by S. J. Sylvis
But I wasn’t a sick fuck.
I wasn’t enjoying this.
It was real. Too real.
Just as I climbed to my feet, Madeline gasped, and I froze. She flung off her bed in record time, landing on the floor. She flew to her feet and darted over to her door, jiggling the handle so hard I thought it was going to snap.
I slowly sat back down onto the chair, washing away the worry from my face. I thought fast on my feet, telling myself not to act concerned in any way whatsoever, because she’d only push further if she knew I was worried. Madeline had a thick wall in place when it came to others, which was exactly why she was cruel to people. I wasn’t dense. I’d watched her from afar. Her cruelness would climb to its highest peak when someone got too close. I’d always known there was a reason behind it.
When Madeline turned around, blue eyes wild with fear, she let out a yelp.
Not a single muscle on my face moved. I flicked my attention to her as she stood by her door in nothing but cotton shorts and a loose shirt. Wet tears glistened on her pale cheeks.
Madeline placed her hand over her heart and clenched her eyes shut as faint lines formed at the corners. Her blonde hair was sticking to the sides of her temples with sweat. I had no idea what she had dreamed about, but I intended to find out.
I stayed calm. My voice was almost eerie. “Have a nightmare, Maddie?”
The book I was casually skimming through a few seconds ago was back in my hand, making it look like I had been sitting here for hours, reading leisurely as I waited for her to wake up.
Madeline moved a few pieces of hair behind her ear with shaky fingers that she desperately tried to hide. Her tiny hands formed into fists by her sides after the small gesture. “What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom? How…” She looked back to her bedroom door, her supple body glowing from the lamp behind her. “How did you get in here?”
I inclined my head to the bathroom door before putting my attention back on the book. I couldn’t stand to look at her. I was worried. I was fucking worried about her.
The feeling almost had me throwing the book across the floor and storming out of her bedroom. I was disgusted. I shouldn’t have been worried about her.
My head was all sorts of fucked up. I eyed the door behind her, ready to dart out of it.
“Shit,” she muttered, rubbing her hand down the side of her face. Much to my surprise, her face turned even whiter. I expected her to be embarrassed that I was here watching her. Maybe a little flushed in the cheeks.
But no. She was pale. A sickly pale.
I continued to watch her every movement. The darting of her eyes to the bathroom door and to the chair I was sitting on. Her tiny rib cage heaving underneath her t-shirt. The shaking of her hands.
Madeline finally seemed to remember that I was in her room, because she settled a glare on me and bit out, “Why are you here, Eric?”
I clicked my tongue, taking my attention and putting it back onto the book in my hand. I lazily flipped a page. “Well,” I started, “I came to ask you why you were taking Ambien, but I think I already know.”
I brought my eyes back to hers purely to see her reaction.
This time, her cheeks did flush. A small spread of pink washed over her sculpted cheekbones. Her plump, curved lips fell into a straight line as she glanced away.
“What were you dreaming about?” I asked.
She gritted through her teeth. “None of your fucking business.”
“Hmm.” I clicked my tongue. “Try again.”
“Get out of my room.”
I chuckled, throwing the book onto the desk behind me. It landed with a small thud. “What were you dreaming about, Madeline? Why are you taking sleeping pills?” My eye twitched as I tried to appear relaxed. But I wasn’t. I felt a little crazed. No matter what she did or said, I still had this small, miniscule part of me that cared about her. It was the most agonizing feeling in the world—caring about someone who didn’t deserve it. It was like having some deviant form of Stockholm syndrome, and being alone with her was only making it worse.
Madeline padded over to me as I sat in her computer chair, feeling all sorts of pissed off about feeling shit I had no business feeling.
“Why do you even care?” she asked, stopping just a few feet away from me.
