“Said he needed some time.” Stephen rests his palms on the counter and hangs his head.
“He’ll be here in a few days, I’m sure,” Mom says soothingly, although I’m not sure it has any effect on Stephen.
I’m right because not two seconds later does he march from the kitchen, the bottle in hand, without saying a word.
“He’s hurting too. He still cared about Leanora,” Mom muses.
I fall down into the chair beside her. “So, what now? We just wait for him to appear?”
“I guess so. Not sure there’s much else we can do.”
“What about the funeral?”
“It’s next Friday. Stephen and Ash have already got things ready for it.”
I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. I shouldn’t be so relieved that no sooner has he arrived then he’ll be heading back for the funeral. The guy’s just lost his mom, I really should be more concerned about him than I am myself.
“I’m going to fucking ruin you, little one.” His words rip through me like a tsunami and I shudder from head to toe.
No, maybe I’m right to be worried about myself. I’d never wish for anyone to lose a parent. I can’t even imagine how awful it must be. But at the same time, I do believe in karma. It’s all I’ve got to latch on to right now.
“So...” Harley says on a video call later that evening. “How was it?”
“He’s not here,” I admit, flipping over onto my stomach and propping my cell up on my pillow.
“Oh. He’s not coming now?”
“He is. He’s just... taking his time.” I want to say he’s torturing me, but I’m sure he’s not so much as thought of me once since walking out our door that night.
“Oh, well... that could be a good thing, I guess. Give him time to get his head straight.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
A knock sounds out on Harley’s door before she calls, “Come in.”
“Hey, is that Rubes?” another familiar voice says before the camera bounces as Poppy jumps on Harley’s bed.
“Oh look, Zayn let you up for air?” I ask, much to Harley’s disgust.
“I thought we agreed not to talk about such things,” she mutters. “You two need to talk dirty details about my brother, then you do it well away from me.”
“Calm your tits, I didn’t come in here to tell you how he just stuck his—”
“La la la la,” Harley sings with her fingers in her ears, much to Poppy’s amusement.
“How’s it going?” Poppy says after a beat, her face turning serious as she looks at me through the camera.
“Ugh.” I recall what I just told Harley.
“It’ll be fine. You’ll see. He was just playing games before. He’s got bigger issues to worry about now. He won’t even bother you.” I raise a brow at her, unable to even consider believing her words. If what went down between us was so easy to forget, then why haven’t I?
Why is it that any time I’ve kissed a guy since then, I’ve thought of him? I’ve compared them to him. And so far, no one has come close to making me feel what he did.
“So, is he going to be starting at Rosewood?” Poppy asks.
“Please, can we talk about something else?” I groan, already fed up with how much of my headspace my illusive stepbrother is taking up.
“Sure. So, Zayn and I were talking—”
“Really?” Harley barks. I can’t help but laugh at her. She might be happy for her brother and Poppy, but it’s amusing as hell watching her try to come to terms with the fact one of her best friends is warming his bed at night.
I’m on edge for the next two days. Every time a door closes at home, or a car drives past, I’m on full alert expecting him to come crashing through my bedroom door and take all of this out on me. But he never does.
As I fall asleep Wednesday night, I begin to wonder if he’s even going to show at all and his promise of turning up was just a way to get Stephen off his back.
For the first time all week, I don’t toss and turn for hours before finally drifting off, although that could just be out of pure exhaustion. Chelsea is working us harder and harder in the lead up to nationals. We’re practicing twice a day during the week and all Saturday mornings. It’s hardcore, but I love it. Cheer is what I’ve always lived for and I’m on the cusp of great things, I can feel it.
Something stirs me awake a few hours later, dragging my eyes open, I find my room in darkness and the house in silence. But despite the lack of evidence, a shiver continues to race down my spine.
He’s here.
Flicking the lamp on beside me, I almost expect to find him sitting in the chair on the other side of my room watching me sleep like a creep, but my room is empty, thankfully.
Throwing back the covers, I silently pull my door open and slip out into the hallway.
The door to the room next door is open as it was when I passed earlier and the light is off, but as I step farther into the hallway something outside catches my eye.
I walk up to the window and look down at the driveway.
A gasp falls from my lips the second my eyes lock with a dark pair I feared I might find.
3
Ashton
My heart pounds in my chest as I stare up at the pair of eyes that have been haunting me since Halloween.
I swallow nervously and school my features. The last I need is for her to be able to read how I’m feeling before I’ve even stepped foot inside that fucking house.
So many times on the ride here, I almost turned around and headed in the opposite direction. I don’t need the people under this roof. I could find a job, carve myself a life somewhere no one knows me.
But every time I went to do it, I couldn’t.
Something always drew me here.
Her?
I like to think not, but as we stand staring at each other, something crackling between us, I can’t help but wonder if she could well be the reason.
Her eyes narrow in my direction and my veins fill with fire at the hate she shoots my way.
