by A. J. Logan
The ride to school is over way too fast as I swing into a parking space, coming to an abrupt stop. My fingers clutch the door handle, squeezing but not pulling it open. I need to get a grip on myself before I head to class because my dad is still fully in charge of my emotions.
Unfortunately, I’m unable to rein in my thoughts before spotting Victoria exiting her car. She’s as aware of my presence as I am of hers. Emerald eyes locked with mine, she stands frozen next to her car. Finally, she breaks the unspoken communication, looking away before walking towards the building—in the opposite direction of where I’m parked. Why did part of me hope she would head my way and say something—anything—in an attempt to slice through the tension between us. It’s highly unlikely any words can fix this. Damn it. There’s no reason it should bother me, but it does. And maddeningly, the vexing feeling roots deeper when she disappears out of view without a glance back in my direction. She won’t be getting off the hook that easy. Not a chance in hell since she’s driven me even deeper into a tortuous nightmare.
I throw the car door open, step out, slam it behind me, then plaster my go-to bogus smile on my face. Pretending nothing gets to me is my specialty. I got this. Shoving the building door open, I slap Zeus on the ass as I pass by. Rubbing the statue of the school mascot is supposed to be good luck, and I need all the luck I can get so my personal Medusa doesn’t turn me to stone. Those damn emerald eyes already make me do plenty of shit I normally wouldn’t do. And I’m reminded of their persuasion when I spot her at the end of the hallway. Flashing a quick glance my way, she heads around the corner. Everything about her lures me in, tempting me to follow. Why do I want to see the pain in her eyes or feel the emotions tearing her to shreds or hear the agony in her voice because something that felt so right was ripped out of her grasp? Or is that just me? Maybe turning to stone would be the easy way out.
4
Victoria
Every cell in my body says to run. Leave. Get out of the building and as far away from him as I can before it’s too late. But the damage is already done. His arrogant smile, whether authentic or artificial, has officially severed my grasp on any bit of hope I’ve clung to about not letting him get to me. And my biggest worry is if I get anywhere near him, I’ll cave and tell him everything Olivia confessed yesterday. How does he pretend so easily? That, I’ll never understand.
Stepping into Mr. Sutton’s classroom, I plop down in my usual desk. Things are so different from twenty-four hours ago when I’d last sat in this room. Minutes slowly tick by as people start trickling in. It feels like it’s been an eternity, yet it’s still not time for class to begin. Will the entire day feel like this?
A soft knock pulls everyone’s attention to the doorway as a girl looks directly at me before glancing to Mr. Sutton then back to me. She moves swiftly, standing beside my desk. “Are you Asher’s sister?”
“Yes,” I say hesitantly, attempting to not let the reference get to me. It’s not like I know the girl’s name, either.
“Here.” She holds out a folded slip of paper, which I warily grab from her. Without another word, she walks out of the classroom. Glancing at Mr. Sutton, I see his gaze is on me, seemingly just as confused about the mysterious girl.
Carefully unfolding the paper, my breath hitches as I read the single word scrawled across the center. Replaceable. I don’t have to guess who it’s from. Elliot is sending a clear message not only with the one-word taunt, but also by having her refer to me as Asher’s little sister.
“Everything okay?” Mr. Sutton asks, genuine concern in his voice.
No doubt the audience was part of Elliot’s master plan. Clearing my throat, I respond as best I can. “Yes sir. Everything is fine.” And it will be.
Harnessing every bit of strength in me, I refrain from responding to Elliot, though I’d love to tell him exactly what I think about his delivery. Ignoring him is the best course of action for the time being. Crumpling the paper into a ball, I toss it into my bag, thankful for the bell that signals class is about to begin.
Surprisingly, I manage to focus during Mr. Sutton’s calculus lesson, though I can’t help but wonder if Elliot will ever leave me alone. It wasn’t enough to abandon me in the parking lot and refuse to listen to an explanation. He couldn’t just let me suffer alone and in silence; no, he has to revel in my agony.
In second period, a different girl knocks on the door as I’m settling in for class, confirming that he isn’t going to let me be. Not that Elliot ever would. He wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t putting on some spectacle. Unluckily, it seems to be focused on me today.
The girl shuffles quickly across the room, making her way to me. “Are you Asher Hastings’s little sister?”
“Yes,” I say flatly.
She gives me a warm smile, no doubt clueless to the torment she’s handing me in the form of a slip of paper. “Here you go.”
Grabbing the paper from her, I notice a few eyes on me as I lay it on my desk without peeking inside. Why bother? It’s just another childish dig at what the jackass knows will get to me. I really shouldn’t open it, but as soon as everyone’s attention is focused elsewhere, I pick up the slip of paper and read the word even though I know it will only further my anguish.
Convenient. The single term on the paper pains me worse than it should. It’s not as if when he’d spoken the words, they hadn’t cut deep enough. They’d nearly gutted me. But now he needs to remind me. Ripping the paper in two, I stand from the desk, toss it in the trash then return to my seat.
It wasn’t the last message of the day, but it was the last one I read. The rest I snatch from every clueless delivery person, including one boy whose face was as beet red as his hair. If he’d read the message, that would make one of us because I threw it straight into the trash.
