I grimace, and shout, “She tripped me on purpose!”
My mom sucks in a breath, her eyes remorseful as if she pities me. But all it does is fuel the fire in the pit of my stomach. Especially with him here listening to this conversation.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I say, and I grab my bag and swiftly stoop down underneath her arm.
“Sam, please, don’t fight anymore,” Mom says, clutching her waist. “Please. Do it for me.”
“Fine,” I growl as I open the door. “Bye.”
I quickly hop into my car and drive to school. Monica’s classes start at a different time today so we’re not riding together. But she’s already texted me twice since I got into the car. I won’t answer until I’m at school, though. Don’t want to get into a car accident and disappoint my mom even further. I’ve already done enough damage in that department. First, when I didn’t pick math or science as my main subjects, and then again when I decided to start painting. It’s one of my favorite things to do, but since there’s barely any money to be earned, she doesn’t want me to go in that direction. Too bad for my mom, I’m a stubborn bitch. And she knows it since I got it from her side of the family.
When I’m finally on school grounds, I park my car and head straight for the building. I need to pee really badly as I didn’t go before I left. Perks of having to run out fast to avoid getting a dent in your confidence because your mom wants to talk about the bad shit you did at school in front of her new boyfriend.
I still have a foul taste in my mouth from the whole conversation. It’s none of my mom’s business what happens here, and she can’t lecture me about doing the right thing because she sure isn’t.
I only have one real friend I can trust, and that’s Monica. She sent me another message since I got here, so I fish my phone from my pocket and check them while walking. I don’t look where I’m going … and regret it immediately. Because the moment I step into the bathroom, I hear Layla’s and Jenny’s voices.
“Did you see that stupid girl yet?”
I contemplate leaving right away, but then I’d never know who they’re talking about, and I definitely want to know who they’re targeting next. I don’t think they heard me come in, so I park my bag on the bathroom counter and wait for more info.
“Who?” Layla asks.
“That girl … What’s her name again?”
“You mean that Sam girl?” Layla replies.
My eyes widen.
“Yeah, someone told the principal about what happened, and he made a phone call to her mother.”
They both giggle. I’m sure it was Layla who ratted. Bitch.
“Good for us,” Jenny says. “I hope she gets detention because she deserves it. She started it.”
“Uh-huh. She’s so annoying. And her mom too,” Layla groans.
Fuck these fucking girls. Always gossiping about everybody like it means nothing. Perfect, my ass.
Suddenly, the toilets are flushed, and the doors open. Out come two red-lipped, sharp-nailed, pouty-looking girls whose eyes narrow the moment they spot me.
I’m only studying myself in the mirror, pretending to check my makeup. I ignore them completely, but that doesn’t stop them from positioning themselves right beside me, effectively caging me between them. They both turn on the faucet and wash their hands while continuing to glare at me as if I’m the evil one out here.
Layla shakes her hands, and some of the drops of water land on my skin.
“What a surprise …” she mutters.
“What? That you two are turds?” I retort.
She snorts and goes to dry her hands under the dryer. “If there’s any place you’d be, it’d have to be a toilet.”
I narrow my eyes. “The place where everyone dumps their shit.”
“Hmm …” She smiles in a pitiful way. “Maybe you shouldn’t barge into other people’s business.”
I put my makeup back into my bag. “Maybe you shouldn’t gossip on the girl’s toilet.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be such a little bitch then,” she says, making a dirty face. “But I guess we all have to make do with what we have.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh please, take a look in the mirror if you wanna see a real bitch.”
“Really, Sam? Shut up,” Jenny sneers.
“You’re the one who was talking about me, not the other way around,” I say, spinning on my heels so they don’t do anything behind my back. I know I can see them through the mirror, but that doesn’t mean she won’t attempt something sneaky.
Suddenly, Layla’s right in front of me, and she lifts up her hand as though she wants to hold it over my mouth. “Stop. Talking. To. Me.”
I want to swat it away.
“You don’t exist. Period.”
“If I don’t exist, then why are you vomiting words at me?” I say. Even though she’s right up in my face, I refuse to move.
“Because I want you to know that I hate you … and that you need to stay out of my way,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Or else what?” I taunt.
She slides even closer. “Don’t tempt me to tell the school about your little trip to the forest with Dane and Patrick last year.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl.
If she even mentions a word, I’m going to kill her.
She doesn’t even know what happened, that they tried to kiss me and touch me, and that I had to run like hell. But I bet those two fuckers told her all the lies they had to tell, and she believes it all. And now she’ll hold it over my head as a threat. Disgusting.
“You weren’t there,” I hiss.
“No, but I know what you did with them … What kind of a ho you really are. You don’t want the whole school to know, do you?”
“Nothing fucking happened, and you know it,” I say, wanting to slap the living shit out of her.
“Nothing … or everything,” she says, shrugging. “Who knows? No one will believe you anyway.”
I shake my head. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything to you.”
