by Lindsey Iler
“You think if you don’t speak to me that I’ll simply stop trying, but I won’t.”
“You’ve done an awfully good job of it this week. So, what’s changed?”
“Because I have something to prove.”
“Don’t make me your pet project, Marek. You won’t convince me you’re anything but the boy you were on the rooftop.”
A hard exterior is the only way I know how to survive Marek. If I’m too soft, he’ll walk right over me. I refuse to be that girl anymore, the one who allows her attraction to a guy to dictate how she’s treated by him. Palmer Weston is no doormat.
“You’re no project. You’re a lifetime of good decisions, wrapped in a whole lot of bad ones. The first good decision I made was talking to you in this very spot.” He makes a show of looking around the classroom that has changed the course of my life.
“You were rude to me and touched me without asking, if I remember correctly.” I cross my arms over my chest like a child who doesn’t get their way.
“No, I said I’d fuck you if you wanted, and as for the touching, you enjoyed it.” His tongue pushes the inside of his cheek, popping it out. “Not to mention, if I remember correctly, you enjoyed the fucking, too.”
“Not the point,” I bark, forcing down my amusement.
A hard laugh echoes through the classroom. Marek and I turn around to find Breaker leaning forward with a wicked grin splitting his face.
“Don’t stop this fun banter on my account,” Breaker says. “And if it matters, I’m kind of glad he sexually harassed you on that first day, too.”
“Are you two seriously going to sit here and pretend like this odd friendship and whatever the hell we are”— I point at Marek— “makes any sense? We’re woven together by secrets and lies.”
“Maybe we need to change that. No more secrets,” Marek offers.
“You aren’t capable of that.” I stand and lift my backpack off the floor.
“Neither is she,” Breaker whispers, attempting to cover his words with a pathetic cough. I glare at him for even hinting at my secret.
Marek crosses his feet at the ankles, and Breaker keeps a watchful eye on me, a sly smirk cemented into place. Neither follow me when I stomp away. I reach out to open the door but jump when Byron walks through at the same exact moment. We shuffle back and forth, blocking each other’s paths like a comedy routine gone wrong. The look of horror on his face would be funny if I wasn’t so concerned with putting distance between Marek and me.
“Just stop!” I shout. My outburst brings snickers from my classmates.
With my demand, Byron freezes in place, and I walk around him, finding the exit I’m desperate for. My feet, in such a hurry, get caught on the small tile lip, and I trip, falling straight to my knees. The classroom fills with humiliating giggles.
Byron offers me his hand, and I stare at it. His fingers wiggle, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I extend my own, allowing him to help me.
“Take the day,” Byron says. “Whatever it is, just take the day.”
Moments of sincerity from Byron Decatur are few and far between. I’ve seen it twice. Today and on the anniversary of my sister’s disappearance. I’d like to believe, deep inside the darkest soul, there’s a human desperate to be seen. Byron is no different. It’s why he allows himself these small, almost fleeting moments. They’re cries for help.
“Thank you,” I whisper, snatching my bag and bolting through the door.
Out in the fresh, cold air, I sit on the bench beneath the lamp post. The plaque is inscribed in memory of Georgina Matthews.
My face lifts to the sun, soaking in what I can get. I miss the sun. I’m desperate for the warmth. There is no time to sit and just be anymore. This is what I’m doing. Appreciating the fact Marek hasn’t stormed out, demanding to steal my time. He’s stolen enough.
Oddly enough, Byron’s advice to take the day is exactly what I need. I can afford to miss a class or two today, if it means I can get my shit together. Having Marek ignore me over the past few days has put me on edge.
A shadow casts over me, and I hold my hand up before blinking. The figure in front of me is merely an outline until my eyes adjust to the light.
“Can I help you?” I ask, uncertain why someone would stand so close to a stranger. With my track record, I can never be too safe.
“I’m looking for Marek Hawthorne. Do you happen to know where I can find him?” the beautiful brunette asks. She’s tall and has a certain power behind her stance.
