. I gripped tight onto my seat belt as he took his eyes off the road several times. Even though there were no cars in sight; no one crazy enough to be out when the town was scared straight from a recent murder that happened a block from my street.

  “That murder sure does have everyone crying,” he laughed as he put in a CD that was titled, hot mixtapes—that immediately made me want to puke.

  It made me feel uneasy as he went through tracks one to seven. He took his eyes off the road one more time and stared into my eyes as the voice of Caleb Followill from Kings of Leon began to sing “17.”

  “I like this song,” he said as he began to talk in a lower tone. “Do you know why?”

  “I don't want to know,” I whispered, because just the tone of my voice would have him pouncing all over me.

  And I was no self-centered brat; I just knew what I was capable of. Someone like me, knew my power; with full auburn hair only styled with a side-part and big hazel eyes with dark top lashes that could probably sweep dust.

  All any man wanted to do to me was wrap their hands around my tiny waist and sit me on their lap just to get the perfect view. And I cannot say I blame them. It was only my fault since I wore hugging dresses and high heels. Maybe I wanted men to bother me, maybe I liked the attention.

  Derek pulled up to my home, where my mother was outside making my little sister pose for the camera. I instantly smiled as she posed like a little lolita, then I frowned of disgust. That was any sick man's peeping show.

  “Mama!” I shouted as I jumped out the truck, swinging my purse in different directions.

  She began to untangle her fresh curls, as her six inch heel slid into the dirt of the lawn. “Baby, where have you been? You know there are murderers loose.” Mama held in her belly as she showed me how she squeezed into my new dress I had bought.

  However, I did not buy it for her. “That's mine.”

  “Baby, I have to go to New York. You know that,” she whispered as she waved for Derek to come inside. But, he was already on his way inside—ready for a hot plate.

  “You don't have to invite him over every night,” I muttered. “He's disgusting.”

  “Then, why would you ride with him?” she snapped as she ran inside to fix her tangled curls.

  “Because you won't buy me a car.”

  “Leanna, the world doesn't work that way,” she said. “You should know that by now.”

  In disgust, I sat at my usual seat at the dinner table. Mama, made the same thing three nights in a row—meat balls and rice. She was not a very tasty cook; maybe a reason she could never keep a man.

  I pushed my plate away as Derek came stumbling into the dining room. Instead of sitting across from me, he made it a priority to sit right next to me—nearly touching my elbow with his.

  I hated to watch people eat because it made my stomach queasy. Especially, watching Derek as he struggled to get all the rice out his overgrown mustache—a mustache that belonged on a biker rather than a handyman. To make things worse, his hair that had not been cut since 1992 made its way into my plate.

  “Ew!” I shouted as his hair splashed sauce in my eye.

  “Let me help you out,” he said as he l
eaned over closer to me. “It's just a little sauce.”

  “No, get away!” I cried. “Just leave me alone.”

  Mama came running into the room, “What is your problem now? You're always being so damn dramatic about something. You're seventeen but sometimes you act like you are ten.”

  I sighed and tried to hold my tears back—but one made its way down my cheek. I did not know what I was crying for since it was not my time of the month. I stared at my reflection in my spoon and my tears came out like a waterfall. My lips that already looked fake, looked larger and my eyelashes looked like some drag queen glued them on me. Even though people paid money to have those two things, I wanted to either pop a needle in it or cut it off.

  “She does this sometime,” Mama whispered to Derek as if I were not even there. “You'll get used to it eventually.”

  I instantly stopped crying, “What does that mean?”

  “I told you I’m going to New York,” she snapped. “Me and your sister will be gone for a good three months for this art competition show. Leanna, I’ve been talking about this show for the last five weeks. Do you not listen to me?”

  “It's called selective listening, and no I do not listen to you. I thought we discovered this years ago,” I muttered.

  Mama smirked with suspicion as she put her pearls on. “I swear, you are so lucky I’m in a good mood or your ass would be outside,” she snapped. “Derek, will take you to school and bring you home; and hopefully teach you to cook,” she laughed, but nothing was funny.

  Just when I thought Mama would never make it as a big time artist, she got her big break. Well, everyone thought she got it, but Mama was just like me. She used her voice, body, and attitude to get what she wanted.

  There was a reason she wore a short mini skirt to show off her long legs when she showcased her work at an art show. When I say short, you could nearly see the no panties she had on. And of course, her golden barbie hair that smelled like baby powder had every man wrapped around her finger. She told me she gave me her hazel eyes for a reason, and that reason always had me in trouble.

  I secretly pulled out my cell phone as Derek and Mama blushed over the big news that she would be on reality TV. By morning, Mama would be the talk of our small town, Riverbed; centered in the middle of California. We sometimes got mistaken for southerners lost at sea. But, we liked to think of us as population two thousand slowly heading to population zero. We had a sense of humor, or we liked to fake it. Especially, when one of our own was killed recently.

  Mama came into my bedroom and grunted. She tried many times to tare off all the glamor shorts of Elizabeth Taylor and other hot shots from the past to replace with what she claimed was art. Art to her was paint thrown against foil, sprayed with water, and dipped into dog poop—well, that was what it looked like to me.

  “Well, my taxi is here,” she said as she held my baby sister Lola to my face. “Give your sister a big kiss.”

  I kissed my baby sister, and rolled my eyes. “You always like leaving me alone.”

  Mama groaned and through her head back in annoyance. “Leanna, this is my big shot. I’m doing this for you and your sister. If I win this show, I get one-hundred thousand dollars and a contract. That will pay for your college and a new car.”

