This Hurt (This Boy Book 2)

by Jenna Scott

  “Milla,” Hunter calls, and his voice is soft and sad. The urge to look over at him is strong, but I stop myself before it happens, because I know if I see his face, I’ll feel sorry for him. I’ll try to comfort him. I’ll let him explain the unexplainable.

  And Hunter has no right to any of that. Not anymore. If he’s sad about the consequences of his actions, then he deserves it. He did this, not me.

  I slam the locker shut and look at Isabel. “Let’s go.”

  “Yeah, let’s.” She threads her arm through mine in a protective way. Together, we walk down the hall in the opposite direction.

  I don’t say anything to Hunter. Not one word.

  Chapter Four

  Camilla

  “What’s wrong, Milla?” Harry asks, looking up at me with concern.

  I’m at the kitchen counter slicing apples and assembling a snack plate for him with a blob of peanut butter for dipping, a handful of pretzels, a string cheese, and some grapes. Unfortunately I’m also sniffling uncontrollably and wiping away stray tears with my sleeve, because being here at the Becks’ is completely overwhelming for me.

  I clear my throat and tell him a partial truth. “I just had a hard day at school. No big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Somebody was mean to you?” he asks.

  “Yep. Really mean,” I say. “But I’ll be fine.”

  He frowns, tugging absently at the waist tie of his swim trunks. “I don’t like when you’re sad,” he says. Then his face breaks into a smile. “Do you want a hug?”

  I have to laugh through my sniffles. I love this kid.

  “Sure,” I tell him. “That sounds great.”

  Leaning his head against my hip, he wraps one arm around the back of my legs and squeezes with all his might as I finish getting his snack ready. I pat him on the head and grab a few napkins.

  “Better?” he asks, pulling away.

  “Much better, and thank you,” I say. “Go grab your Spider-Man towel, okay?”

  “Okay!” Harry says, running off.

  We go out back to the pool area and I set his snack on the table under the shade of a big umbrella. Then I sit at the edge of the pool, letting the water lap at my legs while I watch Harry splash around in the shallow end. The sun is out and beating warmly down on me, and I try to soak it in and think about anything but Hunter.

  When Isabel had dropped me off after school, I’d arrived home to find Hunter’s car still missing. I was relieved I wouldn’t run into him right away, but I knew he might show up any minute. So I hustled to make Harrison a snack and get him out to the pool in the backyard, since I didn’t want to spend any more time inside the Becks’ house than strictly necessary. I saw no sign of my mother, but she was probably cleaning upstairs or running an errand. Or maybe even avoiding me on purpose. Just as well.

  Soon enough, my shift with Harry is over. I follow him up to his room to pick out some dry clothes for him to change into after he rinses off in the shower, then wait outside the bathroom with my heart pounding while he gets dressed. When the door flings open, I flash him a grin.

  “Looking good, dude. See you tomorrow,” I tell him, bolting down the stairs.

  There are voices coming from the kitchen as I make my way through the living room, and I rush out the back door before anyone has a chance to realize I’m here. With relief, I notice the pool area’s still empty. I’ve managed to successfully avoid Hunter, and my breath relaxes a bit. Maybe he got the memo at my locker today.

  My luck doesn’t last long, however. As soon as I step into the pool house, ready to lock myself in my room and take a much-needed break from reality in the form of a whole lot of dumb Netflix, I come face-to-face with my mother. She’s sitting on the couch, scowling with a glass of ice and whiskey in her hand, clearly waiting for me to walk in the door so she can rip me a new one. I know that look.

  “Sit down, Camilla,” she says, tipping her chin to the other end of the sofa.

  I can tell this is nothing good and immediately go on the defensive. “What for?”

  “What for?” she scoffs, the ice clinking against the glass as she takes a sip. “I don’t know what you think you’ve been getting away with with that boy, but you’ve put my job at risk. My ass is on the line here.”

  My mouth falls open. Has she known about me and Hunter all along?

