by L. J. Woods
Moans.
Pants.
My moans. My pants. His groans.
“Damien!”
“Thought so,” he scoffs when I don’t say anything, leaving the phone in my face. Damien and I look so entangled in each other. So hungry so … wild. The angle is high like it came from a security camera but there’s no denying what we’re doing. Not one bit. Without a doubt, we’re doing the dirty right on the kitchen floor.
When he’s had enough, he turns around to walk away before he stops, arms flapping by his side. “You know,” he starts, looking up at the sky before looking down at his sneakers. “The fact you lied about it makes it so much worse.”
I’m not cold anymore. Oh, no. I’m boiling with rage. Heat floods my face with embarrassment. Anger. “Where did you get that?” I finally ask.
“If that’s what you’re worried about then I was wrong about you.” He shakes his head, lip curled to his nose in what I can only assume is disgust before he turns to walk up the stairs.
There’s a huge glob in my throat and I’m frozen in place. But when he reaches out to grab Damien’s hand in that bro-ey way they always do, I’m fucking pissed. As if I needed any more confirmation that this was all his doing. My nails sink into my skin, my eyes narrowing on him. Damien did that on purpose. He didn’t have to send him the video but he did. The worst part? They’re still friends while I get the shit end of the stick. The humiliation. The rising heartbeat.
I storm up the steps whether I want to or not. I’m too angry to think, my feet leading the way and when I reach the top, Christian rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to talk to you, Jo.”
But I don’t care, I get right in his face and he backs up for a second before he looks around, straightening his posture and looking down his nose.
“You can’t act like a white knight all honourable and spotless when your friends with the fucking devil.” I dart my eyes over to Damien and he smirks. My fists clench. “Remember who’s quick to throw the first punch if you even look at something he thinks he owns.”
Now Damien speaks up, “I do own you, Medusa.”
“Shut up!” I spit.
“You know what?” Christian glances back at the both of us. “I don’t need either of you.” He starts walking into the school but calls over his shoulder, “You’re both perfect for each other, you know that? But you’re too fucked up to see it.”
He leaves me standing in front of Damien then he smirks, “Even loverboy knows it.” Damien approaches me, his boots touching mine. In his realm, I’m like I’m on a diet in a candy store. He looks so good but I won’t dare touch it. “You done running, Medusa? I’m not gonna chase you forever.” When he brings his lips to mine, my body tenses. “It’s simple. When I call, you answer.”
My eyes narrow, fighting everything inside me. The knot in my stomach, the tingle between my legs. “Go to hell, Damien.”
When I storm inside I take a minute to catch my breath before I head to my locker, my palm marked with where my nails almost pierced my skin.
If you think your life is hell with me, wait until you see it without me.
I won’t let him get to me. Not this time.
“Hey!” Lea’s voice comes at me the minute I step into the foyer. “Medusa!” She’s storming towards me in a purple poncho thing that only covers half her arms. Her posse of prissy princesses storms up behind her.
“Lea,” I groan. “I don’t have the time for this.”
“I heard about your festive fuckfest with King.”
“You can have him,” I say, waving her off so I can keep going. “I’m done with him.” It doesn’t feel as good to say as I thought it would.
She looks like she’s not sure what to say so I turn around, walking away. “Well I’ll teach you once and for all to not fish in our pond!” she calls.
Flipping her the bird I keep walking down the hall. Isaac’s hanging out at the end, between two girls. He doesn’t look too far gone today. Not yet.
Ignoring Lea’s words, I’m still raging from outside’s altercation.
Taunting his friend with a video of me? Twisted fucking prick.
Isaac lifts his chin as I get closer and I give him a wave and a small smile. One I can muster. There’s one King who’s usually less dramatic and that’s Isaac. He smirks, that old-school drawl back in his voice that tells me his heart’s mending. “You look like you’ve been to hell, baby.”