“I don’t,” I rushed out. “Just curious, that’s all.” My head tilted back as I met her stare, evening my tone. “It’s not every day I see a girl like you crumble. I’d been wondering what was so important about those little pink pills since I witnessed you acting so damn pathetic over them the other night. So I went ahead and did an Internet search earlier and found out just what they were. So, Maddie…what’s keeping you up at night?”
She laughed sarcastically under her breath. “It sounds a lot like caring to me, Eric.” She crossed her arms over her perky tits. “Wouldn’t want to confuse that with hating me, right?”
“Oh, I still hate you, Madeline. Don’t think for a second that I don’t.”
She laughed sarcastically again, throwing her delicate chin back. “Oh, right. I forgot. You hate me because your dad fucked my mom. Sounds legit.”
I stood up quickly from her chair, peering down at her. “That’s not why I fucking hate you, Madeline.”
She threw her hands up, feigning innocence as she mocked me. “Oh no. He used my full name instead of the cute little pet name. That must mean you’re mad, huh?” Madeline stepped closer to me, her soft scent wrapping around my body like a fucking thorny vine, suffocating every last ounce of oxygen from the room.
“I am fucking mad.” I was. I was so fucking mad all the time. It wasn’t even really directed toward her most of the time, but it was there, lying underneath every single fake laugh and forced smile.
Madeline rolled her eyes. “For fucks’ sake, Eric. Get over it.” She slammed her hands onto her hips after throwing them up in the air. “So what, I knew your dad fucked my mom, but there are much worse things out there to be pissed about. Just leave me alone. Go hate-fuck some girls. Get it out of your system. I don’t have time for this bullshit.” She threw her hands up again, but this time it wasn’t for show. She was getting riled up, her voice rising, her cheeks growing even redder. “Does your dad hit you? Or your mom? Does he choke her with anger?”
I laughed out loud. “Yeah, fucking right. I’d break his goddamn arms, and he knows it.”
“Then quit being a little bitch, Eric! Get over it. Men cheat. It’s not the end of the world. If I knew you were going to be this fucking ridiculous over it, I would have told you back in seventh grade. I could have avoided this entire thing.”
Everything stilled. My arms dropped to my sides. My heart thumped painfully slow in some sort of calculated rhythm as I stared at her heaving chest. Wait a fucking minute. I paused before meeting her face. “That’s… That’s why you stopped talking to me?”
Madeline paused too. She looked away quickly, glancing at her window so all I could see was the dainty little curve of her nose. “Get out of my room, Eric.”
“Not until you answer my question.”
Silence fell between us, but it wasn’t the quiet kind. No, it was loud and heavy and cold.
“That’s why you stopped talking to me, isn’t it? Because you found out my dad was fucking your mom.”
She whipped her head over, her blue eyes piercing me. “Yes, now get the fuck out of my room.” She stomped her way over to her bedroom door, unlocked it, and threw it open.
I didn’t waste any time. I needed to be far, far away from her right now. One second I was fucking fuming, wanting to throw shit across her room, and the next I was itching to wrap my hands around her hips to fuck the heightened emotions right out of her. I was hot as hell on the outside but freezing cold on the inside.
I strode angrily all the way to her door but paused right in front of her. I stared at the dark and empty hall right over the threshold of her room before giving her a questionable look. “Why did you ask
that?”
Her eyes dipped for a moment, but her voice was still as sharp as a butcher's knife. “Ask what?”
“Why did you ask if my dad hit me? Or my mom?”
Her mouth opened, the sound of her lips parting falling in between us. “I… What?”
My brow furrowed. There was an invisible hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing and squeezing until I couldn’t breathe anymore. “Does…” No. Don’t go there. Don’t ask.
“Careful, Eric,” she whispered. “You’re starting to act like you give a fuck about me again.”
A sinister laugh came out of my mouth before I moved in close, invading her space, breathing down onto her half-hidden face. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we? Otherwise, I might just see through that thick wall you put up to keep everyone out.”
Madeline didn’t say a word.