“I can never escape him,” I murmur.
“Excuse me?” The lady lowers her brows, confused by my words.
“Yes, actually, he’s in English literature right now.” I stand. “It’s that building right there.” I point, and the pretty stranger follows my arm to the end of my finger. Once she spots the building, she smiles kindly.
“Thank you so much.” She nods in appreciation. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Palmer Weston.”
“Oh”— her eyes widen— “I see. Well, thank you.”
As she turns and walks towards the building, I can’t help but notice things about her. Her alabaster skin is much like Marek’s, and her beautiful, deep ocean eyes may as well have been plucked from his head and given to her to borrow.
There’s no way that could be who I think it is. The only time he’s ever spoken of his mother is when he told me about how she treated him after his sister passed. That woman in the dark, emerald peacoat was nothing but gracious and endearing. She did seem a little spooked when I said my name, but that happens far more than I care for.
Weston. The name of a dead girl is a tattoo on my skin, permanent and impossible to hide.
The metal doors of the buildings spring open at once, setting off a chain of students filtering into the courtyard. Marek walks out into the sunlight. His eyes find mine, then bounce to the brunette lady between us.
Until this moment, I’ve never seen Marek Hawthorne rattled. His eyes widen as if he’s seen a ghost. Even from here, the tic in his jaw is noticeable. Whoever this lady is, she’s capable of bringing out a side in Marek that’s rare. There’s something about her that lights an even darker, more intense fire in his eyes. What has she done to him to deserve so much disdain and fury?
I don’t stick around to see the outcome of the encounter. Whatever is going on in Marek’s life isn’t any of my business.
******
“What’s wrong?” Delaney falls in stride with me after third period.
Afraid of drawing unwanted attention, I squint and cut my eyes to the side, hoping she’ll catch my drift. When she starts to turn to look behind us in the most unsubtle way possible, I know she’s missed my hint.
“Are you insane?” I grab her arm and spin her around before she makes a full rotation.
I’ve had the strangest day imaginable. From the run-in with Marek in class, to looking into the eyes of the monster who abandoned her son when he needed her most, now, I can’t get past the idea I’m being followed.
“What? I thought that’s what this meant.” She mimics my eye movement and laughs. “I thought we were going to meet for lunch. What’s wrong with you today?”
That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.
“I’m being followed,” I explain. “Without being too obvious, check behind us. All weekend, there was this sinking feeling in my stomach.”
“The guy in the suit?” she says, her head cranked over her shoulder. So much for not making a show of her snooping.
“Same guy who followed me through the store.” I’m stuck somewhere between freaking the fuck out and not wanting whoever he is to know I’m on to him.
“Maybe it’s your parents.” Delaney tries to write off the goon’s presence. I snort at the thought. “I mean, you aren’t the only student on campus with a security detail. Look around.” She twirls in her combat boots and walks backwards. It’s like she doesn’t know what the word obvious means. “He�
�s kind of hot.”
“No, that would require them to give a shit. Let’s be real, they’re as cold as the iceberg the Titanic hit.” I shuffle over to a bench, tossing my backpack to my feet, and sit.
“You know, there’s a theory that the Titanic didn’t actually sink, but that it was a way to collect insurance money.” Delaney stands in front of me, keeping an eye on the suspicious guy.
“Not really the point, but thanks for the bit of information.” We laugh. It feels good, like a salve for my soul when I’m currently trying to remind myself that freaking out won’t fix anything. If he is following me, then I need to come up with a plan. I won’t be caught off guard again. I’m not some damsel in distress.
My eyes shut, every horrible situation that could come of me flashing through my mind. I’m in public. What could possibly be gained from attacking me in the open?
“So then, who’s having you followed?” Delaney asks.
My eyes flutter open. Over Delaney’s shoulder, I see Quinn barreling straight for me, with a cup cradled close to her body. Amused satisfaction is smeared over her smug face.
