by Shen, L. J.
“Remember, Knight. She can talk. Make her.”
Vaughn closed the door with a chuckle, and I looked back to Knight, hoping I didn’t appear as frightened as I felt.
“He’s right.” Knight licked his lips, growling. “You can, and you will. If you want me in your life, that is.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He smiled devilishly. I never knew he could be like this. So cold. So mean. Such a bully.
“Not up for it, Moonshine? Let’s try another tactic. Was he good?” he sneered, his tone dark and low, his breath fanning my face gently. “Did you come?”
I was so blindly hurt by his behavior, I actually pretended to think about it. The answer, by the way, was no. It wasn’t that Josh wasn’t good or gentle—he was both those things. It just hurt too much. Physically. Mentally.
But watching Knight’s face morph from cocky to unsure was worth it. For the first time since I’d known him, I took Knight’s pain and drank from it like a well of strength.
He’d hurt me, so I hurt him back.
I felt the tears pushing their way down my cheeks, but held my chin up, staring at him defiantly. He schooled his features, leaned toward me, and brushed his nose along my cheek.
“Did you think of me when he fucked you?” His lips curled into a smirk I could somehow feel deep in the pit of my stomach.
I shuddered, feeling my jaw clenching. My knee was close to his groin. I could kick him from this angle. I wanted to. His nose grazed my ear seductively, his tongue slipped out, the warm metal of his piercing flicking my earlobe.
“Tell me, did he fuck you hard, or slow? Probably slow, huh? Josh Cooper seems like a nice chap. A good, solid…”
I went for it. I kneed his balls. Only I wasn’t as fast as Knight, who was a spectacular athlete. He moved back just in time, grabbing the back of my knee, spinning me in place, and throwing me against the wall as he boxed me from behind.
Trapped. I was trapped. Between this giant guy’s arms. A guy I no longer really knew, or could even trust.
“It was a mistake!”
I slapped the wall I was pressed against, the words piercing my throat and burning it with their intensity and weight.
I swiveled around. He let me. His eyes widened for a moment. I’d given him what he wanted, my words, and now he didn’t know what to do with them.
Frankly, neither did I.
Crap, I’d talked.
I’d talked to Knight.
I’d said something.
Produced words from my mouth.
Jesus Christ. I’d done it. I did it.
And it hadn’t been to tell him I loved him, that I wanted him, that I’d ached for him for years. We were fighting. Breaking. Putting an end to things that hadn’t even begun.
I opened my mouth again, tracing the words, saying them quieter now.
“It. Was. A. Mistake. Not the part where I gave Josh a chance—but that I did it for the wrong reasons, while drinking.”
I didn’t mean to smile. The situation definitely didn’t call for it. But I couldn’t help myself. I’d tried to get to this breakthrough with dozens of therapists. And, in true Luna Rexroth fashion, it had arrived at the worst possible time.
Knight took a step back, his face still grave, but somehow entertained at the same time. He was a dash of the boy who’d give me the entire world, thrown in with a giant, hard man who fought any positive feeling toward me.
“Were you conscious?” His voice was strained.
I didn’t want to lie.
I nodded.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then it really wasn’t a mistake. Unless you slipped on his dick with your legs spread, I’m pretty sure it was intentional. There’s a fucking limit to one’s clumsiness. Even if that someone is you.”
My smile collapsed; my eyebrows furrowed.
“Knight…” I said his name. Another different word. A word I’d practiced in secret for years.
He ran a hand through his hair, drawing a calming breath. The pain was smeared all over his face, like a sloppy painting. “Nah. It’s cool. My fault. You need to be a special type of stupid to allow yourself to feel for your best friend what I felt for you.”
Felt. Past tense.
But he’d felt something for me? I took a step toward him, cupping his cheeks, but he removed my hands from his face. My mouth quivered from the words it had produced earlier. Knight’s eyes were shining, the first time I’d seen him anywhere close to tears.
“You’re killing me, Luna Rexroth.” He groaned, producing the sound I’d thought I’d pull out of him with a knee to the balls.
