“Thank you.” I don’t need anyone’s well wishes and words of wisdom, and I most certainly don’t need her pity. But there it is, in her eyes. Yeah, I’m that girl. At least I was. Get over it.
Standing next to the president of the school is Mr. Varela, looking as handsome as ever in his sophisticated grey suit. He extends his right hand for a firm shake, just the same as he has for every other graduate, handing me my diploma with his other hand.
“Zayne,” I say, wearing a coy smile as a journalism student snaps our photograph, our eyes intimately connected in that moment.
When I reach for my diploma, our hands touch and there’s electricity there. I squeeze his other hand firmly when his fingers brush over mine. If he’s comfortable being that daring, then I can be, too. I breathe something in his ear, slipping a folded paper into his pocket. Anyone in the crowd might think I am slipping him my phone number, and that’s exactly what I want it to look like.
The graduates ahead of me exit the stage, but I hold on to his gaze as I walk away from him. Does he not realize that this kind of eye contact is inappropriate? I want him to remember what we’ve done, what I’m going to do to him next.
He knows.
Instead of following the other graduates back to my seat, after flipping the tassel on my hat, I walk straight out the back door of the gymnasium, meeting up with my friends in the hall.
“Clarisse!” Savari shouts when she sees me walking toward them. She leans in to privately whisper the rest. “What the hell was that all about?”
I shrug my shoulders, hoping everyone else noticed the way Mr. Varela regarded me.
We arrive at a local bar, and the rumors have already sprung up from the woodworks. One hour passes. Then two. I watch the door obsessively, but Zayne doesn’t appear. For the next three hours, I become drunk on my hatred for men—for life. I’m drunk because I’m miserable. Miserable, because I’m lonely and my plan has backfired. And I’m mad, because no matter how many men I successfully pursue—no matter how much fire Zayne brings to the desk—nothing fills the void of unconditional love.
Nothing.
As the night progresses, rumors fly and grow into a web of suspicion and lies. People start calling me the Black Widow, to my face and behind my back. They say now I’m going after the wealthy professional, because I didn’t make anything off of my poor-ass student boyfriend. Are they right? I don’t even know anymore.
I stumble to the bar and order another shot, overhearing the guy next to me talking about a woman who killed the man she loved, with a gun to his head. When he realizes I’m that woman, he covers his mouth with a hand—like, oh shit—and stops talking. I can’t even deny it. It’s true.
I killed my first love. He’s dead, much like my soul.
I drop a ten dollar bill on the bar, down my shot, and walk away. Making eye contact with Savari from across the room, I point to where I’m heading. She doesn’t follow, though, looking pretty busy with her other people. I slump onto an empty stool and rest my head against a sticky table.
People aren’t being fair. Some things are my fault, but the things I’m being accused of just aren’t true. You want the truth? Ask the cops. I told them the truth at first. They said it was the drugs talking. Finlay had drugged me, and I told the detective exactly what happened. I told him it was all my fault. I told him Finlay would be alive if it weren’t for me.
He didn’t believe me.
Secretly, I believe he thinks Finlay deserved it, and since it was Finlay who had his finger on the trigger, he’s the responsible party. The police had taken me in, mostly because Finlay’s mother is a selfish bitch, but they quickly cleared my name, and Savari’s lawyer had me home by the time the sun rose the next day.
The lawyers tell me I’m not guilty. The cop told me I only said what I said because of the mental state I was in. They were right about one thing: I wasn’t in my right mind. I said what the lawyers told me to say, like a robot. I cried when they told me to cry, jumping through the hoops like a good old dog. They say I’m not guilty. It doesn’t mean it’s true.
The entire scenario continues on replay in my mind. I can’t help but feel like the whole incident is a cruel, cruel joke being played on me.
This life is a fucking joke. Oh, but the trick is on me!