Before I stepped into the hall and descended down the stairs, I whispered loud enough for her to hear, “I wonder just how fucking ugly it is behind that pretty face of yours.”
I wasn’t sure if Madeline said anything in response, because I booked it out of there before I gave her the chance.
Madeline was more fucked up than I thought, and apparently, I was too, because all I wanted to do was fuck her senseless and crumble each and every last wall she had put up.
Chapter Eleven
Madeline
When you didn’t get an adequate amount of sleep, your decision-making skills lacked. When you didn’t get an adequate amount of sleep, you started questioning things that you shouldn’t even be questioning. When you didn’t get an adequate amount of sleep, you started imagining things that weren’t true. When you didn’t get an adequate amount of sleep, you grew weak—and I didn’t just mean that physically, but emotionally too.
It’d been four days since I found Eric in my bedroom.
My thoughts were scattered around like ashes in an ashtray. I kept going back to our conversation—or should I say argument. Eric and I couldn’t have a normal conversation without spitting insults at each other, but I kept questioning his reactions that night. He watched me like a hawk, his eyes tracing over my body, running his attention all over my face, trying to decipher my every move. He wanted to know what was going on with me.
But it was truly none of his business. It wasn’t anyone’s business.
Sure, it was lonely dealing with things on my own, and it was exhausting pushing everyone away and creating this hateful aura around myself, but it was better that way.
Soon, I’d be off to college—Stanford (my father’s wishes)—and I would start over. No one would know me as the mean girl of English Prep. No one would call me a slut, indicating that the apple (me) didn’t fall far from the tree (my mother). I wouldn’t have to lock my door at night or peer out my window each morning, wondering if I needed to escape down the drainpipe to avoid a trauma-inducing run-in with my mother’s fuck buddy. I could leave this place behind and hopefully get some decent sleep without a nightmare.
Anxiety was a wicked bitch, creeping in at the last second before I fell into a deep slumber, awakening me with fear clawing at my throat.
I felt small and inferior.
My gaze wandered over to Hayley Smith.
She once said something to me, after I’d given her my best bullying tactics, that hadn’t left my thoughts. She looked down at me, with her pretty face and soft expression, and said, “Someone made you feel inferior once; that’s why you are the way that you are.” At the moment, I was angry. I felt her closing in. Hayley Smith was no fool; she saw right through me, and it made me panic.
But she was right.
I did feel inferior. Someone took the crown off my head and bent it before putting it back. Just like my father did to my mother. I promised myself I’d never allow anyone to treat me poorly or look down at me like I was nothing, but now look at me.
“Madeline?”
I blinked several times, breaking my stare. My moist, burning eyes gazed around the locker room, and I realized almost everyone from PE was gone. I was still sitting on the wooden bench, my plaid uniform clasped tightly in my hand.
“Madeline? Are you okay?” I gave my attention to Hayley, who was still getting dressed. She slipped her blouse over her black bra and started buttoning it up, tucking it into her plaid skirt, all while staring at me hesitantly.
I couldn’t pretend Hayley wasn’t beautiful in this tough, I’ve-been-through-some-shit type of way. Her chestnut hair barely fell below her slender shoulders, and her face was clear of any makeup, but she was still pretty.
Envy hit me square in the face so hard I turned away. I was jealous of Hayley, but it wasn’t because she was madly in love with my ex-boyfriend. It was because I knew she’d had a rough life, and I knew she’d been through really fucking shitty times, but she still came out on top. She was the nice girl. The one who people worshipped because they wanted to. Not like it was with me. I scared people. They followed me because I forced them to. Hayley was all things good, despite the bad. I was the complete opposite.
I finally answered her, still sitting in the same spot. My muscles were sore from playing volleyball in gym, but it was likely because I was just too tired and weak to recover like usual. “No, Hayley. I’m not okay.”