“You know goddamn well why,” she says.
“If this is about your boyfriend—”
“Don’t talk about him!” she spits. “This is between you and me … and your goddamn whore of a mother.”
Her words resonate and hurt me in a way that I can’t comprehend, and I do the dumbest thing I’ve done this entire year.
I slap her right across the face.
Chapter 6
Sam
No one, and I mean absolutely no one except me, talks about my mother that way.
“You take that back,” I say with the calmest voice I can muster.
“How dare you fucking hit her?” Jenny gasps, and she grabs a piece of toilet paper and holds it under the water, then dabs it against Layla’s face.
“You can have your dear little daddy back,” I say, focusing solely on Layla. “I don’t fucking want him in my house.”
Layla holds the toilet paper close to her face as she stares me down. Ignoring me, she marches out the door, stumbling to make sure everyone sees how badly she was treated. And with Jenny playing her supporting character, they win over the crowd.
Always playing the victim those two. And what do I get? Blamed for my mother’s affair with her father.
Fuck.
It takes me a while to gather myself and actually walk out the door. I need to get a grip on this situation. It’s getting out of hand.
However, before I can think about following Layla, Monica bumps into my and stops me in the middle of the hallway.
“Dude, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she says, grabbing my arm. “You didn’t reply to any of my texts.”
“Sorry, I was kinda busy,” I say, trying to peer over her shoulder to find Layla.
“With what?” Monica asks. “What are you looking for?”
“Layla.”
She makes a dirty face. “Ew. Why?”
“Because we had a b
itch fight in the bathroom about my mom and her dad,” I reply. “And I’m not exactly done chewing her up.”
She cringes. “Sounds rough.”
“Definitely was.” I rub my lips together. “She got up in my face and practically blamed me for my mother’s new choice of boyfriend. As if it’s my fault her dad couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“Pfft.” She waves it off. “She’s just mad because her pretty princess ass isn’t being taken care of anymore. Her mom’s alone, probably crying her eyes out all day, and now there’s no more attention going to Missy Perfect anymore.”
“Exactly,” I say. “But I’m not gonna let her walk all over me.”
Mo walks with me to my locker. “Good. You shouldn’t. She knows she’s a bitch, and she’s trying to intimidate you into making your mom do something.”
“As if I can control my mom,” I say, taking my books out of my locker.
“She thinks everyone’s like her.” Mo raises her brow. “A manipulator.”
“I don’t think so. If she did, that boy toy would’ve been long gone from my house,” I say, slamming my locker shut.
I should forget about what happens. I thought I wanted to follow Layla and give her a piece of my mind, but that’s the anger talking. Nothing good can come of me riling her up even further. She’s upset about her dad, and I kinda get it.
As I turn around, a shadowy figure barges through the hallways, and it catches literally everyone’s attention. It’s not a surprise. It’s Nate, but he’s not wearing his normal outfit of expensive white trainers, khakis, and a button-up shirt. No, it’s full on torn dark jeans, dirty sneakers, and a black hoodie. He’s barely recognizable, bar the penetrating stare and scowl on his face.
And the worst part of it all is that it’s directed toward me.
I shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t let him intimidate me like that, but my feet are nailed to the ground as he waltzes right at me. My pulse is racing even though it never does. And while Monica stands her ground, hands against her hips, my body inches back against the lockers for support.
Nate eyes me down like a hawk, his muscular body rigid as he scans my body from top to bottom. His tongue briefly darts out to lick his lips, and an icy chill runs through my veins.
He doesn’t say a word.
Instead, he throws me one final ugly glance and marches right off, leaving me breathless and speechless.
“Wow,” Monica mutters. “What the hell was that?”
I’m still looking at him as he disappears down the hallway and blends in with the crowd. I can’t help but feel as though he just marked me … as though he’s chosen me. And it makes my skin crawl.
“Hello? Earth to Sam.” Monica snaps her fingers. “Are you there?”
“Sorry,” I mutter, still staring off into the distance. “Got caught up in the moment.”
“You mean you got caught up by Nate Wilson,” she says. “He came all up in your space as if it was nothing.”
I nod and clutch my books close to my chest as if they’re my only protection against him, which is ludicrous, but still.
“What the fuck happened to him?” Monica says. “He’s been such an asshole lately. And now he’s even wearing totally different clothes than he usually does. All black and moody.”
“Yeah, he’s so … different,” I murmur, still lost in thought.
“You’ve noticed too, huh?” she says. “I’ve asked around, and people say he hasn’t spoken to Layla since the cafeteria incident.”
“Huh,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. “Interesting.”
“He’s never acted out this way. I wonder if it’s because of your fight with Layla, or if it has something to do with that girl … Nina.”
The mere mention of her name makes me choke up.
“Before summer, nothing was wrong, and we all come back to school, and it’s as though he’s a totally different person. The only thing that’s changed is that Nina has …” She sucks up her last words.