Zayne’s not here. I gave him one shred of control, and here I am, waiting for him like the loser mistress. Life is not fair. I don’t want to be here anymore, but the last shred of goodness left in this shell of a body won’t allow me to take my own life. There are many nights when I struggle with the idea—like tonight. Maybe I am the Black Widow. Maybe I deserve to die, too.
First, my parents died and then my first love. Who’s next?
Unfortunately for me that answer would come soon enough.
16: Ruby Red
I slick on another coat of ruby red lip stick and smack my lips together. Looking this good after what I’ve been through should be a crime. Savari hooks on to my elbow and drags me out of the restroom. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting for us.”
I let her pull me through the crowd to a group of cheerleaders hanging off the basketball team. I don’t know what she’s talking about. No one’s waiting for me. They’re all celebrating the finish of another school year, so I try to act like I’m okay with being here. I swallow the shots and fake a smile, but I’m dead inside.
Everyone else seems to be living it up—everyone but one guy sitting alone at a table with a ball cap pulled low, nursing a beer. Even though I can’t see his face, he manages to snake my attention every minute or so. No one talks to him, and he makes no effort to get involved in any of the nonsensical conversations.
The basketball captain snags my attention with a concerned look on his face. Ryan’s supposed to be celebrating his graduation tonight, but he’s not wearing a smile like everyone else in the place. He glances around awkwardly, watching people. For a second, I actually think we might have something in common.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey, Ryan.”
His night must be going shitty like mine, by the way he looks at me, but I read him all wrong. As he leans into me, I push his shoulder away, and he raises both hands in surrender. “I just wanted to tell you something, and I figured you might not want everyone to hear.”
My insides twist into a knot and slosh among the liquor in my stomach.
“There’s someone here to see you.”
My eyes flash to the door, but Zayne isn’t there. My eyes flicker from one huddle of drunks to the next. Shit, why are my hopes up? I look to Ryan, and he points at the dude sitting alone a few tables over. With confusion marking my face, I walk toward the guy. The dude squints at me from under the peak of his hat. I remain fixated on him and the assault of his sudden smile floods my body with endorphins.
There’s something to be said for a man with such an honest smile. He makes me curious and intrigued, when all I’ve felt for the past few hours is sorrow and regret. Just as I reach the table, one of the girls from my squad swoops in and attacks him with a hug.
“Mr. Varela! I thought that was you!”
He shrugs her off, like the slut she is and makes certain I notice the way he blatantly ignores her. Ryan grabs the girl’s arm and walks away with her, stealing all the attention away from Zayne and me. I remain silent, without an expression on my face, because I don’t want to admit that I’m happy to see him. I cling to the back of the empty bar stool next to him, unwilling to accept the fact that his constant reassurance makes me want more for myself.
I focus on the fact that he’s an asshole—the one who’s been sitting here all along and did not once make a move to acknowledge me. He could have saved me from myself tonight, but he didn’t, like he isn’t now. He continues to nurse his beer, hovering over it with his hat blocking his eyes, as if he hasn’t noticed that I haven’t so much as brushed the arm of another man this evening.
I get it. He’s not here for me. I doubt any man with half a brain would even want to
be seen with a woman heading backwards in life, especially such a gifted professor as Zayne Varela. I tear my eyes away from him and turn toward the dance floor, just now noticing the music has turned slow. A sleazy R & B song has all the couples grinding and, when I spin back to my friends, I realize they’ve all partnered off already. Wonderful.
The only person hanging around who I recognize is a short dude from my class who’s been desperately pursuing me since freshman year. He moves closer and smiles up into my eyes. In this moment, I feel nothing but utter disappointment. His itchy, brown suit jacket rubs against my arm, and I step backwards, hoping I don’t get a rash from it.
“Will you dance with me, Clarisse?” he begs.
Is this what my life has come to? Will I be forced to accept an overweight and short statured man who I’m not even attracted to, so I don’t have to be alone?