As I stand, the guy who’s been following me marches between Quinn and me. His hand soars up, forcing the cup to fly through the air. It lands on the cement pathway beside me, splattering red paint everywhere, including the front of Quinn’s uniform. Marek and Dixon sprint across the quad, heading right for me.
“Who the fuck are you?” Quinn yells, her face marred with anger. Seems she’s pissed off because someone disrupted her little prank. All that’s missing is her stomping her feet to complete her temper tantrum.
“What the hell, Quinn?” Marek yells as he slides to a stop beside us, heavy breaths releasing from his mouth as he catches his breath.
“Just wanted to paint her red. Let her know what her sister looked like before someone dragged her cold body from her dorm.”
“Fucking psycho.” Dixon barges in front of Quinn, blocking her from me.
“That’s sweet coming from you, Dix. Still into recording all your conquests?” Quinn pushes him to the side to show her bared, perfectly white teeth.
“You still mad you didn’t make the highlight reel?” He blows her a kiss, mocking her.
Marek and the goon are in the middle of a silent, but heated conversation. One tilt of Marek’s head, and every question I have is answered. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to deal with him right now, not when Quinn is preparing to strike again.
“Do you actually think these boys give a shit about you, sweetheart?” She rolls her eyes. “You’re pathetic, just like your slut of a sister.”
Without a thought, I lunge forward. By throwing the first punch, I know I’m risking a lot. Glass Heart Academy has a zero-tolerance, no-violence policy. The irony is not lost on me. Girls dying, no biggie, but please, no hair pulling.
I’ve barely lifted my arm for round two when a pair of strong, suit-covered arms wrap around my waist. My thrashing and kicking are no use. He’s too strong and clearly good at his job.
When I’m set on my feet, my breaths are harsh and uneven. I push my unruly hair out of my face and look around me. Dixon is grinning at this ogre of a man. Marek’s face is unmoved.
“What the hell was that all about?” the giant restraining me asks. The muscled arm around me twitches.
“You stupid whore. I hope you like public school, because that’s where you’ll be after I report you!” Quinn shouts, brushing the front of her uniform. She growls in frustration when the red smears even more.
We’ve drawn a crowd, and they’re enjoying watching this show go down. Rich kids have nothing better to do than hope to catch a few lives imploding.
As he approaches, Breaker glares at the stains on Quinn’s uniform and her disheveled hair. “Careful, she’s scrappy.” His eyes cut to me, and he grins, seeing me curtailed by this mother fucker.
When I flip him off, I notice paint on my fingers, souvenirs from throwing a punch. Hmm, maybe I should have matching fists.
“Not a good idea, Miss Weston.” I glance up to see amusement on my unofficial bodyguard’s face.
Marek grabs Quinn’s arm and yanks her close to his chest. His mouth descends to her ear, and I hiss in a breath at their proximity, ready to lunge again.
Quinn’s eyes widen at whatever Marek says, fear crossing her features. She storms off without giving me a second glance.
“I told her that, if she ever stepped out of line again, I’d make sure the entire school knows about her little rendezvous with four of my linemen last summer at Max’s family cabin,” Marek explains, offering a cute little wink as if he’s done me a favor.
He may be able to distract me with his charm on most days, but today isn’t one of them.
I spin, shooting daggers into the broadest chest I’ve ever seen. My chin lifts, catching the sun just beyond his head, making him appear to be glowing.
“These assholes hire you to stalk me?”
“Busted, Damien!” Breaker singsongs, turning and walking away from us. Dixon follows him. Delaney glares at Breaker’s back and spins in the opposite direction, leaving Marek and this goon beside me.
“Sir,” Damien says.
“Sir? Really, Damien?” I glare at him. “He’s a damn boy next to you.” Marek snorts under his breath, and I shift my animosity to him. “And you”— I shove my finger in his face— “where do you get off hiring someone to lurk in the shadows and follow me around?”