“Something like that,” I mumble. I feel like hell too. “Are you okay?” We haven’t spoken much since the hotel incident and I feel like I played a part in what went down. If I’d been more on my toes, I could’ve warned him. Or stopped Damien.
Who am I kidding? There’s no stopping Damien from getting what he wants.
Spoiled dick.
Beautiful spoiled dick.
He gestures to the pretty girls beside him, one with tits bigger than my head. “Don’t I look okay, sugar?” Leaning in, he whispers something to one of the girls and she giggles. I’m shaking my head but there’s a smirk. I’m happy to see him moving on from Marion.
“Are you and Damien okay?” I’m asking out of sheer curiosity. I’m in awe at how many chances Damien gets when it comes to his friends.
“Fuck no,” he says this as if it’s obvious. “And as much as it pains me to turn my eyes on a sexy piece of ass, I should stay away from you too.”
“What? Why?” I look around the halls as if I’ll find an answer but all I see are glaring students and expensive accessories.
“I don’t want anything to do with King right now,” he explains, glancing around now too before he eyes me up. “And that means you. Sorry, baby.” Taking the girls down the hall he throws up a peace sign as he walks away with the swagger of a celebrity.
Whoever’s left in the hall snicker and laugh at me, another King leaving me in the dust.
Great. Even when I’m trying to stay away from Damien, he’s ruining my life.
I’m supposed to be feeling better without him.
Free.
So why am I so suffocated?
* * *
Winter days are short, but fuck, this day feels longer than ever.
Right now it feels like nothing’s changed. Like the last semester was a whirlwind and I’m back to being a social outcast. Square one. Zero. And this time it somehow feels worse than before.
Damien King is not easy to get over.
He’s like a strong virus, mutating until it becomes unstoppable. As much I want Damien out of my brain, he’s latched onto every part of it. I keep glancing at my phone like I’m expecting him to text but he doesn’t. Not that I should talk to him. I’m supposed to be keeping my head down, face in my books. Eye on the prize.
Art is my last class on my first day back and I’m dying to see Clara’s cheery smile and kickass band tees. I’m also stoked to show her my project. So stoked that I’m damn near racing to class. Something I’ve never done.
I want that scholarship.
When I get to the art room I find the canvas I left at the back of the class. It’s covered with a cloth, the way I left it with my name on the back. I’m excited since I haven’t seen it in a while, left here for safekeeping when I thought I was going to Mexico.
“Welcome back, everyone!” Clara clasps her hands together, attempting to make eye contact with everyone in the room. “I can’t wait to see what’s inspired you. We’ll go around one-by-one, presenting your creations but don’t reveal anything until it’s time. Believe me, you’ll start comparing your work and that can be devastating.” She takes a deep breath before her eyes land on me and for once I’m not ducking in my seat trying to thwart the teacher from calling my name. I sit up, straightening my posture so Clara sees I’m ready for this. Ready to own my future.
“Jo,” she smiles, sitting on her desk with a beige shawl pulled over what looks like a Beastie Boys shirt. “Why don’t you kick us off.” She waves me to the front of the class and I pick the canvas off the easel, bri
nging it to the one beside her.
Once it’s settled, I put my hands in my jacket pocket. Wiggling my toes in my boots, I scratch at the hair growing back on my side-shave, unsure of what to say. This means a lot to me, so much it’s making me nervous. “So, this is supposed to represent the human cond—”
“Grim Reaper!” Someone coughs under their breath. A hockey player, but I narrow my eyes and continue.
“How about we don’t interrupt?” Clara says. “Go on, Jo.”
Rolling my eyes, I let my arms drop to my side. “Anyway, I’ll let it speak for itself.” Glancing at Clara, she smiles and I pull the black sheet off the canvas. Standing back, I wait for everyone to take this in. This is my chance to show the class, to show Clara and this school that I’m not just a girl from The Grove. I’m so much more than that.
