by Kent, Rina
Come on, help me out, Kim.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” She fishes into her bag and hands me her notebook.
I open it in front of me and compare our notes from the last class. My hand is still tight around the pencil and my shoulders are crowding with tension, but I manage to keep my expression as cool as possible.
I’m not going to cry.
The bitch queen stops beside my desk. Since I don’t raise my head, my view is constricted to her hand clutching Aiden’s arm. Her nails are French-manicured and she smells of Chanel. She always smells and looks classy, and although I never felt an inferiority complex before, it hits me like a hurricane now.
My eyes drop to Aiden’s Nike shoes. The pressed trousers and a hint of his clean scent. It brings memories of how he held me against his chest.
It was all a game.
A stupid, little game.
“Aww, are you crying, Frozen?” Silver taunts.
Of course, she wouldn’t leave me in peace.
Although I know I shouldn’t stoop down to Silver’s level and indulge her, I won’t let her walk all over me.
I wipe under my eyes with my middle finger then flash it to her with a smile. “Oops, my tears froze.”
Ronan snorts and Cole’s lips curve into what resembles a smile.
Silver’s cheeks tint in red as she leans closer as if to intimidate me. “Remember what I told you the last time, peasant?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your words aren’t important enough for me to remember.”
“Hashtag burn,” Ronan coughs.
Kim snorts.
“You little — ” Silver opens her mouth to say more, but Mrs Stone walks into class.
“You’re nothing,” she hisses at my ear. “Know your place.”
Aiden guides her away without a look in my direction.
Not a word.
Usually, he’d sit on my desk and try to charm me with his golden boy grins. He’d say, “Morning, sweetheart. Did you dream of me last night?”
He’d poke and probe me until the teacher comes into class. He’d talk dirty in my ear and watch me with amusement as I squirm and fight not to blush.
At first, it was an infuriating routine, but then I’ve gotten used to it. Hell, I might have looked forward to it, wondering what he’d say.
Why did he do all that if he planned to take it away? Is this some sort of punishment? Another one of his mindfucks?
I try to focus during class, especially since we have an upcoming test, but I can’t.
My attention keeps drifting back to Aiden and Silver. They’re sitting next to each other at the back, downright flirting. He flashes her his golden boy smiles and she slips him notes every now and then.
I wonder what she’s telling him.
Find me after school.
Fuck me after school.
Let’s make fun of Elsa.
Damn them both to the darkest pit of hell.
I’m not going to cry.
I focus back on Mrs Stone’s monologue about the importance of literature. I’m fuming and my feet keep bouncing underneath the table.
Honestly? I only have myself to blame. I’m the stupid fly who fell into his well-crafted web. I’m the moth who knew it’d burn but went to the fire anyway.
In a thesis done by a Norwegian doctor I don’t remember his name, he highlighted the male species behaviour about a pursuit. He mentioned that men lose a considerable amount of their drive once they score the sex part of the deal. The general hypothesis is that subconsciously, men still have the caveman nature.
They live for the chase and once they have what they want, they just lose interest.
I hated that thesis when I first came across it. It was the epitome of sexism and general hypothesis. But then, is it really wrong? It’s proven time and again that the sense of safety can make men lazy in a relationship. That’s why some of them cheat. They’re always seeking that sense of thrill. The taboo of it.
When we learnt that the neighbour is divorcing her husband because of adultery, Aunt Blair said that most cheaters who later become in an official relationship don’t last long. The strong desire they had was only because they were in a forbidden relationship.
It’s all about the chase.
There’s no denying that the chase turned Aiden on. My struggle gave him a challenge he needed to crack. A game he had to win.
He did everything to make me bend to his will and once he had me, his flame turned to ashes.
He got me out of his system and now he’s done.
I’m not going to cry.
As soon as the bell rings, I stuff my things into my backpack and hurry to the washroom, ignoring Silver’s shrill laughter.
I need to wash my hands.
No one talks to me or shoots bullying remarks in my direction. Seems that whatever brief thing I had with Aiden will keep the school off my back.
Yet, I don’t feel happy.
I don’t feel… anything.
For two years, I always had Aiden’s attention. In some twisted way or another. But now it’s like I don’t even exist.
I’m not going to cry.
Something invisible crawls on my hands, and they feel so dirty inside and out.
I barge into the washroom and thrust my hand under the faucet. I scrub them over and over. Between my fingers. Underneath my nails. I rub my palms, the back of my hand and even my wrists. I don’t stop until my skin is red and stinging.
I stand in the washroom alone, the sound of water fills the empty silence.
As I stare at my red hands, the first tear falls on the side of my palm.
The second follows.
Then the third.
I sniffle, trying to hold back the tears as I did since Saturday.
Only this time, I can’t fight the tide.
So I let it loose.
I promise myself that this is the last time I cry for Aiden King.
Chapter Thirty-Three
For the rest of the day, I try to pretend that Aiden and Silver don’t exist.
But the thing about pretending? It’s all about putting a cool mask on the outside and burning on the inside.