“Ma’am, with all due respect—” Damien cuts in, then he clamps his jaw shut when I send another searing glower his way.
“With all due respect, I don’t need some muscle bound, steroid junkie protecting me.”
“Former Navy Seal.”
“What?” I hiss.
“I was a Navy Seal,” Damien explains, holding up his hands in defense, then walking away. Smart choice, considering the war path I’m on. He disappears into the crowd. Something tells me he won’t go too far.
“Hear me out,” Marek says.
“I was scared all weekend, Marek. Do you want to know why? Because every time I looked over my shoulder, a giant, resembling one I have run into far too many times on this campus, is following me around. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. You don’t know that feeling, that heart-stopping, fully debilitating terror that this could be the time that it all ends for you.”
“We were only thinking about protecting you.”
“Which I appreciate, but clue me in. I’m always in the dark with you. You want me to trust you, then give me a reason to fucking trust you from time to time.” I spin, not willing to wait around to hear more excuses.
I expect him to run after me. Once I’m a few yards away, I turn to see his feet perfectly planted. We’re in a standoff in the middle of the quad, with students milling by, unaware of the war raging between us.
“I’m tired of hearing you out. Isn’t that obvious?” I shout, unwilling to admit I may need to hear those words more than he does.
His eyes slant to the cement. He’s doing what he always does, demanding and expecting those around him to jump at his command. Where I used to ask how high, this time I don’t budge, refusing to move. His lips curl into a grin when I use his own move against him.
“Get over here,” Marek demands.
“Not a chance in hell.” My balled-up fists cut into my hips. I hope I look intimidating, or at the very least, stronger than I feel.
The small nod of his head, barely there, is loud enough to show his brash exterior melting away. When a boy like Marek does this, I take it for what it is, an offering that doesn’t come often, but when it does, not appreciating it would be a damn shame.
Marek makes the first move, and I release a relieved breath. Once he’s shouldered his way through the crowd, his backpack falls off his shoulder to our feet.
“I’m never not going to protect you.” His hand lifts to my hair, brushing the loose strands behind my ear. I hate myself for leaning into his touch. “I fucked u
p on that rooftop, but I’m never going to be that man again.”
“Why’d you do it?” Now isn’t the time to have this conversation. He and I both know it.
His eyes shift from side to side at our surroundings. Before I can utter another word, Marek has my hand in his, and he drags me through campus.
“Will you please slow down? I’m smaller than you. Shorter legs, buddy.” I claw at his arm, trying to stop him.
“Those legs are some of my favorite parts of you,” he says to the air in front of him, too concerned about getting me to point B to even do me a solid and calm down.
He doesn’t slow until he places me in the passenger seat of his Escalade.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Marek? I’m not some rag doll you get to throw around.” As I reach for the handle, the locks click. No amount of strength or flipping the stupid button can get the door open.
I roll down the window, and Marek dangles the key fob in my face.
“Child locks come in handy from time to time.” Marek laughs. “Although admirable, you’re wasting your time.”
“Fine, what exactly are we doing?”
“We’re going up to the house.” Marek slides into the driver’s seat and pops the gearshift into drive. His foot slams on the gas pedal, racing us towards the hill.
My bag is heavy on my feet where it lays. I search Marek’s side of the vehicle and then the back seat.
“What about your bag?” I question, remembering he’d left it on the ground on campus.
“Don’t worry about it. One of the boys will take care of it for me.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever understand this fluid friendship you have with them. It’s like they know every move you’re going to make, and you for them. No one even knows you left it there.”
“It adds to our mystery.” He glances at me and winks.
I want to beg him to slow down, but there’s no point. Instead, I grip the bar and hang on for dear life. Within ten minutes, he parks outside of the glass house. Marek jumps out and rounds the front to open my door.
“Let’s go,” he demands.
“Let it be known that I’m only coming inside because, at this point, it’s either do what you say or walk down that fucking hill, and I’m in no mood.”