The Way You Love Me: A High School Bully Romance

by Lannah Smith

  My eyes grew wet and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  It was hard to talk about this.

  Painful, even.

  But Miss Annetta's understanding gaze helped me.

  "You know my mother. You know how she's like. I told you about her even though it wasn't proper to talk to an outsider about our family's affairs. And Dad, he never had time for me. He never sees me unless he needs me." I slid my gaze to the side and exhaled. "I used to have Haru. He was a good brother before he changed. So I thought... I thought with John, it would be different. Because he cared for me. He liked me as I am. He was affectionate and as a child, I craved affection more than ever because I never had that."

  Miss Annetta reached across the table, took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  "Oh, Terry," she whispered.

  I returned my gaze to her. The tears were gone. Anger and bitterness replaced the sadness in my soul.

  "So when he betrayed me, when he hurt me without reason, it hurt. It hurt. Even if I was child back then, I understood betrayal. I understood pain. I understood misery. Because they were all I had before I met John. And when I thought he made them all disappear, he gave them back to me just like that."

  Her eyes settled on me, they were troubled, and I instantly clawed at the tattered edges of my heart, dragging them close in the hopes I wouldn't break down. But I didn't succeed before she leaned into me, her hand cupping my cheek.

  "You know you'll always have me, ma chérie," she whispered.

  A tear slid down my cheek.

  "I know," I whispered back.

  She pulled me close into a long, warm hug. "So just call me when you need me, when you need someone to talk to. I'll be here for you."

  I sniffed as I rested my head on her shoulder. "Okay."

  "You promised to be my flower girl when I get married. I hope you didn't forget that."

  I burst out laughing in her embrace and she joined me soon after.

  When Julie came in to tell me we had to leave for our flight home, she looked stunned to see the both of us laughing and crying into each other's arms.

  "Shit," John muttered when he heard a crash.

  From the sound and feel of it, he must have stumbled into the lamp by the couch.

  It was pitch dark and he didn't bother flipping the light switch. Weaving into the room, he put all his efforts into walking without falling on his drunken face. He hadn't planned to come home shitfaced but the lecture he received from the principal made him drink a lot to get through it. Thank God, he didn't summon him and instead talked, no, raged at him through the phone.

  "You little shits," James Black, principal of East Private School and also the best friend of Leon's father, griped at him. "You think I'm already not busy enough with my work?"

  "When... when did you find out?" John said, stretching his neck to look for Leon because damn if he'd be the only one to receive this tongue lashing. But Leon had disappeared, probably went home from the looks of it. Only Skull and their other friends remained in the club, one of Skull's many hidden properties that let underage teens party and drink.

  "The police came. And how many times do I have to tell you I know everything that goes in my school?"

  "Then... why didn't you stop us?"

  That was the wrong thing to say because James proceeded to rant and rave at him and John couldn't just disconnect the call because he knew James will wring his neck if he did. In actuality, James was lenient to Leon and John, letting them do as they pleased because he treated Leon as his family as long as they didn't interfere with his work schedule. He was actually a cool guy, the only adult who could talk to Leon without getting his head bitten off. John even admired the guy because he used to be a school bully but straightened himself out before graduating high school and became a successful professional. Part of his change, John knew, was because Leon's father had already met Maria, his wife, and her company had tamed their wild ways.

  So he half-listened, drinking shot after shot, getting laughed at by Alec when he saw John's expression, and getting pissed out of his mind. James was protective of Leon after all and he'd even let the two in the special program which James had established for Leon, hoping he'd recover from his trauma and focus on school work. After promising James that he'd already dealt with the aftermath and told him they were clean, James ended the call but not before threatening him that Nick, Leon's father, was going to have both their heads when he learned about this.

  John stumbled into something in the dark again and he rubbed his knee wincing. His hand out, he smirked triumphantly when his fingers touched a knob. Twisting it open, he pushed the door open and stumbled inside. But he realized the room he had opened wasn't his bedroom as soon as his eyes landed on the piano in the middle of the room.

  Even though it was dark, the white piano stood out. John stood there, staring at it. It had been years since he touched the piano, years since he had last played. He remembered when he last played and remembered to whom he was playing for.

  It was the reason why he never played again even though it felt like cutting a part of his soul of out him.

  He continued to stare at it. A great yearning filled him and he couldn't help himself anymore. He walked across the room and sat on the bench. He lifted the cover and very tentatively, he put one hand on the keyboard.