I snuck a quick peek at her, feeling indifferent with my not-so-subtle answer. The concern etched on her soft features had me backtracking. Why did I say that? I stood up quickly, still gripping my clothes. “But it’s really none of your business.”
She nodded, agreeing with me. “You’re right. It’s not.”
Good. Now leave me alone.
I turned around and began stripping out of my gym clothes, pulling my stockings on so fast I thought they might rip. The shuffling of feet had me biting my lip. For some strange reason, tears formed behind my thick eyelashes. I was blaming it on lack of sleep, but I knew it was because I was breaking. I was breaking in half. I was tired, physically and emotionally.
Going home later wasn’t even a relief. It was Friday. I should have been thrilled to have the weekend away from everyone at English Prep, but the weekends were almost worse. Hell was hell, no matter where I was.
“Madeline?”
A lump rested at the very edge of my throat. I didn’t answer Hayley, too afraid I’d either say something callous as a form of self-preservation or completely succumb to the weight on my chest and crack in half right in front of the one person who should probably hate me the most.
I almost wanted her to hate me. I basically craved the punishment that I deserved.
What was wrong with me?
“Madeline,” she repeated as I kept my back to her. I stopped fiddling with my skirt and dropped my eyes to the floor. The air conditioner kicked on with a buzz, a cold draft coating my cool skin. “Do you need help?”
My voice came out weak, and my face flamed with embarrassment as a result. “Help with what?”
“Are…” She paused, her voice closer. “Are you in some sort of danger? It’s just… I know what fear looks like. I know what it feels like. You’re afraid of something. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your posture. I see the way you push people away.”
I tried to come up with some insult, something nasty to say to her. Something that would make her face tighten and cause her to flee the locker room, but nothing came out.
I began turning around. To do what? I had no idea. I wasn’t sure what to say or do, but for some reason, I had the urge to look her in the face. Maybe I’d ask her how she did it. How she came out on top after going through trauma. But a familiar voice had my spine straightening and my resolve falling.
“Babe? Are you still in here?”
“Yeah, give me a sec,” Hayley yelled back, but it was too late. Christian was definitely in the locker room. I could feel his presence. I quickly threw on the rest of my uniform.
“Oh,” he snarled. “Madeline.” He paused before spitting the words, “Get out.”
“Christian,”
Hayley warned.
I was still facing the lockers, unable to turn around to face the power couple of English Prep. I began threading the buttons on my blouse as his words rang out.
“What?” he asked innocently. “I could have said ‘get the fuck out,’ but I refrained from being mean—not that she deserves it.”
“Christian,” Hayley chastised him. “Stop.”
My uniform was on fully now. My shoes were untied, but that didn’t really matter. I gathered my blonde hair to one side of my neck and slowly turned around to face Christian and Hayley. She was angled toward him, half in between us, with her arms crossed over her blouse. Her big round eyes were raised high, a warning look flashing. Christian was glaring at me with his smoldering look, hating me just as everyone else did.
“He’s right,” I said, almost whispering.
I must have caught Christian off guard, and honestly, in the few years that he and I had dated back and forth, I’d never ever evoked a single emotion from him. We were superficial, using each other as a distraction. Curving our boredom.
He was hot, I’d give him that, but I knew nothing about him. And he knew nothing about me.
“What do you mean, I’m right?” Christian strode over to Hayley and stood with his hands on his hips, pulling back his navy English Prep blazer some.
I eyed Hayley, and she was watching me with patient, doe-like eyes. Usually, she and I glared at each other or ignored one another completely, but it felt like she was looking right through my wall. She knew what struggle looked like, even if disguised. She knew I was fucked up.
“You’re right,” I repeated with more confidence. “I do deserve it.” I grabbed my backpack and flung it over my shoulder. I whisked past the two of them quickly, making it out the door before I hyperventilated. I rushed to the end of the hall and pressed my back along the metal lockers to get my breathing intact. These moments of weakness were no longer few and far between. They were coming more frequently and lasting much longer than they should have.