  Mom smirks. “Come on, Milla. You think I don’t notice you sneaking around at all hours and playing grab-ass by the pool when you’re supposed to be babysitting? You landed the golden boy. Now it’s time for you to learn how to keep him. You need to make this right.”

  Make it right? Making it “right” implies I’m in the wrong, and I sure as hell am not. Hunter is, and nothing he can do or say will change that fact.

  “I’m sorry,” I say coldly, “but while you were clearly not minding your own business in regard to my personal life, did you happen to miss the part where Hunter completely sabotaged my chances at going to college?” Try as I might, I can’t stay calm, can’t keep from copping an attitude. “I don’t have to make anything right!”

  “Please. That boy gave you a reality check,” Mom says, narrowing her eyes at me. “Honestly, you should be thankful.”

  “Thankful for Hunter being a massive jerk and torpedoing my dreams? Nobody has the right to destroy someone else’s future like that!”

  “You’re right, they don’t. And yet it happens all the same, every goddamn day,” she says, and in that moment I recall with perfect clarity what she told me during our last fight. That I ruined her life.

  And that I’d be ruining mine, too, if I went off to school at Stanford instead of focusing my efforts on bagging myself a rich suitor before my youth and whatever looks I have no longer work in my favor.

  I take in her expression, the look of disgust and anger, like I’m a naïve girl who doesn’t understand life and she’s annoyed she has to have this conversation with me.

  It’s clear as day that she thinks I’m to blame for this. That it’s my fault things are bad here at the Becks’, just like it’s my fault that her life is trash. She won’t even consider the possibility that her actions are the problem, that her penchant for sleeping around has brought me the biggest troubles in my life. If it hadn’t been for her reputation, no one would’ve made up rumors about me being the same. I’d still be at La Jolla High, I wouldn’t have met Hunter, and I wouldn’t be in this situation at all right now. But how dare I expect her to act like a half-decent parent for once in her life.

  “I’m not apologizing,” I tell her, my voice low and even. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “This isn’t up for negotiation.” She gets up to come over and stand in front of me. “You made your bed, Camilla. It’s time you lie in it. Either you make up with Hunter right away, or you move your shit out of here. Those are your options.”

  For a second, I can’t process what I’m hearing.

  “You’re choosing them over me?” I sputter. She might hate me, she might think I ruined her, but we’re flesh and blood. We’re family.

  “Don’t make this about you, Camilla!” she says. “They pay my bills, our bills, and they put a roof over our heads, food in our fridge. I have to make a living, and soon you will, too. It’s not about choices—when you’re broke, you have no choices.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” I say, but she cuts me off.

  “You think you got all the answers? That you know so much more about real life than me? Getting all your bills paid for and your ass wiped for eighteen years makes you some kind of expert in self-sufficiency? Time to grow up.”

  “I’ve helped with the bills,” I murmur, but my voice is so timid and quiet that I’m not sure she hears me.

  Leaning in, she jabs my arm with her index finger, a red gel nail digging into my flesh. “Get your ass over to that house right now and apologize to Hunter, and thank your lucky stars someone as rich and good-looking as that boy wants to give you the time of day. I don’t care w
hat you have to do to make him happy, but you will do it. We are not going to starve because you put us both out of a job riding around on your fucking high horse.”

  I step away from her, my stomach turning. “You’re whoring me out?”

  She scoffs, upper lip curling. “Call it whatever you want, Camilla. It’s time you learned that in the real world, you do whatever it takes to get by, even if you hate it. That’s how life works for people like us.”

  People like us. The harsh words feel just as bad as the slap in the face she gave me the last time we fought. But she’s wrong. I’m not like her. I’ll never be like her.

  And I’m sure as hell not going to let her pimp me out.

  The reality of the situation is clear: I can’t stay here anymore.

  Hunter’s everywhere in this house, and my own mother is against me. No, not just against me. She basically commanded me to go back to Hunter and spread my legs or else I’m getting kicked out. Screw that. I won’t do it.