Good. The feeling is entirely mutual, little one.
Their security light shines down on me, stopping what I hoped would be an incognito arrival.
I climb off my bike, my spur of the moment purchase with the money I’d been saving and pull the limited amount of stuff I could fit inside the top box before stepping toward the house.
My eyes shoot back up to the window as she backs away.
I wink at her and blow a kiss before she darts into the darkness and away from me.
Good idea, little one.
Run. Run as fast as you can.
The familiar scent of the house hits me the second I walk through the front door. I quietly close it behind me, not wanting to alert my dad or worse, Lisa, to my arrival. I could barely put up with her over-the-top happiness the last time I was here, it’s really the last thing I need now.
I dump my bag in the hallway and walk through to the kitchen, flicking the light on as I go.
Staring inside the refrigerator, I find a six-pack of beer. Not exactly what I had in mind. Spinning, I turn toward the cupboard where I found what I required the last time I was here.
“Bingo,” I breathe, pulling down a new bottle of vodka and twisting the top.
The first shot burns, but it’s exactly what I need.
I fill my arms with whatever food I can find before turning to the stairs, collecting my bag and making my way up. I can only assume I’m expected to go to the same room, so I head that way.
There’s no sign of Ruby as I make my way to our side of the house, but that doesn’t mean I can’t smell her presence. Her perfume lingers in the hall, making my mouth water and my cock swell.
I pause at my bedroom door and stare at hers for a beat.
I know she’s awake and I suspect she’s waiting for me.
Unlucky for her, I don’t have any intentions of making it that easy for her.
Some things might have changed, but how I fe
el about her isn’t one of them.
I still hate her, possibly even more now. If she didn’t fuck with my head last year, then I might not have been such a mess that Mom had to come and pick me up from the station last week and... I force my thoughts to trail off. I’m not ready to think about it yet, let alone begin to accept it.
I’d hoped the long drive here would have helped. That by some miracle it might have been able to draw a line under my life in Seattle, ready to start a new chapter here. That somehow, I might have been able to outrun the pain, the guilt that I’ve been carrying around since Friday night. But being here now, I realize that nothing has changed.
She’s still gone, and I’m still the one to blame for it.
She deserved better than that hand she was dealt. Better than me. But it’s too late to do fuck-all about it now.
Closing the door behind me, I drop everything in my arms to the bed and kick off my boots, quickly followed by my jacket and shirt. I didn’t ride non-stop here, but I didn’t stop anywhere decent enough to really freshen up either.
I drop my trousers and boxers and with my bottle of vodka in hand, I walk straight into the bathroom.
Everything in here is set up for me. My usual shower gel sits on the shelf in the shower and a new razor and shaving foam is waiting for me by the sink.
I look over my shoulder as a shiver works its way down my spine.
How did they know what I use?
Tipping the bottle to my lips, I down a few shots before turning the shower on as hot as it’ll go and stepping under the burning spray, allowing it to pound down on my tense shoulders.
The heat feels good but even as it burns my skin, it doesn’t take away the pain, the emptiness.
I blow out a breath and tip my face up to the stream of water, allowing it to rain down over my skin and mingle with the tears I refuse to acknowledge that are streaming down my cheeks as I allow myself to go back to Friday night in that car.
I stand there until I can’t feel my skin and my need for the bottle I abandoned on the basin gets too much.
Wrapping one of the fresh fluffy towels around my waist, I grab my bottle and take it back through to my bedroom.
I shove my bag off the end of the bed. It falls to the floor with a thud and I immediately regret it. I really don’t want to wake anyone and be forced to have a conversation. I just want to vanish, to lose myself in the bottle and forget my reality, whatever that might be now.
I have no idea what time I finally fall into a vodka-induced coma but when I come to again, my headphones are still happily playing away, although they’ve fallen out of my ears and been shoved somewhere in the bed, but other than that, the house is in silence.
My head pounds and the room spins, but it’s a feeling I’m beginning to get used to, welcome it even. It’s how I felt after waking up inside that car. It’s how I seem to have woken up most mornings since. In some weird fucked-up way, it makes me feel closer to her. If I’m still feeling the pain from that day, then maybe she’s still with me. Maybe watching the life drain from her eyes was just a really fucked-up dream.
I know it’s only wishful thinking but it’s all I’ve got right now.
I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, the movement does nothing for my head but my need for the bathroom overrides my need to lie back down and shut it all out.
I stumble on the discarded towel I dropped over the edge of the bed at some point last night and carefully make my way naked to the bathroom.
Just like last night, the sight of all the toiletries that have been bought for me taunt me.
How did they know?
It almost looks like it could be home. Although, it far from feels like it. Home is in Seattle. Home is in our shithole apartment. Home is with her.
A lump climbs up my throat as the images I’ve been battling to drown with alcohol appear in my mind once more.
They’re like a poison festering away inside me, eating at the small amount of light I had and ensuring that I begin to drown in the darkness.