Every time I see Silver’s arm draped around Aiden’s, I itch to break it. I want to pound her face into the floor until she no longer breathes.
That’s another scary thought.
I’ve been having too many scary thoughts lately. I’m probably backpedalling. To what. I don’t know. I’m not even supposed to think I’m backpedalling. That would mean I admit having a worse state of mind and I’m rearing back to that.
I really need to see Dr Khan.
With heavy feet, I head to the pitch. I’m really not in the mood to share a practice space with Aiden.
I contemplated cutting school, but that would mean I’m running away.
And after the washroom episode, I promised myself to never cry or run away anymore.
My gaze strays to the pitch where some of the football team players are stretching. Aiden stands at the sideline talking to Silver. It’s like he’s honey and she’s a bee. She wouldn’t stop hanging off his arm like a parasite.
But is she a parasite if he keeps smiling at her like that?
If he keeps flirting with her?
He wreaks everything in his path with a smile on his face. Including my heart.
I want to play tough, to think I’ll wake up tomorrow and he’ll be in the past. But I’d only be fooling myself.
So I hide in the corner like a creep, having a pity party with myself. We still have fifteen minutes until practice. I already changed into my track clothes, but I’m dreading going down there. I don’t even have Kim to keep me company.
Screw Aiden and his barbie doll. I won’t run away.
The moment I straighten myself, I notice a shadow lurking in the back. I startle with a small gasp.
Cole sits under a plum tree, reading a book — Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre.
My cheeks tint with red at the t
hought that he’s seen me act like a coward for the past five minutes.
He’s dressed in Elites’ jersey and shorts. His hair is slightly wet as if he ran it under a faucet.
Aside from Aiden, Cole has always been the most mysterious. He’s not talkative at all. I can count the number of times I heard his voice. He’s usually the audience of Ronan’s animated speeches and the most adult-like out of the four horsemen. That’s probably why he’s Elites’ captain.
Cole never showed me malice or interest. He just exists as if passing through the school is a breeze in his life.
He’s popular, but he’s not a manwhore like Xander and Ronan. He’s just… serene.
Now that I study him closely, he’s quite handsome with long chestnut hair and dark green eyes like the forest after the rain. If I weren’t so biased, I’d say he’s even more good-looking than Aiden. His beauty is calm compared to Aiden’s dangerous one.
He throws me a glance over his book. I can’t help but smile at the image. He’s reading Jean-Paul Sartre while he’s in his football uniform.
“Is my book funny?” he asks with no maliciousness.
“I never thought athletes were interested in existentialism theories.”
He raises a thick eyebrow. “Aren’t you an athlete, too?”
“Touché. I should’ve said football players.”
“Because we’re so dumb?” There’s still no threat in his tone. If anything, it’s filled with mild curiosity.
“I didn’t mean that.” My cheeks tint. I don’t want to come off judgemental.
“Well, we can be.” He points at his book. “So what do you think about existentialism?”
I’m taken aback. He didn’t ask what I know about it, but what I think about it. So he’s sure I read about it. But then again, I wouldn’t have associated Nausea and Sartre to existentialism if I didn’t at least know something about it.
“Hmm.” I lean back against the stone wall. “I believe it’s a negative and a nihilistic philosophy.”
His posture quirks up as if he’s a kid given his favourite toy. “So you don’t believe that existence precedes essence?”
“Not per se. It can be true to some extent, but the whole theory is hyper-individualist. A person isn’t an entity that can’t be touched or manipulated.” I tip my chin.
Challenge that, mister. Your ace striker is a class one manipulator.
Cole seems smart. Probably to Aiden’s level of high intelligence, but like Aiden, he doesn’t show it.
I can bet money that he knows about Aiden’s true character. I suspect Xander knows, too.
They couldn’t possibly have known Aiden for all these years and not detect that something is wrong.
His brow quirks as he closes the book and lets it fall to his lap. “What if the person’s lack of existentialism causes them to be a target of manipulation?”
I approach him and sit beside him on the grass. “Then do you believe those who manipulate have a sense of essence?”
He gives an easy smile. “Perhaps they suffer from an existential crisis, too.”
“In that case, and according to the theory, people who manipulate can be manipulated. It’s an endless circle.”
“It is.” He shakes the book in front of me. “You read this, yes?”
I nod, but I don’t mention that the main character, Antoine, bored me with his existential crisis. He seemed very psychologically unwell and needed some psychotherapy. It doesn’t help that I was never a fan of Jean-Paul Sartre’s theory.
“Have you ever thought why Antoine Roquentin kept questioning his existence?” Cole asks.
“Because he’s an existentialism freak and a self-insertion from Sartre.”
He chuckles, the sound easy. “That’s one way to look at it, but maybe you should read it again and search for some hidden clues.”
Before I can say anything, he drops the book in my lap. “Aiden gave it to me, so keep it in good shape.”
Aiden gave it to him? I never thought he’d be interested in philosophy, let alone existentialist theories.