Finally, I head to my last class of the day, which is (thankfully) swim, something that usually clears my head. Hopefully, it has that much-needed effect today. As I mindlessly walk down the hallway, a harsh grip suddenly clasps my arm, hauling me sideways into a dark room. I don’t have to guess who is responsible. Though I can’t see his face, I can feel his body against mine, his breath on my face as his enticing scent fills my nose. Elliot.
“Let. Me. Go.” I pull my arm out of his grip as he too easily releases me. The light flicks on as I look around the small janitor’s closet. Moving to the door, Elliot shifts in front of me with a smug grin, blocking me from leaving. “What? Run out of little minions to deliver your fucking childish messages?”
“No. I can always find someone to fulfill my needs.” He steps forward, though I remain rigid. When he presses his body into mine, his arm snakes around my lower back. It feels right and wrong at the same time. No one should be able to elicit this much pain and pleasure from a person … especially if they care about them the slightest bit.
“Then go mindfuck one of them because I’m done with all of this.”
He snickers, dropping his mouth next to my ear as his warm breath floats across my skin, sending an unwanted shiver down my spine. “We both know you’d let me fuck you. Let me bury myself inside you time and time again at my convenience.”
I can hear the smile in his voice as he exaggerates the word convenience. In this moment, there’s no part of me that wants him. Any of him. The sweet, caring Elliot isn’t worth any of the other parts. Certainly not the angry, vindictive side he’s exposing now. Humiliation courses through me as I shift back, looking up to the smile I’d heard in his voice. How could the kind, caring, compassionate person who’d stolen my heart be the same brutally vicious asshole in front of me? The only thing I want is to hurt him, get him to leave me the hell alone. So I say the words furthest from the truth and the ones I know will achieve the desired reaction from him. “I’d rather fuck Grant.”
Fury flashes across his features as he surges forward, his face in mine as he remains silent—a true rarity for Elliot Bass, so much so that it pleases me thoroughly. He remains there for an excrucia
tingly long minute until he takes a calculated step back then promptly turns to walk out without a word.
“I’m done. I’m not doing this. I won’t. I can’t,” I say as he halts, his back to me. I continue, though my voice betrays me, and I’m unable to keep my emotions at bay. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I visited Olivia, but you’re not the only one who misses her.”
Hauntingly slow, he turns, walking back to me with an unnaturally controlled, stiff posture that makes me uneasy. “No. But I was the only one who was there that night, begging her not to leave me.”
My heart aches for him, not for the brutal asshole but for the loving son who is clearly still traumatized, reliving the ordeal night after endless night. “And I’d give anything to trade places with you, because I actually care about you even if you don’t feel the same way about me.”
He remains silent, unmoving, as I take the opportunity to step around him. Pulling the door open, he catches my wrist in his firm grip.
Looking over my shoulder, I’m met with his detached stare. Jerking out of his clutches, I swallow down the raw hurt that has risen inside of me. He’s exposed and thoroughly probed every single vulnerability I possess at every opportunity today. “I just want you to stay away from me. If not, I’ll inform Asher of every lie you’ve told him. I’ll tell him precisely what you’ve been doing behind his back all this time, then he’ll know exactly why I don’t want you in my sight.”
Frustration flashes across his face. Of course it does, because I’d mentioned his best friend. The Hastings he actually cares about.
He doesn’t make a move to stop me as I swiftly step out into the hallway. With nearly everyone in class, it doesn’t look odd when I break out into a sprint heading to the locker room. A few curious eyes give me a quick glance before going on with their day. Little do they know I’m not running to something but rather away from it, from him.
5
Elliot
Fuck. How does she do it? How does she provoke every emotion—good and bad—from me with nothing more than a glance my way, then push me over the edge with her words? Once again, I’d spent my day being petty, tormenting her, and in one moment she has me completely obliterated, standing in a damn janitor’s closet, frozen in place like a freakin’ idiot. Why? Because I want to follow her. Beg her to forgive me. Again. But that won’t end well for either of us. How can it when I do nothing but inflict pain on her? Whether unintentional or deliberate, it’s always the same dreadful end result. Her in tears, suffering, and wanting far away from me.
It’s a good ten minutes before I’m able to regain my composure and step into the corridor. Before I realize where I’m at, I’m walking through the front office, heading to Principal Huntington’s door. I half expect the secretary to stop me, but instead Mrs. Ruth waves me past without paying much mind to my zombie-like state. Huntington stands from his desk when he spots me standing in the doorway.
“Elliot, what can I do for you?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, so many thoughts rushing through my mind.
There’s a hint of concern on his face when I meet his eyes, and he motions to the chair in front of his desk. “Well, how about you have a seat, and we’ll figure it out together.”
My body remains tense, feet rooted in place at the doorway while Huntington remains standing, his watchful eyes on me. I don’t know why I’m in here, I just know that there’s something wrong with me. “Why do we hurt the ones we care about the most?”
