by Eva Ashwood
My stomach nearly lurches into my throat. My first thought is, does he know about Reese, West, and Trent? But then a wave of relief comes over me when I realize that Dad’s talking about boys in general, and not those boys specifically.
“I’m not focusing on guys in college.” I shift uncomfortably on my feet. “Leslie says she’s not planning to date at all this year, and I’m gonna do the same. School comes first.”
“I approve.” He chuckles, brandishing his knife with a wicked smile.
During dinner, we talk about how his job is going—he’s back at the same company, but in a much higher position, and I can tell he loves it already. He always liked Clearwater, and I know he’s glad to be back. He has none of the awful associations with this place that I do; he knows I struggled in school for most of my junior year, but he doesn’t know why.
Seeing Dad so smiley and chatty drives home the fact that I can’t let my old bullies drive me away again. If the guys try to make me suffer, I’ll stand up to them with everything I’ve got. For my happiness and my dad’s, it’s worth it to fight.
Once dinner is done, Dad kisses me goodbye, and I head out on my bike, enjoying the pleasant ride back to campus in the soft evening air. I wonder whether Leslie finished that whole pizza like she said that she would. I’ve got a little studying to do, then we’ll probably watch a movie on her computer, because it’s bigger than mine.
As I’m locking up my bike in the lot near the dorms, a deep male voice speaks from behind me.
“Emma. Emma Holloway.”
My throat closes up, my body instantly going into defense mode, but it only takes me a second to realize it’s not one of my three nightmares. I hear their voices in both my dreams and my waking hours way more often than I wish I did, and I’d recognize them anywhere.
Trying to get my racing pulse to slow down, I turn and find Peter standing there. He’s still as handsome as he was when I met him on the first day of school, and he grins when he sees recognition flash across my face.
“Oh, hey, Peter. Peter…?”
“Peter Parker.”
I blink. “Is that seriously your name?”
“Nah, I’m just teasing you,” he says with a winning smile. “It’s Peter Nielsen.”
“Nice to see you again, Peter Nielsen.” I return his smile. He’s definitely flirting with me, and after living on edge for the past three weeks, it feels good. Shit. Am I already killing my resolution?
“Hey, what are you doing right now?” he asks.
“Uh, locking up my bike,” I tell him with a teasing lilt in my voice. It’s not the funniest joke, but he chuckles anyway.
“And after that?”
“I dunno. Going up to my room.”
“Wanna come to a party?”
“Like, now?” I ask, nerves suddenly fluttering in my stomach.
“Yeah. You don’t have to go. I’m on my way out and just figured I’d ask.”
“Um.” I bite my lip, thinking about it. An acronym comes to mind that Leslie likes to use all the time. YOLO. You only live once. God, that’s true. And for the past couple years, I’ve barely been living.
“Sure,” I say, feeling a warm blush come to my cheeks.
6
West
I’m punching the heavy bag in the university gym.
Again.
And it still isn’t enough.
There’s been so much tension in me the past couple of weeks. I can’t punch it out, I can’t run it out, and I certainly can’t talk it out, because I’m not much for talking. I think the other guys have gotten used to me over the years, just doing my thing when I get all riled up.
In the early days of grade school, when I was first becoming friends with Reese and Trent, they were always asking, “What’s going on with you?”
Eventually they learned that if I’m quiet, they should probably just let it be.
I had a shitty childhood, which I think explains the silence, but I’ve learned that physically expressing myself is the only way I can work through things sometimes. And I’ve got a whole lot of shit to work through today. Ever since seeing Emma again, I’ve been filled with fucking rage. I can’t even put my finger on the exact reason why. I just know that when I saw her that first morning, I wanted to kick her out.
Of this school.
Of my life.
Of my fucking thoughts.
I wanted to send her back on that bike she came in on and never see her gorgeous, innocent face again.
As I keep punching the heavy bag, I realize I probably look different than I did last time Emma saw me, back in high school. I’m bulkier now, and that’s because I discovered the gym is kinda the only place I can escape. Some days, I’ll go for hours on end, just trying to process things through sweat and exertion. This particular day, Reese and Trent are working out with me, which happens about half the time. To be perfectly honest, I get most of my rage out when I’m alone.
“Training for UFC again, I see,” Trent says with a laugh. He’s always trying to make fun of me when I work out, but I know it’s just ’cause he’s jealous.
“Yeah. Like I do,” I grunt.
“Let me give it a shot.” Trent lifts his chin toward the heavy bag. I step back and let him go at it. Yeah, he’s got some pent up aggression too. “That’s fucking tough, man.”
I shrug. “You get used to it.”
“I saw her at lunch again with that roommate of hers.” Trent stops punching the bag for a second, his lips pressing into a hard line. I’m beginning to get used to him bringing up Emma Holloway out of the blue like this. Especially at the gym. It’s all sweat and testosterone and animal-like behavior.
“Yeah. She’s everywhere. It’s fucking annoying,” I say, and I’m not lying either.
I find Emma’s presence unbearable. Mostly because of the shit that it brings up. I don’t like to talk about feelings, as I already said, and that’s why it frustrates me when someone makes emotions overtake my body that I don’t know how to explain.