Cole and I spend the next fifteen minutes discussing Sartre’s work and some of his philosopher contemporaries. It’s a heated conversation since Cole and I disagree on almost everything, but it manages to keep my head off what’s happening at the pitch.
We switch to music, and I laugh when Cole says that he likes Coldplay. “At least we agree on that.”
“At least your taste in music is better than your taste in philosophy.”
“Hey!” I bump my shoulder against his.
Smiling, he hops to his feet and offers me his hand. “Come on. It’s time for me to practice like a dumb athlete.”
“You hold a grudge, don’t you?” I take his hand.
“Me? Never.”
“Try again, Captain.”
He chuckles and so do I. The sound drifts in the secluded area around us. If I knew Cole would be such a good sport, I would’ve befriended him earlier.
Or not.
Cole belongs to Aiden’s small circle and I never looked twice at them before.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Aiden stands near the brick wall I was leaning against earlier, arms crossed over his chest.
My heart skips a beat, no matter how much I hate it.
But that’s the thing about hearts, isn’t it? They can’t help beating despite the pain.
I look around him, expecting to find Silver hanging off his arm like some puppet.
She’s not here.
Aiden’s eyes narrow on where I’m clutching Cole’s hand. If looks could kill, we would be on fire now.
I should let Cole go and ignore Aiden, but screw him. He had the bitch queen hang off his arm all day. What right does he have to glare at me as if I’m doing the wrong thing?
“Yes, you are, actually,” I say in a light tone. “Cole and I were having a good time until you showed up.”
Cole raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything. In fact, his lips quirk in amusement.
“Let her go, Nash,” Aiden grinds out, his breathing turning harsher.
I grip Cole’s hand tighter. He doesn’t attempt to leave, either way.
“Elsa…” Aiden’s voice drifts in clear menace. “Let go of that hand or — ”
“Or what? What will you do now? Make me watch while you fuck Silver?” Shut up, damn you. I’m giving him ideas.
Before he can reply, I lift my chin in false bravado. “I can do the same if you’re into voyeurism.”
Aiden is in my face in a split second. I flinch back as my heartbeat picks up speed. Aiden looms over me like doom and glares down at me with flaring nostrils that might as well breathe fire.
In my stupefaction, I don’t even realise that Cole has slipped his hand from mine.
“Don’t be late for practice, King. You need to make up for your mess last game.” Cole offers me a warm smile and disappears around the corner.
Aiden advances into me. I try to keep my ground, but it’s impossible with all the demons swirling in his eyes.
I gulp past the lump in my throat. With every step he takes forward, I step back.
My shoulder blades hit the tree, and I wince.
Aiden leans his forearm on the tree above my head, caging me in. “Are you done playing, sweetheart?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Done playing?
Is this all that it is to him?
Are my heart and my body a bloody game?
The fury from earlier sweeps over me. My posture stiffens, but I keep my tone level when I speak.
“Actually no, Aiden. I’m not done playing. I think I’ll take Xander up on his offer and become his girlfriend — for real this time. Then, there’s Cole. I didn’t realise he’s so interesting and smart. Even Ronan is so charming. Choices, choices.”
“Are you done?” Aiden’s jaw is tight, but he manages to control whatever temper is trying to blaze through.
“I’m not done.
You don’t believe me, do you? Do you think I’m bluffing? I’ll prove it to you.”
He grips my arm with brute force. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Watch me.”
I push at his stupid broad shoulders. I should know better than to use physical strength against him, but at this moment, I’m so worked up I can’t think straight. He keeps me pinned to the tree with an effortless hand around my arm.
“Let me the fuck go,” I pant with frustration.
“Never.”
He says the word with so much conviction. So much… authority.
I stop and stare at him with what must look like an ‘are you shitting me’ expression.
“You already moved on, so let me do the same.” My voice breaks and I clear my throat. “What the hell do you want from me anymore?”
I resist the pressure building behind my eyes.
I’m not going to cry.
“Do you honestly believe it’s even possible to move on from you, sweetheart?” The strange mixture of tenderness and anger causes my heart to jump.
“Everyone at school saw you move on with Silver just fine.”
“I don’t care about everyone at school. The show was only meant for you.”
“For me?” The bite of anger returns again. “Did I miss some memo that you should be parading with another girl after we had sex for the first time? Not to mention that you abandoned me after said sex.”
Aiden’s lips quirk in a victorious smile. “There. That’s the reaction I’ve been hoping for.”
“What?” I snap.
“You wanted this.”
“I wanted this? Your manipulation game is strong but it’s not strong enough to make me believe I wanted you on another girl’s arms!”
“You wanted to have a choice. A real one.” The grey of his eyes hardens to gunmetal. “So I gave you a chance to choose me. Your reply is three days late, but I’ll take it.”
My lips move to say something, but nothing comes out. I’m speechless.
After a few seconds — or minutes — of staring at his wrongfully beautiful face, I say, “Your way of giving me a choice is thrusting Silver in my face?”
“An encouragement.”
I laugh without humour. As usual, he always makes the choices swing in his direction. “Why Silver? Why not any other girl?”