  He hesitated a second, then hit a few keys. The few keys turned plenty and his other hand touched the keyboard. Soon, he was completely lost in the music he was playing.

  The lilting notes of the piano, a sweet, melancholic lament, filled the large room. In darkness, he poured his entire being on the piano, letting the music express the thoughts he couldn't put into words and say out loud.

  His fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory. He closed his eyes, the music surging around him without break as he too got lost in the memories.

  When he was a child, he played for the sake of playing. He never really loved the piano but when he saw how amazed she was by his music, he started to get serious with the piano. She had become the reason he played. And when he stopped being her friend and confidante, he lost the will to play again.

  "Please."

  The music quickened, transforming into something monstrous. He started to find and press the keys harder, the melancholy of his music replaced by angry remembrance.

  "Please."

  He stood beside her bed, leaning over her, his hands braced on the pillow beside her head, resisting her.

  "No," he whispered.

  Her hands on his shoulders, she pulled him closer.

  "No," he repeated.

  He remembered that night. Crystal fucking clear. He remembered how soft her body was, how sweet she tasted, how she smelled faintly of perfume. Any other drunken person smelled unpleasantly drunk. Only Terry could smell intoxicating when she was smashed.

  But that was before she puked on him.

  He had let her rest on his bed, knowing he couldn't let her go home. Her face clean, her teeth brushed, and water in her belly, he turned to leave.

  But then, she called out his name.

  "Kiss me," he heard her say.

  John felt his body respond to her plea.

  He gritted his teeth.

  He should have left.

  He really should have left.

  He didn't leave.

  "Please."

  He stood beside her bed, leaning over her, his hands braced on the pillow beside her head, resisting her.

  "No," he whispered.

  Her hands on his shoulders, she pulled him closer.

  "No," he repeated.

  She slid her hand around his nape and he groaned.

  "Yes," she whispered achingly soft and his gaze dropped to her lips.

  She was still in control as his mouth covered hers, exploring, tantalizing. Her lips parted, his tongue probing between them and she gasped in pleasure.

  That gasp brought him to his senses and as difficult it may be, he tried to lift his head f
rom her. But she moaned in protest and crushed her lips to his and fought to subdue his tongue with her own.

  He tried to resist the erotic demands, the heat, the sweetness of her mouth, but she wouldn't let him. He tried to resist his desire even when they had slipped out of their clothes and the sight of her naked almost made him lose his control. He fought it even when his hands covered her breasts, fondling them possessively. He tried to recoil from it even when he was tasting and sucking every inch of her skin. And when his rigid erection was pushing inside her wet warmth, he knew this battle was lost because just the feel of her wetness nearly made him come.

  "Let's stop," he begged. "Make me stop."

  She shook her head, sobbing with need, and wrapped her legs around his waist. "No."

  "You have to make me stop."

  "Don't stop."

  "You'll regret this."

  "Please. Don't leave me again."

  His resolve to resist flew from his mind when he saw a solitary tear slide down the side of her eye. He thrust into her and he knew what he just took before he could even hear her gasp in pain.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered against her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him fiercely.

  He kept apologizing as he drove into her. She tilted her hips and met his thrusts. He wanted to take it slow, she must be in fucking pain, but she was having none of it. She moved her hips sensuously, licking and sucking his neck, driving him into a feverish pitch that he lost control and rocked deep and hard inside her tight wetness. And when she came, it sent him over the edge and he joined her.

  It had never been that fucking good.

  Not ever.

  Amazing.

  And much, much later, when he made her come again not once or twice but thrice, those too were amazing.

  "I missed you," she whispered as she drifted off to sleep in his arms. "I missed you so, so much."

  John smashed the keys with his fists, ending the music abruptly. He stared at the piano keys, his fingers trembling and aching.

  She shouldn't miss him. He'd been a bastard to her.

  He broke her. He crushed her tender feelings. He was aware because he fucking made sure of it.

  It was the only way she'd leave him, forget him.

  But she didn't.

  She didn't.

  And the thought was fucking with his head.

  Because he hadn't too.

  "You were not easy to forget, you know,"

  "Really?" she asked quietly. Her eyes which had filled with so much sadness and hurt almost broke him. "You could have fooled me."

  Yeah, he did.

  He fooled her.

  She also fooled him, thinking she had forgotten about him.

  Well, at least he managed to make her hate him so much she'd never be willing to cast her eyes on him again, he thought bitterly.

  Ever since that night, it seemed she was hell-bent on ignoring he ever existed. It was rare for them to cross paths in school but when they did, it was like she could see right through him, the way she continued to walk her way without acknowledging his presence.

