All the Little Truths: A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers High School Romance (English Prep Book 3)

by S. J. Sylvis

  Her little body quaked with anger. Or maybe embarrassment. I wasn’t sure. I only knew that I’d struck a chord when a breath left her mouth, cutting through the tense air. If I stayed near her any longer, I was certain the entire school would blow up. I was angry, and she was angry. And the fact that I wanted to devour her mouth with mine was a pressing issue too.

  “I don’t need a hero!” she spat between her perfect, white teeth.

  A snarky grin etched on my lips. “Well, have fun with your nightmares tonight.” I cocked an eyebrow before lazily spinning on my heel and walking back out into the hall.

  A heavy sigh clamored out of my tight chest as I closed my eyes. I had no idea what had come over me.

  One second, I was hating Madeline, and the next, I was begging her to let me in. I was blaming it on the girl I saw two nights ago. The weak part of her. The version that made me want to pick her up and press my lips to hers, coaxing her into believing that she’d be safe with me.

  I was hot and cold—and obviously completely fucked up in the head. But that was Madeline. She was always fucking with me, even if she didn’t mean to.

  Once I opened my eyes and regained my composure, I was met with two familiar faces.

  Ollie and Piper.

  They both had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces.

  Fucking eavesdroppers.

  I walked past them briskly. “Not a fucking word.”

  Neither of them answered me, which only irritated me more.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Madeline

  Eight o’clock on a Saturday night and I was so pathetically lame that my nightly entertainment was staring out my window at the side of Eric’s house, hoping I’d get a glimpse of him.

  No matter how malicious and intimidating Eric tried to appear, I knew, deep down, he was all things good. He was the boy who used to let me win when we’d play basketball in his driveway. He was the boy who caught me fireflies one night and put them in a jar so I could see them up close and personal. He was the boy who’d wait each night to wave goodnight to me from his bedroom window before we both turned out the light and went to sleep. And he was the boy who continued waiting at his window even when I’d iced him out.

  I’d always wondered how he never caught on to his father sleeping with my mom. Maybe he hadn’t glanced over at my house as much as I’d glanced over to his, because if he would have just looked, he would have seen what was happening.

  But that was the problem with most people. They looked, but they never truly saw. If that were the case, maybe people would have noticed that I was a broken girl hidden behind nice makeup and a blistering attitude.

  That was what I wanted, though. I wanted to fool people. I didn’t want them to see me. So their faults were to my benefit, I supposed.

  Except for Eric. He was seeing right through me. He thought I needed a hero, but I didn’t. Not anymore. The damage was already done. Eric couldn’t save me even if I wanted him to.

  I still couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing tonight. I’d already creeped on social media, pitifully searching to see if there was a famous English Prep cabin party that used to be my go-to, but as far as I could tell, there wasn’t a party tonight.

  Then, where was he? Probably with some college girl. Maybe he went back to the frat party since last week was cut short because of me.

  Speaking of… My fingers rapidly typed another text to Atticus who was likely ignoring me.

  I knew how risky and dangerous it was to be taking pills, even if they were as harmless as a sleeping aid. The problem was, I just didn’t give a shit.

  Sometimes, in the morning, even in my groggy-no-sleep-state, I’d give myself a pep talk in the mirror. I’d roam my eyes over my faint freckles on the high arches of my cheeks and peer into my light-blue eyes. I’d tell myself that everything was okay and that I was safe now. That when I locked my door at night, no one could come in. That I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  But of course, now that it was dark outside and sleep was rapidly approaching, a chill ran down my spine. I shivered, clutching my phone even tighter in my hands, before I flopped onto the bed.

  I sighed anxiously. “You are stronger than this.” I gulped some water nearby and lay back down on my bed, my phone still laying on my chest. I crossed my ankles and gazed at the ceiling, trying to convince myself to relax.

  What used to relax me? I wasn’t sure. The old Madeline was such a blur in my head that I didn’t even remember what I used to be like. Though, the harsh looks and everyone hating me at English Prep reminded me that I’d never really been a nice person.

  That I’d always been one step ahead of everyone else, putting myself up on a pedestal so no one could touch me.

  Until they did.