“It’s more than annoying, it’s offensive.”
Trent runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face. I can see him trying to rationalize his feelings, actually. He’s always trying to explain things. I think that’s a waste of time.
“You should date her roommate,” Reese throws in with his twisted grin. He’s trying to make a joke, but I can tell Trent doesn’t find it funny.
“No way. That chick smiles too much.” Trent whales on the bag a few more times. I stand behind it to stabilize, because he’s giving it some good blows. “And besides, she’s only encouraging Emma to stay.”
He’s got a fucking point. That bubbly, friendly roommate is only encouraging Emma, making her think she’s welcome here, that she’s in the right place. The honest truth is, I thought she’d be gone by now. Or at least, I hoped she would be.
“Aren’t you guys a little curious about the fact that she’s here?” Reese asks, stepping back with his hands on his hips. Jesus Christ. Leave it to this fucker to become the philosophical one. “It’s interesting that she’s staying.”
“I wouldn’t use the word interesting, bro,” Trent grunts, still punching the bag. He’s putting a lot of heat into it. I’m impressed. I’ve always been the heavy hitter of our group, but it seems like the tension of Emma’s presence is putting Trent right into my league.
“Her dad got a job here too—back at his old company. He doesn’t live too far away,” Reese says.
Silence descends in our little corner of the gym as Trent suddenly stops punching the bag. Still gripping the worn leather, I bring my face around it to stare at Reese.
“You know a lot, don’t you?” Trent narrows his eyes.
“Someone told me.” Reese shrugs, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal.”
Yeah, right. He knows that’s a goddamn lie. I’m well aware he wants Trent to drop his vendetta against Emma, but bringing up her dad is the wrong
damn way to achieve that goal.
“I bet her dad got her into this school. There’s no other fucking way she’d be here.” A muscle in Trent’s jaw ticks as he speaks.
“You don’t know that for sure.” Reese glances at me, seeming to realize he’s been poking the bear, but I just shrug.
You brought it up, man. You’re on your own.
“What are you doing, defending the intelligence of Emma Holloway?” Trent says with a laugh. “Do you see the way she takes notes in class? That’s the look of desperation, not intelligence.”
As Trent returns to the bag, Reese rolls his eyes and laughs the conversation off, and I walk over to the fountain to refill my water bottle.
Mostly, I just want to escape into my own thoughts for a moment as Emma comes to mind. And when I say she “comes to mind,” I guess that’s putting it lightly. Really vivid thoughts of her flood my memory constantly.
There was some time after high school, after Emma went away, when I was able to think about other things. When I was able to fucking breathe. But ever since seeing her again, thoughts of her will not leave my mind. That’s probably why I’ve been going to the gym sometimes twice a day.
Most guys might like being around a girl who brings up these intense kinds of feelings, who stirs up old memories, but not me. I want Emma out of Clearwater University so I can move on with my life and own my thoughts again. I keep plotting ways to get her out, but it all comes back to the same shit we did in high school.
We’re not in high school anymore, and I don’t know what the hell it’s gonna take now.
I drink my water and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. And then it hits me like a ton of fucking bricks—thoughts of Emma’s perfect white skin, her small but shapely breasts in my hands, the feeling of sliding inside of her, how tight and warm she was. I can remember the way her hair smelled, the beautiful expression on her face, and the little noises she made.
The last bell rang twenty minutes ago, and the hallways are pretty much deserted. Two weeks from the end of the semester, nobody wants to stick around Amundsen High any longer than they have to. Everybody’s stir-crazy, ready for summer.
It occurs to me that I don’t hate the place like this. I like the quiet. I like the peace.
Trent and Reese are popular, and I’m popular by association, but really, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about any of that.
I shove open the classroom door on the far west side of the building and immediately see what I came for—my cell phone is sitting on the edge of my desk right where I left it. But before I can make a move to go pick it up, a soft noise draws my attention, and I freeze.
Emma.
She’s still at her desk in the back of the room, right where she was sitting when class let out twenty minutes earlier. Her arms are crossed on her desk, her head bent over them, and her shoulders are shaking with quiet sobs.
I can guess what caused her tears. Trent’s been ramping up his campaign against her, and this morning when she showed up to school, she was greeted by the sight of students gathered around their phones, laughing uproariously. We hacked the school website and swapped pictures of Emma in embarrassing and compromising situations for all the old bland pictures of kids studying or whatever. We also changed the captions to say shit about her too.
She’s been silent and resolute all day long, but I guess now that she’s finally alone, she couldn’t keep it together anymore.
I hesitate for a second as the door closes with a quiet click behind me. The strangest impulse comes over me, a desire to stride across the room and pull her into my arms. To protect her from anything that tries to hurt her, and to promise her it’ll be okay.
But of course, I can’t do that. Not when I’m the one trying to hurt her.
Still, my body is moving before my brain gives it that message. I’m halfway across the room, my gaze still trained on her, when Emma’s head snaps up. Her tear-streaked face shows a moment of panic at being discovered like this, and then her features morph into something I haven’t seen on her face in a long time.
Fury.
Pure, undiluted hatred.