Huntington gives me a remorseful look that makes my stomach turn. I don’t want his pity. He’s the one person who has been holding me accountable, not putting up with my shit even though my dad gave him a sob story. Huntington moves around to the front of his desk, leaning against it as he crosses one ankle over the other, his palms pressed against its smooth surface. The remorse is gone from his face, thankfully, and is replaced with an expression that I read as understanding. “I’ve asked myself that same question. I’m not certain of the correct answer, but my best guess is it’s because we know those are the very people who won’t turn their backs on us, even if we deserve it sometimes.”
“But sometimes they do.” My mom. Victoria. My dad, although I don’t think he actually cares even though he should. If you can’t love your own son, are you even capable of love? Am I capable of love, or am I just as screwed up as him?
“It might feel like that at times, but it’s still there, even if we can’t reach out to them, talk to them, or be around them, they’re still with us.” Huntington pushes off the desk as I look to him, unable to accept his words. “Why don’t you have a seat. We can discuss what’s on your mind, or you can just hang out for a while.”
Nodding, I stiffly move to the chair where I plop down and stare at the photograph on his wall. Huntington has a woman I recognize as his wife in his arms, and she hugs their daughter. They appear to be a happy, doting family. Is it real? Do they secretly hate each other behind closed doors, or is there a such thing as being truly happy inside and out?
When I remain silent, Huntington gets the silent plea that I just want to sit here. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to discuss anything because all of it brings up even worse feelings, and I don’t want to think about Victoria actually being done with me. As much as I want to stay away from her, be angry with her, I realize that part of me hoped she’d fight for us. Whatever us is … or was.
I hadn’t realized that Huntington left the room until he appears in front of me, handing me a bottle of water. Sitting in the chair beside me, he unscrews the lid off his water and gulps it down without a word. That’s how we remain for a few minutes until I spot the degree certificate on his wall.
“Did you always want to be a principal?”
“Nope. I wanted to be an astronaut.”
I can’t help but laugh, thinking of Huntington floating around in space. “What changed your mind?”
“Motion sickness. I couldn’t handle the carousel at the mall without getting woozy, so I figured rocketing out of Earth’s atmosphere was out of the question,” he chuckles, shifting as he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. Plucking a photograph from it, he passes it to me. “But I lived out the dream on a smaller scale.”
Studying the picture, I see his daughter wearing a plastic astronaut helmet as she sits on his lap in a mock space shuttle. The bright smile on her face is contagious and causes a smile to peek at my lips.
“Are you happy?”
“I won’t say there haven’t been some ups and downs, but yes. I’m truly happy. My wife and daughter are my world, and I have a fulfilling career I enjoy with my feet firmly planted on the ground.”
I glance at the picture once more before passing it back to him. “Thanks.” Standing, I move to the door, still unsure how or why I ended up in this office.
“Elliot, my door is always open. Don’t forget that.” Huntington moves towards me, standing a few feet away. He hesitates before stepping forward to extend a business card toward me as he continues, “If you need anything, give me a call. Day or night.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, looking at the card before tucking it in my wallet. I appreciate the gesture, but I know he’s only doing so out of pity because of the circumstance with my mom.
There isn’t much time left before the final bell, so I take the opportunity to head out to the parking lot before the crowd descends. I’m not in the mood to pretend to be happy; I’m anything but at the moment. My thoughts move back and forth between the conversations with Victoria and Huntington on the drive home. Both are unsettling—each in a completely different way—but not as much as the sight of my father’s car parked in its usually vacant spot in the garage. He never stays around for more than a few hours at a time, yet he picks now to remain close at hand, the day I want to be as far away from him, and everyone else, as I can get. The only consolation is Susan’s car parked out front. She’s a pro at keeping tempers from getting too out of hand … most of the time.
&
nbsp; Stepping into the kitchen, I’m greeted by Susan’s smiling face but there’s an underlying uneasiness to her posture as she neatly folds a dish towel, draping it over the counter in front of the sink. “Supper is in the fridge and there’s a package that came for you today. I put it in your bedroom.”
“Thanks.”
“Elliot.” Susan walks over to me, lowering her voice. “I’m going to head home in a few if you’re good.”
“I am.” I give her a reassuring smile even though I’m anything but good. “I’m going to crash early, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She props a hand on her hip, studying my face as she scrunches her eyebrows.
“I’ll call you if we need a referee. Promise.” My lame humor, as she puts it, is lost on her as she looks less than amused. How else am I supposed to deal with the fact that even Susan realizes my dad and I can’t stand to be under one roof for more than a few hours?
Heading up to my room, I’m thankful to not see my father as I slip inside, my head falling back against the solid door. I won’t complain about the house being empty for a while, right now that is a much better scenario than the current situation. Spotting the box on the foot of my bed, I plop down next to it, examining the label. I don’t recall ordering anything. Opening the box, I push aside stiff packing paper to reveal black feathers with a black string weaving a web. Hooking my finger on the side, I hold up the dream catcher as I study the feathers adorned with beads that hang from a web that looks as twisted as my mind feels. Victoria. She had to have sent it. Why tell me to leave her alone if she was going to go out of her way to torment me further? Shoving it back in the box, I cram the lid closed. Yes. This is torment because it gives me hope that she might actually care.