Itchy suddenly scurries away, but not before I notice the size of his eyes growing like big, black saucers. I wait a second, and then whirl around to see why he’s taken off in such a hurry. Zayne is standing behind me, so close my hair lands partly on his shoulder when I spin around. I quickly retrieve my hair, wrap it around my hand, and pull it over my shoulder, frowning softly with down-turned eyes.
What am I supposed to say to him when he’s standing there silently staring at the fullness of my mouth? Feeling defeated, I ask him, “What are we doing here?”
“You know exactly what we’re doing here. Are you scared?”
Something about him makes me feel like a dangerous woman. I laugh morbidly. “No.”
“Good,” he says, but he makes no motion to move any closer to me. Is he afraid someone will see us together in public? It feels like he wants to move in to kiss me, but his feet remain planted firmly in place, and his chin doesn’t waiver.
“If you’re expecting something from me, you’re going to have to lay it out there,” I say. “I’ve had too much to drink for you to pussyfoot around anything and expect me to know what the hell I’m supposed to do here.”
“You just keep being you.”
I swoon for the first time in a long time, feeling a little stunned beneath the dimpled cheeks of this man and, even though I allow myself that one small pleasure, it’s obvious he’s still tiptoeing around something. “If you're waiting for the perfect time to make our relationship public, be honest with yourself, that's never.”
Zayne presses a finger over my pursed lips to hush them and then drops his hand to his side. “I'm not here to argue, and I’m not about to waste words trying to fix what can't be unbroken.”
The memory of Finlay’s crumpled body haunts me. Is Zayne referring to my sensibilities? I try harder to understand what he means. Why are his eyes so soft? I swear they’re filled with compassion.
“Stop right there,” I say.
He lifts his hands and backs away. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You most certainly were. I see it in your doughboy eyes. You feel bad for me. Quit feeling bad for me.”
“I don’t feel bad for you.”
I mimic his stance and cover my breasts with folded arms. “You do. You must have been watching me. You know I’m stuck in my own living hell and you don’t want to be a part of it. Just say it.”
“Wrong,” he admits. “If I feel bad for anything, it’s for feeling the way I do about you.” He lowers his voice and moves in closer to me. “It’s for not telling you the truth about my situation and for dragging you along for the ride.”
Huh? I’m sure my face says it all. What the hell is he talking about his situation?
His face softens a little more, and he holds a hand out to the dance floor with the other one slipping to the small of my back. “There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, I say we dance.”
I shake my head, disagreeing with him while my body is awakened by the tender way he touches the bare skin just above my skin-tight jeans. Dancing is the last thing I want to do right now, and sex is the last thing I need on my mind, but I love the feel of his hands on me and can’t ignore the promise in his voice when he begs me to join him on the dance floor.
“Please?” he whispers darkly.
It makes my breath hitch and my heartbeat accelerate. I feel my feet moving, while my head is somewhere else.
Without waiting for an actual response, he leads me across the room. It feels like I’m floating behind him. He doesn’t pay attention to all the people around us but stares back into my eyes, wearing that dimpled smile. What now? Why did he stop?
“You’re going to have to put your arms around me if we’re going to do this.” He smirks at me and slings my arms over his shoulders, drawing me close. When he loops his arms around my waist, I feel him mold our bodies together. Nothing has ever felt more perfect.
I can’t even speak, so I don’t bother trying. I just inhale the amazing scent coming from his T-shirt and tilt my head to rest it against his shoulder. One of his arms curls up my back and presses me into him completely. I close my eyes, comforted by that glorious scent and the deep rumble of his voice humming the song. The vibrations soothe me with relief I haven’t felt in years.
Ignoring the way everyone watches us, I fall into the pools of wonder in his eyes and bask there with trembling lips. I refuse to allow any insecurity to shine through when I ask for what I want. My voice comes out sounding sultry. “Kiss me.”