  I bolt to my bedroom, throw open the closet, and start packing a duffel bag. As I get my essentials together, I dial Isabel and put her on speakerphone.

  Two rings later, her voice comes over the line. “Hello?” she says, worried.

  “Hey,” I say, my voice wobbling.

  “What’s up? Everything okay?”

  “Remember when you said I could stay with you?” I ask, blood pumping fast as I grab socks and underwear and throw them on top of my uniform and toiletry bag. Then I dig around and pull out my secret stash of money.

  “I’m on my way,” she says immediately. “Did Hunter…?”

  “My mom,” I say. It’s all I say, because I’m scared I’ll start crying if I have to elaborate right now and lose what’s left of my strength. Right now, I’m basically running on pure outrage and adrenaline.

  “Okay, sit tight. I’ll meet you out front.”

  I zip the duffel shut and take a last look around this bedroom. The signed Leigh Bardugo books look back at me from the nightstand. Briefly, I consider tossing them in the trash, but one does not let asshole boys taint Saint Bardugo’s work.

  Mom screams something at me when I walk through the living room again. Her glass has gone back to full, and I can smell the alcohol as I brush past her and leave. I cut through the side yard, down the driveway, and wait on the curb. Earbuds in, I count the seconds until Isabel shows, the random Spotify playlist not even registering.

  The creak of the side door opening cuts through the music. I hug my knees tight, hoping it’s not Mom coming to drag me back in by the ear. Then I’m wishing it would be her, because the presence at my back is too warm, too tentative to belong to anyone other than Hunter.

  After a moment, he drops down to sit beside me. It’s like being next to something with its own gravitational pull. I’m in his orbit, and I can feel myself wanting to be drawn back in. To crash into him like a meteor and let his atmosphere burn me to dust. All that, and I haven’t even looked at him.

  “Milla.” Hunter’s voice is barely audible with the earbuds, and I pretend not to hear it. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll give up.

  Fleeting warmth grazes my ear, and with a gentle tug from Hunter, one of my earbuds falls out. My chest tightens, and my heart stops. If I turn my head just a bit, he’ll flood my eyesight too.

  I scoot farther away, shrugging off his touch. “Leave me alone.”

  The breeze whispers by, and the trees and shrubs shudder around us. “What’s the bag for?” he asks. “Where are you going?”

  My lips thin into a line. Hunter’s no longer entitled to know anything regarding my whereabouts. The only things he’s getting out of me are scorn and silence.

  Isabel’s car turns the corner onto my street. I’ve never been happier to see her ridiculous purple Mini Cooper.

  I rise to my feet and grab the duffel. Hunter follows me not a second after, and I can feel his attention shift between me and Isabel’s car. “You’re leaving? Say something, please.”

  Again, I stay quiet. Although I’m not answering any of his questions, his asking them tells me a lot. Such as how he didn’t expect I’d find a way to leave this house. To leave him.

  The Mini’s tires slow down as Isabel pulls over. She lowers the window on the passenger side to give Hunter a murderous look, but when she turns to me, it’s with a smile. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” I open the back door and toss the duffel onto the seat.

  “You’re really gonna leave?” Hunter asks. “Milla, you can’t—”

  I open the passenger side door. Without looking at him, I say, “I can, and I will.”

  “No.” He grabs my wrist and spins me to face him. “You were always saying we needed to talk. Let’s talk—”

  “Don’t you fucking touch me!” I scream, my outburst shocking him into letting go. I feel the cold spread through me as I fix him with an icy stare. “I never want to speak to you again.”

  He reels as if I physically hit him, and I duck into Isabel’s car, slamming the door shut before I break down and Hunter realizes that he still has an effect on me.

  It takes all my willpower not to look back as we drive off. It doesn’t matter if he regrets what he did. It doesn’t matter that just days ago, I’d have done anything to ease his pain. Everything that comes out of him is a lie, and so is this attempt at chasing me.

  I thought I’d feel relief to get away from this house. But instead, I just feel empty.