“I’m killing you, Knight? Have you ever stopped to wonder that maybe, just maybe, you killed me a long time ago?”
The words flooded from my mouth now. I felt alive. Raw. Real. I didn’t even know I’d been feeling unreal up until now.
“Every day at school, your arm slung over a different girl’s shoulder? Every time you smirked at your phone, texting someone else? Tenth grade, Jamie Percy yelled in the cafeteria that you took her virginity in the back of your car. Eleventh grade, your parents were called into school because there was a rumor going around that you’d initiated a threesome with two seniors. I died a thousand deaths before I inflicted the slightest of pain on your beautiful, tarnished heart.”
Having a photographic memory sucked. I remembered every detail about our lives, and it poured out of my mouth without control. I couldn’t stop myself now. Even if I wanted to. And I was beginning to want to. A lot.
“You slept with so many girls, Knight. Arabella. Shay. Belle. Dana. Fiona. Ren. Janet. Staci. Dozens of them. Or was it hundreds? Wait, there was also Hannah. Kristen. Sarah. Kayla—”
“Enough!” he roared.
Knight disappeared from my sight like a demon. I turned around to see him blazing toward the Xbox, tearing it from its hub and throwing it against the wall. I jumped back as he plucked the TV from the wall, smashing it against the couch before ripping the couch apart. He then turned around to me, stretching his arms wide, as if he were some sort of a game show host.
“Funny story time, Luna. You may want to sit down for this one. There were, as it happens, no other girls. None. I actually waited for you. I’m. A. Goddamn. Fucking. Virgin! Let that sink in for a second.”
His voice boomed so loud, I was pretty sure everyone downstairs, and behind the door, heard, too.
“Those stories you’ve heard? That was all they are. Stories. I saved myself for you like a goddamn Jonas brother. Forgive me for not wearing a purity ring and shitting all over my reputation just to appease your never-ending, silent demands that I need somehow, miraculously, to predict.”
His fingers danced in the air, like my wants and needs were some kind of dark magic he wasn’t capable of deciphering.
“The only reason I even associated myself with girls was so I wouldn’t get shit from my friends, and to take some of the pressure off of you—so you didn’t think you were holding me back or something. Because, as a matter of fact, you were. I’ve been holding back for so long, you feel like a chain. A heavy, metal chain. I want to rip you apart, Luna Rexroth. I’ve been wanting to break away from you for a long fucking time, but you’re stronger than me. Than this.” He motioned between us, finally collapsing on the tattered couch, exhausted.
Speechless, a little hurt, and a lot proud, I felt my heart swelling in my chest to a point it took over my entire body.
It popped like a balloon the next minute when I realized his gesture was worthless now. He’d spoken about it in past tense. He’d waited. But no more. Now he wanted nothing to do with me. And why would he? I’d broken our silent pact. I was no longer a virgin.
“I appreciate that you saved yourself for me, but how was I supposed to know this? By the power of telepathy? The rumors were relentless, and you made out with Arabella in front of my face. Hell, you had Poppy’s tongue shoved so far down your throat I was afraid she’d scoop out your tonsils in one pictu
re. She posted it on Instagram. And what about all the girls I smelled on you when you came to sleep at my place? I had no reason to believe you were anything less than a walking, talking, sexually transmitted disease.”
“Arabella was a one-off. I was drunk and vindictive and frustrated. The scent of other girls? That was just me hanging out with them. Nothing more. You can ask Vaughn and Hunter. They’ll vouch for me, because they always laughed at me for it. Poppy…”
He stood up, taking a step toward me, bracketing my face with his big, warm palms. For some reason, I couldn’t find the gesture reassuring. I was pretty sure he was going to crush me with his next words. He was going to show me exactly what happened when you made the legendary Knight Cole look like a fool, or worse—feel like one.