“Oh! Oh my god!” Clara’s cheeks go red and the class starts to snicker before everyone’s laughing. I look around, their eyes on my canvas, a couple of students whipping out their phones. What the fuck is wrong with them? What’s so funny about a—
When I step in front of my canvas my heart sinks right into my stomach.
It’s a cock.
It’s not what I painted at all. I painted something that represented love and pain. The combination that’s been prevalent throughout my life. It was beautiful. A window into my past, my present, but this … It’s veiny. Thick and vivid. I mean, it’s not half bad but this isn’t my project. I try to explain as quickly as I can, “Clara I—”
She sighs, “Oh, Jo.” Her hand comes to her cheek as she shakes her head, her eyes still on the painting. So is everyone else’s. I cover it up with the cloth, heart racing, cheeks burning. “Jo, I’ll admit, I thought you’d take this seriously.”
“I did! I—”
The crowd gets louder. Trying to hide it seems to make it worse. Clara shakes her head again, attempting to calm down her students. “Alright, alright, everyone. Jo, this isn’t going to cut it for that scholarship.”
I’m guttered. So fucking guttered. This was a shoo-in. And now it’s gone.
“Is that what King’s cock looks like?” Someone calls from the class.
My eyes lock on the boy who said it. The same one that yelled out “Grim Reaper” earlier. King. This was him. If he can’t have me I don’t get to have anything.
Motherfucker.
“No,” I say to that boy, right before I lose it. “That’s what your face is gonna look like when I’m done with it!”
I’m storming towards him but Clara blocks my path, locking eyes with me. “Jo, c’mon. Sit down.”
“But he—”
“Listen, I don’t want to have to send you to the Headmaster.”
My shoulders fall. Defeated. I thought she had my back.
Without another word, I walk to my seat. But as soon as this bell rings, I’m finding Damien King. And he’s dead.
* * *
You won’t get a grade good enough for that scholarship.
Clara’s words on the way out of class stings like an angry wasp.
Like a poison burning through me.
She didn’t give me a chance to explain, late for some faculty meeting. That’s okay because I’m dealing with this myself. If Damien wants my attention, he has it. He crossed a line fucking with my art project. That art class is my ticket to a better education. A career doing what I love. A better life. And he’s trying to take that from me.
He’s not at his locker. Not keeping court on top of the steps. That leaves me with one more option.
Storming into the boys’ locker room, I’m hit with a flood of emotion. The last time I was in here, Damien made me fall apart. And I let him. What’s worse? I fucking loved it. I don’t know if he knew it, or if I did but something changed that day. Before he ruined it all. I’m not sitting back and being the brunt of the joke. No more. No way.
“Woah, Medusa,” a hockey player with half his gear on greets me when I walk between a group of sweaty, stinky boys. There’s a hoot and now I know I’m on a time limit before their coach sees an intruder. An angry intruder.
“King!” Another boy calls. “It looks like you have a package for your package.”
Scoffing as I push by another boy in padding, the small bit of commotion clears a path straight to Damien. He’s sitting at the back of the locker room on a wooden bench, back to the lockers. He’s hardly dressed, a pair of shorts leaving those washboard abs on display as he looks up with his narrow gaze. But that only makes this harder. A smirk grows on his face as I approach and that helps me keep my fists clenched, jaw tight.
“Finally come to your senses, Medusa?” he asks, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Want me to clear out the room so we can make-up? The showers are empty.” His movement highlights his solid pecks on that smooth, pale skin.
Focus, Jo.
“You crossed a line, Damien,” I say. “My art project? Really? Your little ego was so fucking bruised that you couldn’t even let me have that?” His brows knit together but he doesn’t say anything. So I continue, the frustration building inside, my fists turning into claws like I want to shake him. “I had a scholarship at stake, you prick! A real fucking chance at something and you’re too fucking narcissistic to—”
“I didn’t do it, Jo,” he says, jaw as rigid as mine.
“Then who did? The girl who’s not your girlfriend but who’s obsessed with you?” His lack of response and blatant lie only makes me angrier. And I hate that I sound jealous of Lea again. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. My scholarship is gone and it’s all your fault!”