  Chapter Five

  Camilla

  I will never not be astonished at the sheer size of Isabel’s house. Mansion is the term they use, but I think palace would be more apt, with all the fancy gray stone, the arched windows, and the turret. They have a tennis court and actual “grounds” with sculpted shrubberies, and Isabel always jokes about how they have a secret clan of Knights Who Say Ni living in their gardens. The first time I asked her what she meant, she made me watch all of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which not only explained the shrubbery joke, it also explained her murder rabbit slippers. She and her dad often have Monty Python marathons, which I suppose is as good a bonding ritual as any.

  Which reminds me. “Are you sure your parents will be cool with me staying here?” I ask while we wait for the garage door to open.

  “Girl, please,” she huffs, pulling the car inside. “They love you. And they don’t care what I do so long as I don’t get in major trouble. This is definitely not major trouble, so stay as long as you want.”

  “Define major trouble, then,” I say, because now I’m curious.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Isabel kills the engine and we get out of her Mini. “House parties that end with broken antique vases? Car crashes, hard drugs, getting arrested.” She shrugs and opens the door that leads to the main house. “You know. The usual.”

  I wish that were my usual too, but not an hour ago I had my mom basically telling me to dig Hunter’s sheets for gold. The disbelief at the words that came out of her mouth hasn’t quite left me; I don’t think it ever will.

  When we get inside, Isabel warns me her parents are already sleeping and asks me to keep my voice down once we’re upstairs in the east wing. Her house has wings and it’s a shocker she can say it without sounding pretentious. It’s a shocker she’s not pretentious at all, to be honest.

  “Do you want something to eat?” she asks as we drop onto the deep, cushy sofa in the living room.

  I shake my head. “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Uh-uh.” Isabel waves her index finger in her biggest outraged grandmother impression. “If you’re staying here, I’m obligated to feed you. So, cinnamon toast? Apple and graham crackers? Perhaps some leftover Thai? You at least need a snack.”

  “If you have any pad Thai in the fridge, I would not mind that at all,” I say, because she has a point. My stomach’s running on fumes.

  She gives me a victorious grin. “I’ll have some too. Let me put some trashy TV on for you and I’ll be right back.”

  We eat, and I
manage to half pay attention to the show—some reality thing where they purchase derelict castles in Europe and renovate them into bed-and-breakfast inns. It’s actually pretty interesting, I’m just feeling too shitty to fully enjoy it.

  Isabel side-eyes me during a commercial break. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

  “No. Maybe later, just…I can’t right now.”

  She shrugs. “Okay. I’m here, is all. You know?”

  “I know,” I tell her. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll take these plates down to the kitchen. You wanna get ready for bed? It’s almost eleven.”

  With Isabel cleaning up our dishes, I make my way down the broad hallway to her room. It’s almost the same size as the entire pool house where I’ve been staying, and decorated in a pleasing mix of geometric prints and sophisticated shades of golden olive and lilac. She has a large desk with an iMac and one of those fancy screens for drawing, and walls covered in her own art. The mannequin she keeps next to her chair has a half-made dress draped over it, and all sorts of fabric forms a pile on the floor. Still, even with the size and scale of the room, it manages to give off a cozy and warm vibe.

  Against the far wall is her bed, and no matter how many times I see it, I’m taken aback at how giant it is. From my estimate, four people could sleep comfortably in it without even touching. I drop my duffel on the trunk at the end of her bed, pull my toiletry bag and clean underwear out, and facepalm when I realize I forgot pajamas.

  I take a quick shower, and when I come out dressed in my gym shorts and T-shirt, I find Isabel sitting in front of her computer, two mugs next to her. I walk over, and she pulls out the bench she keeps under her desk.

  “You forgot your jammies, didn’t you?” she asks, pausing the Trixie and Katya show on YouTube.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine in this.” I sit on the bench and take a sip of the tea. It’s something spiced that reminds me of fall, even though it’s spring right now.