“Poppy and I did a charity thing for cystic fibrosis. For my mom. The parents at All Saints High were to donate a dollar for every Like she got on Instagram. We were chosen at random by the student body. I didn’t even know her until two weeks ago, and I’m definitely, definitely not dating her.”
I wanted to fall down to my knees and beg for his forgiveness, tell him Josh was great, but he wasn’t him. That he was the one. That he’d brought his point home. And, for the first time in seventeen years, I could tell him all those things. I could speak to Knight, even if to no one else. If I was being honest with myself, there was no one else I’d rather speak to than him. He was the center of my world.
“Do you love him?” Knight asked.
I shook my head. “No. I don’t love Josh. He is sweet, but—”
“Save me the superlatives on Josh, Little Miss Clueless. Give me your phone.” He reached his open palm to me.
“Why?” My voice was a little husky, a lot feminine.
I wondered what Knight thought about it. I looked down and saw the goosebumps on his arms when I talked, and it gave me a foolish hope that maybe things were still salvageable between us.
“I’m tired of feeling like the safe option you never want to take.”
You were never the safe option. You are so risky, the idea of you makes my heart squeeze in my chest.
I started to give him my phone and stopped when I realized Josh must’ve answered the text message I’d sent him earlier, in the kitchen. And that Knight wasn’t interested in my explanation at all, just to be proven right. The whole reason for this fight was because we weren’t honest with each other, so him going through my phone would be more of the same bullshit. Him not trusting me. No, thank you.
Knight’s face morphed into the sad triumph of a man who’d predicted the apocalypse, and now watched the fire of the sun blazing through forests and oceans and cities.
“No.” My voice was barely a breath. “I’m so sorry, Knight. You either hear me out or you walk away empty-handed.”
His lips curled with content disgust, something I never thought possible. “The first words she ever speaks to me in her life, and she decides to break my heart with them. For the longest time, I wished I could unthink you. Unlove you. Unbreathe you. I think I finally can.”
He reached toward me, pressing his lips against my forehead. He didn’t seem mad anymore, and that scared me. When he was breaking things around the room, at least I knew he was coping. Hurting. Working through whatever it was we were up against.
Now, with a clarity so piercing it burned my skin like a fresh cut, I realized the gravity of what had happened in the last few months. I’d lost my best friend and gained something worse than an enemy—an indifferent acquaintance.
We stared at each other with eyes full of tears. Only he was smiling, and I felt on the verge of dying.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Knight.”
“You have a beautiful voice.” His hand slipped from my cheek to graze my jawline. He slanted my chin up so I could see the full tilt of his smile.
“Please,” I repeated, begging. More wasted words. They felt like diamonds scattered on the floor after a burglary. With no one to claim them.
He pressed his lips to my hair. “Remember when I told you I always get even?”
I blinked. When had he said that? The treehouse. Yes.
I nodded, defeated.
“Well, Moonshine, it’s payback time.”
“Hurry up, we’re going to be late!” April tugged at the sleeve of my pea coat as she pulled me out the door—just as I hung up on Knight’s voicemail without leaving a message.
We were running through the crowded hallway, shouldering past students on our way to a Drum Kithead show.
Normally, I didn’t do partying of any kind, but what were the odds of this band showing up at this shitty North Carolinian college again? Plus, it had been a miserable three weeks since I’d gotten back to Boon, and I’d spent the vast majority of them either texting, calling, or writing to Knight. Why I bothered was beyond me. He never answered, even the phone calls, passing on the chance to hear my voice.
Why had I been able to speak to Knight? I asked myself that question over and over again, and I always came to the same conclusion: it had felt like survival. A plea to my lifeline. And still, he’d walked away, just like Val. I was dying to reconnect with Knight…and also dying to know if I’d actually be able to speak to him again. Had it been a fluke?
Not talking felt like living inside a snow globe, with a thick layer of protection against the world. I knew I could, but at this point, it felt almost redundant to do so. No one expected me to talk. In a way, every day I didn’t utter a word felt like an accomplishment. A competition between me and myself.
But with Knight, I broke all the rules. I wanted his attention, his forgiveness, his everything.