But I can’t speak either. Can’t think of anything else but the deep blue sea and the boy dredging through the water … the darkest of sins that took place there … And all those pictures still sitting on my laptop. I should’ve deleted them many yesterdays ago.
“What’s wrong?” Monica asks as I swallow away the lump in my throat.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “Forget about it.”
The bell signals the start of our class, one of the few we still share, and Monica quickly whisks me away from the lockers and the temptation to follow Nate and see what he’s up to.
* * *
Nate
When I saw Sam, all I wanted to do was shove her up against the lockers and force her to do what I want. I never used to be so dominant, so arrogant, but something in me has changed. Ever since that night at the beach, I can’t stop thinking about her and all the things she knows.
All the things she’s seen.
It’s been on my mind ever since, and when I saw her at school, I lost it.
I want nothing more than to compel her to tell me. To force her to do my bidding and give me what I want. I’d make her feel as uncomfortable as possible, push her in ways she never expected, and haunt her in her dreams until she begged me to stop.
I want her on the edge. It’s the only way.
I have no other leverage. Nothing to bargain with. Nothing to give her but my rage.
But fear is an amazingly persuasive tool. And I intend to use it to my advantage.
I sit at my table in the back of the class and check my phone for missed messages. I keep hoping Sam might contact me, but that would be stupid of her, and I know she’s anything but stupid.
Unlike a girl I know marching toward me right now.
“What the hell …?” Layla says, her hands against her side. “What is this?”
“What?” I glare up at her from my seat.
She plucks at my hoodie. “This.”
She tears it off my head, but my hair is all frizzy today, so I immediately pull it back over my head.
“Don’t,” I growl.
I’m not looking for a fight today. I’m done with that. It’s always something trivial, yet she makes every little thing a problem. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.
“Take it off,” she says, folding her arms.
“No,” I reply.
She makes a face. “You never wear this.”
“And?” I muse. I prefer this outfit over whatever the hell she wants me to wear. I just want to blend in with the crowd. Be a fucking ghost and disappear. But now she’s putting all the attention on me like I’m some kind of walking circus. “Got a problem with it?”
“Yes, actually. I do,” she says, sitting down at the table in front of me. She turns around, and whispers, “What is up with you? You’ve been acting weird ever since that—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, placing a hand over her mouth. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it. How many times do I have to say it?”
Her eyes narrow, and she removes my hand with force. “Well, I do. What is going on with you? Why are you suddenly wearing all black clothes?”
“Because I can.”
Because for once I don’t want to be recognized while walking around school. But that won’t work when she keeps talking to me like I’m insane.
“Are you depressed or something?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“If something’s going on, you have to tell me,” she says.
I sigh out loud. “Stop.”
“I’m your girlfriend. I care about you.” She places a hand over mine in a way that I don’t like. Possessively. As though I’m a toy she plays with. An accessory she’d hang on her bag to show off to people. I’m just fucking me, and nothing she does will ever change that.
“Can’t you just take it off after an hour or something?” she asks.
I raise a brow. “Why do you care so much about what I wear?”
“Because it d
oesn’t look good on you,” she replies, frowning.
I shrug. “I don’t care how it looks.”
“But I do,” she says.
“Then don’t look at me,” I say. “Simple.”
She narrows her eyes. “Really, Nate? Why are you acting like this? What happened to you?”
Everything. Everything happened. But it’s nothing she’ll ever understand.
“Stop talking to me,” I say.
I’m tired of her shit. I don’t have time or the attention span for her bullshit.
“What?” she scoffs. “What did you just say to me?”
I look straight into her eyes. “Stop. Talking. To. Me.”
She makes a strange sound, like a cat being strangled. “How dare you talk to me like that? I am your girlfriend.”
I grind my teeth. “Maybe you shouldn’t be anymore.”
“What?!” she yells. She immediately jolts up from her seat and glares me down.
Everyone else notices too. Even the teacher.
“Miss Parker, what are you doing? Sit down, please. Class has already begun,” the teacher says.
She completely ignores him. “Did you seriously just say that?”
I look up at her with a questioning gaze. Does she want me to repeat it or what?
“Oh, my God,” she says, and she lets out an exasperated grunting sigh. Then she grabs her bag and shoves her books in it before marching toward the door.
“Excuse me, Miss Parker, where are you going?” the teacher asks.
But she’s already slammed the door shut.
Goddammit.
Even her rage pisses me off.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said yes when she asked me to be her boyfriend, but I was a party-addict and drunk dumbass who didn’t know any better.
I do now … so much that it consumes me whole.
* * *
At practice, I catch the ball. Or at least, I think I did, but I miss. Again.
“Nate? What the fuck are you doing?” Daryl yells.
“I’m trying, okay?” I reply, wiping the sweat of my forehead.
I don’t know why it’s not working. I always get the catches right. But the longer I try, the more my hands falter. It’s as if I’ve completely forgotten how to play. How to exist as Nate Wilson.
Cruel Boy Page 4