She’s out of her chair so fast it’s like she fucking teleported, and then she’s barreling toward me, throwing herself at me before I can react. Her small fists pound against my chest, and her voice is raspy and ragged.
“You fucking asshole! You awful, heartless asshole! I hope you fucking die!” Every word is punctuated by a strike to my chest, and even though she’s too little to do any real damage, I swear I can feel my heart rattling in my rib cage with each slam of her fists. “Goddamn you! What the fuck is wrong with you? With all of you? Why are you so fucking cruel?”
Without thinking, I snatch up her wrists, enclosing them in a tight grip and holding her arms out to the sides to make her stop hitting me. She doesn’t stop trying though, writhing and struggling in my grasp, trying to free herself so she can keep hitting me.
My hands tighten around her wrists as I blink, a little shocked. The guys and I have been going after her for most of the school year, and she hasn’t fought back like this in a while. I don’t know why, but I’m glad to see it.
I thought maybe we broke her.
But clearly, she’s made of stronger stuff than I gave her credit for.
She’s still cursing and screaming at me, even as she tries to find a way to keep attacking me physically, and the sight of it sparks something inside my chest. Relief, mixed with a dark, predatory instinct.
I’ve kept tormenting her because Trent doesn’t think she’s had enough yet, and I stick by my brothers no matter what. But there’s been no satisfaction in it lately. No feeling of justice as I see her exhausted, anguished face in the halls.
But this? This fire? It sparks an answering flame inside of me.
My hold on her wrists becomes even tighter, and I tug her toward me, drawing a small gasp from her lips. I use the leverage I have to bring us so close our bodies almost touch as I glare down at her, feral energy surging through my entire body.
“You’re one to talk about cruel. You started this, Holloway. We’re just trying to make things even.”
Her pupils dilated when I dragged her into the bubble of my space, and now her nostrils flare as a pretty flush rises in her cheeks. “Make things even? Do you honestly think this is making things even? I never meant to hurt anyone. You’re doing it on purpose!”
She tries again to break free of my grasp, and instead of keeping her hands locked out to the side, I bring them in, trapping them between us and using my bodyweight to control her movements.
“You never meant to hurt anyone?” I grunt, any earlier pity I felt toward her erased in a blaze of hot flame as I stare down into her wide brown eyes. “What did you think would happen? You knew what you were doing, so don’t pretend like you didn’t. You had a choice, and you picked the wrong one.”
That stops her short. She freezes, abandoning her struggles as she stares back at me. “It’s all because I made the wrong choice? If I’d chosen differently, you really think things would be any better?”
I scoff. “I fucking know they would.”
She winces, as if it physically pains her to hear those words. Then she mutters to herself, “Why didn’t I?”
Whatever the fuck that means.
I’m about to tell her to speak the fuck up and stop talking in riddles when she makes a small noise in the back of her throat. Then she leans up onto her tiptoes, using my body for balance, and slams her lips against mine.
I jerk and stiffen, instinctively wrapping my arms around her as she kisses me hard. Her lips are like conduits for the fury inside her, and she kisses me like she’s trying to fucking kill me. Our teeth clash as our mouths open, tongues warring with each other. I can feel her chest heaving as she gasps for breath, feel her nipples peaking, pressing against me through the fabric of her light blue tank top.
Her kiss is like a damn drug. I’m already wasted on it, and I want to get high ove
r and over.
But just as suddenly as she moved to kiss me, she pulls back, practically hurling herself away from me. With three feet of space between us, she stares at me with huge, shocked eyes.
Then she reaches up and wipes the back of her hand over her mouth.
It’s that movement that snaps my resolve.
Surging forward, I grab her chin in my hand, tilting her head up to make her look at me. “Uh uh, Holloway. You don’t get to kiss me like that and then act disgusted by it. Nobody kisses like that unless they goddamn well mean it.”
“Fuck you!”
She wrenches her chin out of my grasp and shoves at my chest with both hands, fury spiking behind her eyes again—along with something else. And when our lips collide this time, I don’t even know which one of us moved first.
It’s just as violent and angry as the first time, and we paw at each other’s bodies as we stagger across the room. I plow into a desk, and only my grip around her waist keeps her from going down. Another desk scrapes across the floor as I shove it aside, and then I’m yanking open the supply closet door in the back corner of the classroom.
I kick away the doorstop that was holding it propped open a crack, and it slams behind us with a heavy thud as I pick Emma up with ease and deposit her on a little table set against one wall. Classroom supplies scatter to the floor as she groans into my mouth, and I run my hands up her bare thighs, sliding them just under the hem of her skirt.
But it’s not enough. I need more.
Reaching up, I yank down the straps of her tank top and bra, and then I shove the bra and the top down roughly, exposing her perfect fucking breasts. They’re small and perky, just enough to be a proper handful, and what I felt earlier wasn’t an illusion. Her nipples are hard, tight buds in a rosy shade of pink.
I’m vaguely aware of Emma gasping as cool air hits her exposed skin, but I can barely think about anything anymore. Dropping my head, I pull one of her breasts into my mouth, palming the other one as I swirl my tongue over her nipple.