After the train wreck that was Thanksgiving dinner, Edie had pulled me outside when we got back home and offered me a glass of wine. I’d declined.
“Can I give you my two cents?” she’d asked.
I’d nodded. It wasn’t like I’d had much choice, and besides, anything beat going into the house and facing my father’s expression, probably a mixture of confusion and horror at the fact I had slept with some guy he didn’t even know.
“The thing is…” Edie had taken a sip of her red wine, sprawling in her quilted hammock, stargazing. “You and Knight have known each other from the day you were born. You don’t know anything else. You have no idea where the love starts or the familiarity begins. The lines have blurred so badly, you’re both acting up and defying each other. Maybe it’s best that you let it go, enjoy college, and revisit this thing with Knight on summer vacation. You have the right to be happy, Luna. And I’ve a feeling Knight is making you really unhappy right now.”
“That’s not true,” I’d jumped to his defense in sign language. “Knight makes me very happy.”
She’d slipped her tan leg past the hammock, her toes digging into the grass to stop its movement, then sat up and stared directly at me.
“I heard you talk to him. With words.”
My eyes had widened. She’d shaken her head.
“Don’t worry. No one else did. We gave you your privacy. Point is, you didn’t sound happy. You sounded…hurt. That’s not how I wanted to hear you when you finally spoke to someone who wasn’t me.”
But almost a month later, even though I knew Edie was right, I still couldn’t shake off the need to stay in touch with Knight. I checked all of his friends’ Instagram and Twitter accounts. Every day.
Even now, as we slipped into Josh’s roommate Ryan’s car, I knew I’d rather stay in my dorm, staring at the phone and waiting for Knight to get back to me, even though I had no evidence to support that he might.
I slid into Ryan’s back seat before noticing that April had taken the passenger seat. When I swiveled my head, I realized why. Josh sat next to me in the back. He smiled, signing, “April called shotgun when she talked to Ryan on the phone.”
The past three weeks had been what my childhood friend Daria would call awkward central. I’d taken a step back from Josh, telling him I still had feelings for Knight and couldn�
�t be with anyone else. Meanwhile, April and Ryan had grown closer. Their blooming romance kind of forced Josh and me to hang out, even if we needed space from each other. But I couldn’t fault my roommate for wanting to spend time with her new boyfriend.
April and Ryan shared a noisy kiss in the front.
Josh rolled his eyes and smiled. “How have you been?”
That was the worst part—seeing how kind and beautiful he was as a person, even when I’d brought my walls back up, even when I made him feel like a mistake.
“Fine.” I used that damn word. “You?”
“Yeah. Good.”
Thankfully, the ride was short.
When we arrived, it was the kind of gig where everybody was crammed like sardines into a darkened space no bigger than my parents’ living room, the scent of warm beer and sweat wafting through the dense, smoky air—the kind of place even Vaughn and Knight couldn’t usually drag me to. But after my disastrous Thanksgiving, I’d found that maybe Knight wasn’t the only one with a shiny, red self-destruction button. I wanted to forget, too. I wanted to drown in alcohol and sweaty bodies and loud noises no less than he did.
More than anything, I refused to stop. I was making huge progress—Malory said so herself. For the first time in months, I didn’t dread the idea of her sending my parents updates about me, and I wanted to continue building friendships and getting out of my comfort zone.
There was a mosh pit, and good vibes, and—I had to agree with April—a really hot lead singer to drool over. I danced with Josh and lost myself in the music. By the second hour of bobbing my head and buying all of us rounds of drinks with my fake ID, I wondered if the recipe for giving up Knight was simply drowning in distractions.
I didn’t have to wonder long. As soon as I felt my phone buzzing in my back pocket, I pulled it out and frowned. Knight’s name flashed over a picture of him lifting up his shirt and winking at the camera, exposing his glorious six pack.
He was calling me back.
Finally. After dozens of unanswered calls.
Expecting my words.
In front of my friends, who’d faint if they heard me speak.