  I perked up, “A car?”

  “Yes, any car and if you're lucky I can get you a purple car,” she smiled. “I'll email you all the details about this show as soon as I find out. I won't be able to sleep if I know you don't support me.”

  “I love and support you.”

  “I also said I would pay for your college.”

  “Selective listening, mom...selective listening,” I smiled.

  She walked to the doorway, “Okay, well, Derek left. And you have to promise to be the good girl I know you are.”

  I ran over to her, leaned in to kiss her soft lips, and hugged her. “I'll be safe and hopefully alive when you get back.”

  “That is not funny!” she laughed. “Gosh, you are just like your father. You both have twisted sense of humors.”

  With my sister attached to her hip, Mama rushed out the home. Lola was waving frantically as she was strapped in her car-seat. I felt like I was in a movie, where the main character regrets not saying something. But, I said everything that Mama really needed to know—I loved and supported her. Plus, I wanted a purple car.

  As the taxi pulled away, my cell phone began to ring. I locked the front door, because that was how our neighbor got killed by leaving it unlocked and then I ran through the halls. It was just a text from another guy.

  What are you doing, sugar?

  Just as I was ready to text back, my phone rang again.

  Baby, come down to the bar.

  And again...

  I have a bottle of Jack with our name on it.

  But, none of the texts were from the one I wanted.

  I sat back down on my pillow and wondered why me. Why was I cursed with this...attention? I did not enjoy it, but I secretly loved it.

  I’m lonely, I replied back. It seems I only go out when I’m sad.

  I turned my phone off and turned my television on. The only thing good on was the local news. I liked watching the local news because they had a smoking hot news journalist, Robert White, who covered the Riverbed murder scene.

  “...Riverbed is a tiny town, with zero crime rates since this incident. The town is in shock—complete disappointment and they want answers. It's said that a male, dark skinned, long hair, and very slender was killed. Police are not releasing who he was, but the town already knew him very well...”

  I turned the television off, thinking about who they said was a male, dark skinned, long hair, and very slender. Their description was far from that. He was rather, tanned like a beach boy, had shoulder length shaggy hair, and he was extremely buff.

  Maybe I was one of the very few who did not miss him, considering he had snapped photos of me from under my skirt weeks prior to his death. It was embarrassing knowing that his family possibly searched his bedroom and went through his camera to find my butt in fifty percent of the film.

  It was bittersweet knowing those were the type of men Riverbed had to offer. Most people who grew up in Riverbed, married there, and then eventually died their. Men always died at least ten years before their wives, leading to convalescent homes on nearly every block filled with brittle women.

  Sometimes I was glad my mother did not stay with my father. He was a tall sophisticated man who drank his wine with his pinky up and smoked cigars with a fur coat on. He also talked like he was the king of England, and was arrested for saying he was the God of the world. He would write me letters from a psych ward at least twice a month, telling me to sell his screenplay to Morgan Freeman.

  Some people were just ticking time bombs.

  Chapter 2

  Video Games

  How I ended up on a bar table, is a mystery. And how I was allowed to get into that bar, was all luck. It was my twisted idea of fun. My friends were way older than me by just years, but they all attached to me. They told me I made them feel pretty. But, they made me feel alive.

  I sipped whatever was buzzing in my glass cup as I watched Tyler swap spit with a Hawaiian Mexican Italian barbie bitch that wore a size ten but insisted to squeeze her ass into a five. I remember when I was thirteen, she was seventeen and had the nails of a frisky cat. She said, “Baby, just wait until you're twice my age, then every guy in Riverbed will be after you.”

  Back then I was a flat chested, no hips, skinny legs, little girl. I remember I had a crush on a seventeen year old but he would just laugh in my face and then walk away to the prettiest girl in the room.

  I was way ahead of that barbie bitch. She thought of me as child meat, but now she thinks of me as competition. And I was winning her own game.

  The room began to spin as I laughed and someone lifted me up onto their shoulders. I had a little summer dress on with floral print, that flew up as he lifted me.

&n
bsp; Every man in that room had a woman, but yet I was the one they stared at. Maybe they thought I was easy, maybe they thought I was fun. I screamed at the top of my lungs and everyone in the bar cheered for me, holding a glass up in praise. The sad part was every one knew I was underage by at least five years. It was not that I looked younger, but it was a small town. We all knew each other.

  Tyler, who was dressed like he was some hipster from NYC, walked over to me from across the bar as I sat on some muscle mans shoulders. He tugged on my dress, “Leanna, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Aren't you having fun yet?” I slurred. “Come join me up here. I think this macho man can hold us both!” I laughed and sipped some more alcohol.

  “You have school tomorrow, Leanna,” he said. “Get down from there!”

  Tyler grabbed me and threw me over his shoulders. It was times like that when I was glad I was only five foot four. Except my head was in the wrong direction and I could feel the shame fluid easing its way out my mouth. I began to gag as he stomped his way out the door.

  We approached the curb, and I began to shiver, barely realizing I was dressed inappropriately. He sat me on the grass and tried to pull my dress down to cover my thighs. I could feel the wet grass going through my dress, and that made me wonder why our town did not have sidewalks.

  “You embarrass me, Leanna.”

  Luckily, I was drunk out my mind. “Huh?” I gagged and he handed me a trash bag from the 99 Cent Store. I held the smelly bag to my face, not wanting to vomit. “This bag smells like your armpits!”