  That afternoon, they were in the parking lot of the school at the same time.

  He knew she noticed him.

  Their gazes had met for a second.

  But then her eyes hardened and she climbed into her car without delay.

  And it felt like she had just torn him apart.

  It was a mistake, touching the piano.

  It was a mistake playing again when she couldn't even hear it.

  Angry and frustrated at himself, at Terry, at James, at his mother, at everyone who made Leon's life shitty, John slammed the lid closed and stormed out of the room. He was halfway to his bedroom when he realized someone had turned the lights on. He noticed his fingers ached as he pushed the door open. It had been a long time since he touched the piano that it was no wonder they felt like they were about to drop off one by one. He'd been so pissed at himself for losing Terry, so pissed at himself for always being a dick to her that he just let it all out.

  Then he noticed the familiar elegant envelope lying on top of his pillow. He pressed his lips together. He remembered chucking it into the trash bin. Whoever came into his rooms must have put it there.

  Scowling, he picked it up and studied it. Then he turned it over.

  A surprised smile made its way to his lips when he read the printed letterpress.

  It was an invitation to a party.

  And it was to be held at the Evans estate.

  Chapter 17

  Six years ago, John and Terry at age ten

  Terry was angry.

  And it was John's fault because of his inordinate amount of arrogance and astounding capacity to get on her nerves.

  Sometimes, she couldn't believe she ever managed to look past that. He was an arrogant and spoiled rich brat who loved annoying her and even though they were friends, he did not cease on laying the sarcasm thick and making jokes about her.

  "Are you still mad at me?" The question was issued by John, who was chasing after her down the stairs. "It was just a joke."

  Terry paused to turn back and glare up at him. "You scared me half to death, jumping out of the closet like that with that stupid mask on."

  The look on his face was downright impish. He clearly wasn't feeling remorseful at all for his actions.

  "I didn't expect you'd scream like a girl," he replied with a shrug.

  "I am a girl, John," she seethed.

  John gave a mock gasp. "You are?"

  She groaned and stomped her foot on the stair, wishing it was his foot instead. But her obvious fury only seemed to add to his merriment.

  "I'm not playing with you anymore," she said with such a promise that made John's grin disappear.

  He sighed heavily. "Don't be like that. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I won't do it again."

  "You always play pranks on me. The last time you visited, you put a fake rat on my pillow and you put a balloon on my chair during dinner to make it seem like I farted."

  He snickered. "Yeah, that was funny - I mean, I'm so sorry. It was wrong of me to do those things," he added, putting on an apologetic expression on his face. "I won't do them again."

  "I am not your toy, John," she told him with clenched hands. "I don't live solely for your amusement and it displeases me when you treat me like this."

  This time, the apologetic expression on his face was real and he slid his gaze away.

  "I know," he muttered.

  "Then stop toying with me. I'm your friend, remember?"

  "Of course you're my friend."

  "Then you'll stop your stupid pranks on me?"

  "I..." he hesitated a brief moment before he went on, "I can't promise that."

  Outraged, she asked, "Why not?"

  "Because you look cute when you're mad," she heard him say so low she almost didn't catch his words.

  She blinked. "What?"

  "Nothing," he announced before taking her hand and pulling her along down the stairs. "Come on. Let's go find out what Miss Annetta prepared. I'm starving."

  John's message was clear. He was done talking about this and Terry could only sigh in exasperation and follow him. But, despite herself, her lips curved into a smile. Because she knew John would be on his proper behavior for the rest of the day and would undoubtedly make it up to her for the silly pranks.

  And besides, he had just called her cute.

  John strolled out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Leon was lying down on the bed, engrossed in the comic he was reading.

  He frowned.

  Leon clearly was bent on being disagreeable tonight.

  With a sigh, John leaned down and shook his best friend's leg to get his attention. Leon looked up from the comic with a scowl. Then his brows rose up in comical surprise.

  "So?" John asked, showing him the black shirt, vest and suit pants he was wearing.

  Disgruntled, Leon replied, "So wh
at?"

  "Do I look hot?"

  Leon threw the comic at him and John dodged it with a laugh. Shaking his head, he walked to his desk and rifled through a bunch of bags and pulled out a box. He opened it, unearthed cufflinks and put them in his cuffs. His rings he'd leave behind and he thought some time whether he should remove his eyebrow piercing. In the end, he did. Then he glanced at Leon and noticed him frowning.