Damien lets out a sigh, glancing around me. “Keep your voice down, Medusa, Coach will hear you.”
“I don’t give a fuck! And stop calling me that.”
“Enough, Jo.”
“Fuck you!”
Damien’s quick on his feet, his nose coming down to mine, eyes connecting with my angry stare. He glares at me, some whispers coming from behind me but the world around us disappears. “Leave. I’m not going to ask you again.”
Folding my arms, I move that much closer, my nose touching his. “No.”
He doesn’t move from my face when he shouts, “Everyone, get the fuck out!” My body tenses with the boom of his voice.
There’s minimal movement but when Damien slams his fist on the locker behind him, that drives the message home. The locker room empties in a flash, like the last day of classes. I don’t budge, though. I square up with him, meeting his challenge.
“Doesn’t being in here remind you of something?” he asks. “Or do you need a reminder? Is that why you’re here with your panties in a bunch? You need a good fuck?”
“That’s not why I’m here, stupid,” I’m ignoring how plump and soft his lips look just inches from mine.
“Well, that’s the only reason I’m staying here,” he says. “I’m not apologizing for some shit I didn’t do and I’m fucking done with your accusations.”
“Who else? You’re the same guy who sent Christian a copy of a sex tape I didn’t even know I took part in. And I’m supposed to believe you didn’t ruin my project?”
“Yeah, you are,” he says.
I scoff, “You’re fucked up.”
“Then why are you still here?”
That’s a good question. And while my feet feel like they’re in sticky, deep mud I do my best to do the thing I should’ve done a long time ago. Walk away. If I can’t trust him to always have my back, even when we’re fighting what am I holding onto? Turning around, I shake my head, leaving my prey to live. So what if I fail my class? So what if Damien broke my heart? There are more important things to worry about. Like cracking the code on who started the fire. I don’t need Damien for that.
He calls behind me, “Face it, Medusa. You can’t get me out of your head. No matter how hard you try.”
With one foot out of the room, I let the bird fly. “Watch me.”
* * *
Distracting myself from Damien King is
not as easy as it sounds.
Neither is sucking out a poison.
“Earth to space cadet Jo.” A large brown hand comes in front of my face, my lips on a spiral straw in this mickey of Jameson. Nate pulls the bottle away from me, my eyes on the screen in front of us but I haven’t been paying attention. “‘Cell Block Tango’ is not to be ignored.”
The signs of heartbreak lay scattered around me. Bags of chips, candy and Bacardi coolers sit between my support group. Nate, Allie, Bella and Willow are all trying their best to keep my mind off the devil. They set up a movie night in my room, mattress on the floor, Nate’s projector pointed at the wall.
I want to say it’s working but it’s not. Damien is in every corner of my mind. Every nook. Every cranny. Our Christmas break is a stain in my brain and as much as I want that boy back, a King for my own, I don’t even know if he exists.
“You’re having a hard time, huh?” Willow asks. She’s in an oversized Versace t-shirt shoving more Doritos into her mouth. Bella sits on the bed behind her, working on a French braid.
“It’s the Damien King effect,” Allie groans, hitting pause on the movie, a gummy worm in her hand. She’s sitting on the floor with me, pushing up against the bed so she can pivot her attention.
“You know what they say,” Nate sings from the mattress above me. “The best way to get over someone …”
“What about Christian?” Willow asks. Allie looks back, her waves shaking around her head when she looks at Willow, her fingers swiping at her neck as if she already knows. “Or not.”
“He’s not impressed with me right now,” I groan, snatching the bottle out of Nate’s hand.
“And why might that be?” he asks.
When I don’t answer, they all say it in unison, “Damien.”
God, even they know I’m hooked.
Sitting the mickey between my legs, my head hits the edge of the mattress. Pulling the sleeves of my black hoodie to my fingers, I let out a sigh.