He smiles and heat sweeps through my lips, making them tingle. I need him to kiss me, and that one and only thought consumes me while we continue to dance, and I continue to gaze up into his eyes. His body remains very erect, but his lips don’t drop toward mine. His smile fades off. What a surprise, he’s uncertain whether he’s made the right decision in coming here tonight. More negative thoughts swoop in while I outwardly war with a devilish smile, waiting for his response.
He adjusts his hat to cover his eyes and then pulls one of my hands out from behind his neck and kisses my knuckles. It’s clear now that he has no intention of kissing me. He lowers my hand and pulls me closer. I crash back into his chest, feeling like a complete tool. He holds me there, without another word. How have I allowed myself to miss the fact that I’m not the one in control here anymore?
The school year is over. Our relationship is over. He doesn’t need me anymore. This is obviously his way of breaking it to me easily. How stupid am I?
Tears spring to my eyes and I let them fall. I don’t even care at this point. Zayne doesn’t even realize I’m drenching his shirt until I hiccup. His hands instantly come up to cup my face, as he forces me to meet his eyes.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
The waterworks just hit me, and I literally cannot turn them off. I snuff, with tears continuing to fall. “I don’t know,” I whisper, even though I totally do. I am ruined for him. I brought this beautiful man here, and he left a woman just like me at home. I did that. What have I become?
His right hand slides through my hair and clutches me gently against his chest. “I don't want to tarnish this moment.”
“Then kiss me,” I beg him, as if that will make the tears go away.
Zayne shakes his head. “Not here. Not tonight.”
I feel embarrassed. “When, then?” He knows I’m not talking about the kiss anymore, and I know the answer is never. I was dumb to believe this affair could become anything more than a little extracurricular fun.
We stop dancing, and he gives me a sideways glance. “Come on. This is not the place for this.”
For what—crying? I was getting good at that lately. In public, though? This is a new low for me. I know it will taint my bad-girl reputation if anyone else notices, so I hide the emotions and let him pull me across the room. He tells Savari he’s taking me home. She waves at me, with a curiosity that I know I’ll have to answer to tomorrow.
No further words are exchanged as he draws me outside and tucks me into his fancy SUV. I watch him get in and start the gas guzzler, but again he doesn’t speak of any of it. The faint music
swallows me whole. He gives me nothing, not even an awkward glance.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m shocked to find that I’m standing next to him at the curb in front of Savari’s house. He certainly hasn’t wasted any time getting rid of me. Zayne takes my hand and leads me to the front porch. He stops at the painted wooden stairs, leaving me to climb them myself. I take two steps up and turn around once I realize he’s not following me.
“So this is how it ends?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not it at all.”
“Right.” Am I really supposed to believe this bullshit?
“There are a few things you need to know about me.” He sighs.
Here we go. “Is this the, I’m sorry but I’m married routine? It’s fine. Save it for next year’s pick.”
“Clarisse,” he growls. “Will you stop for one second?”
I lift my eyes and stare him down, waiting for him to speak.
“I’m not married. There, I said it.”
“What?” I can’t believe my ears. That’s the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth.
“We’ve been separated for about a year and a half now, but we were living under the same roof. You don’t know this, because I don’t share my personal life with my students and no one needs to know how Casey has taken me for everything I’m worth. The last thing I need are rumors milling about.” He swipes a tired hand over his face.
I almost start to feel sorry for him. “And you’ve decided to tell me this now, of all nights, because...”
“I’m afraid you think this is a fun little trick you’re pulling on me. I feel like I might be another rung on your ladder of grief, and that’s okay if I am. I knew that might be the case going in, and it’s been exciting, but I’m giving you your out.”
“An out. That’s what you’re calling it?”
“That’s what I’m calling it because that’s what it is. I know you’ve been through a lot this year and maybe you’ve gotten yourself in too deep. I know how that feels and I worry that I’m part of that problem. This is your chance to think it through and cut me off, if that’s what you want. I know I’m not the man you thought I was, but I want to be the man you need me to be.”
Playing House: A Black Widow Novel (Dark Secrets Duet Book 1) Page 9