I take a piss, brush my teeth and turn the shower back on, hoping it might rid me of the alcohol sweats and give me some courage to step outside this room.
I need coffee, but I don’t need it bad enough to have to put myself through talking to anyone.
Still feeling like hell, I pull a clean pair of sweats from my bag and drag them up my legs before going for the door.
I wrap my fingers around the handle, but I don’t push it down for a few seconds.
Going out there and making myself at home means this is really happening.
I don’t want to. It’s the reason I point-blank refused to get on that airplane with Dad when he was in Seattle.
I’d already refused his offer of a hotel. I had a home in Seattle and despite the fact the heart had been ripped out of it, it was where I wanted to be.
For as long as I could, I wanted to shut the solid door behind me and pretend that everything was normal.
Thankfully, he let me go, ensuring his Uber dropped me outside our building and he didn’t even fight me on the fact he wasn’t coming up. I didn’t want him tainting my memories of the place with his face.
I’d hoped being at home would bring me comfort, but all it did was remind me of everything I’d lost. If I’d found solace there, then maybe I’d had argued about staying until the funeral at least. But I knew only minutes after stepping foot inside that I couldn’t be there.
I spent the night there because I was exhausted. A sleepless night on a hospital bed after being told what I already knew, that she’d died, wasn’t exactly what I needed after everything. But a bottle of Mom’s finest whiskey, the weed I had stashed where I knew she’d never find it, and my own bed. That brought me some of what I needed, at least.
When I finally emerged the next morning, I packed a bag, pulled out the money I’d been saving from the shitty jobs I’ve done over the past couple of years, and I walked away, ensuring I locked the door on the way out.
I didn’t have a lot of money. I’d wanted to save at least double what I had before making the purchase I’d been dreaming of since I was a kid, but it was all I had.
I walked straight to the nearest lot and bought what I could afford. After telling my dad where to go and to shove his plane ticket up his ass, I climbed on my new bike and set off.
I knew I was going to have to come here eventually. As much as I might hate it, I knew realistically that I couldn’t end up anywhere else. He wouldn’t allow it, and I’d eventually be dragged back kicking and screaming.
Sucking in a deep breath, I push the handle and step into the hallway. Fresh air hits my nose instantly reminding me that my room already smells like a drug den after only a few hours of being here.
I walk straight to the window and stare out at the empty driveway—well, empty aside from my bike—and breathe a sigh of relief. The house really is empty, and they really have left me to it.
Turning for the kitchen, I find my steps faltering outside her room.
I’ve thought of her more than I want to admit even to myself since I walked away that night.
I was meant to stay here a week, but I barely made it a few days.
I remember all too well the look on Mom’s face when I walked back into our apartment, having got myself back to Seattle. She knew I was coming, Dad had warned her, but I’d never seen her so furious.
But still, her demands to know why I had run, what had happened had fallen on deaf ears because there was no way I was telling anyone about Ruby.
I could barely think about her without losing my mind, let alone allow anything about her past my lips.
My hand reaches out for her door handle without instruction from my brain and in seconds I’m standing in her open doorway.
Her room is exactly the same as it was before. Girly shit litters the countertops. There are a million photographs of her and her parents, my dad, along with her friends and her cheer squad.
Without any consideration, I step inside, my eyes running over each image before I stare into her eyes.
This is all your fault.
The reason I am standing here right now is because of you.
My eyes narrow as I move from image to image, the anger within me beginning to ignite once again.
If she didn’t call to me the way she did. If she were anyone fucking else, then Halloween wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have spent the past three months with her inside my head, and none of this shit would have happened.
My fist clenches with my need to hurt someone, to destroy something, but I can’t unless I want her to know that the first thing I did this morning was rain hell down on her bedroom.
I spin around, looking at the rest of the room before walking over to her desk and lowering myself to the pink chair. Her calendar is sitting open and I can’t help but stare down at her plans.
Every single day has cheer practice scrolled across it but there’s one other entry that makes me pay attention.
Saturday night... Party at Ethan’s.
Looks like I’ll be partying this weekend. A small smile curls at my lips as I think about attending my second Rosewood party. The first one looked half decent, Halloween bullshit aside. I can only hope things get better from here on out.
I turn to leave, ensuring nothing is out of place. I might have ideas for my not-so-sweet little stepsister, but I’ve got time. Right now, I need coffee and food. But as I get to the door, my anger gets the better of me when my eyes land on a framed photo of her, Lisa, and my dad smiling and looking happy together. Looking at the glistening blue lake in the background, I’d guess that they’re on vacation. A vacation I’ve never been invited to go on while in Seattle struggling to scramble together enough money to ensure both of us could eat. Lifting it from the shelf, I slam it down hard enough to smash the glass and leave it downturned.
Maybe it is time to show Ruby just how I feel about her.
FURY: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Rosewood High Book 6) Page 2