  I lifted my head with the thought and made sure my chair was still pushed up against my doorknob. I shifted my gaze over to my bathroom door and saw that it was locked too. I desperately needed to get another chair in here for that door. I sighed again and went back to staring at the ceiling above me, my sheer canopy laying gracefully over the sides of my bed.

  I ran my finger down the soft fabric until my phone vibrated on my chest.

  Atticus: No can do. Your boyfriend came to my room last night and ransacked it until he found the Ambien. He flushed them down the toilet before I found him. He also fucking punched me, which was followed by a threat, so this is where our platonic relationship ends, sweetheart. Gonna have to find some elsewhere.

  My mouth was unhinged from my face. My chest burned, and my eyes watered. Not from sadness but from pure fucking loathing.

  How dare he?!

  I flung up from my bed and rushed over to my window to see if he’d somehow come home in the last ten minutes. My hand ached to slap him across the face. I told him I didn’t need him to be my hero. As soon as he left me in the stairwell yesterday, I knew our little fucked-up version of a friendship was over.

  Last chance, Maddie. His words echoed in my head all night, but I knew I’d done the right thing.

  Eric couldn’t save me now. The damage was done.

  Plus, I didn’t deserve him, even in the slightest. Why couldn’t he see that?

  And why the hell would he go to Atticus and threaten him? Was this some sick form of retaliation? Was it part of his grand plan to ruin me?

  Newsflash, Eric: I’m already fucking ruined.

  I could see the reflection of my steely expression in the window. It didn’t look as if anyone was home at Eric’s. Not yet anyway. But that was just fine. I’d stand here all night long and wait for him to come home, and then I’d confront him. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do.

  I groaned, running my hand through my long hair.

  I hate him.

  But then why was there this small part of me that almost relished in the fact that he had threatened some guy over me? I knew it was highly unlikely that he was doing it to protect me. But for a moment, I let myself believe it. I let myself bask in it.

  Butterflies were overtaking the anger that was slowly carving my stomach out, but before I could focus on that, my entire body grew cold.

  I shook in my very spot. My legs grew unsteady. My upper body swayed.

  No.

  Fear like no other slapped me across the face, and my internal voice screamed, “Run. Now.”

  I backed away from my window that displayed my worst nightmare—literally. He was walking around the front of a bright-red Porsche to open my mother’s door, and my throat closed. One slice of his eyes to my bedroom window had bile burning the back of my tongue, but I had absolutely no time to perform such an act. Vomiting would have to wait for now.

  I ripped open my closet door and threw on a pair of leggings and my blue jacket. My hair was gathered into a high pony within seconds, and I was shoving my phone and random things into my backpack at the speed of lightning. My mom’s slurred laugh lingered up the stairs and underneath my door as a stray tear fell down my face. How d
id she have this bad of taste in men? Didn’t she get that sick feeling in her stomach with him? Didn’t she get that sick feeling in her stomach with my father?

  I knew she did with my father. But unfortunately, my mother lived in a land called denial, and it pushed her into making the worst decisions ever.

  The smooth, deep voice that I’d heard over and over again the last few months was loud as it passed by my bedroom door. He wanted me to know he was here.

  It sent me into action. My window was open, and my leg was over the edge. I moved over to the gutter quickly and hung on for dear life. Something sliced my stomach as I began sliding down. I yelped when whatever it was cut my hand too. It burned, along with my lungs that were gasping for air as I landed on the grass below. My ankle twisted, and I knew I was moving too fast, wild with fear and chaos. I glanced at my window and saw nothing but my sheer curtains innocently dancing with the breeze, but the fear of seeing his face had my legs pushing through my ankle pain and all but running over our driveway and to the next house.

  The fucker had parked behind my car so I couldn’t leave, unless on foot. It was as if he knew I’d make a run for it once I saw him.

  Did he think three months was enough time for me to just forget? Or was he just hungry for more? Fear flew down my spine, and my legs moved even faster.

  I stared at Eric’s yellow front door like it was beckoning me with its sunshiny color to open it. And I did just that. I opened it as all rationality left my brain and the cloudiness of poor decisions filtered in.

  Nothing really mattered anymore, other than getting away from my house.

  I just had to hope I could hide out until morning without anyone figuring out I was here.

  Eric was likely back to hating me. And his mom? Well, she probably hated me too. But who could blame her?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eric

  The takeout boxes slid around on the leather of my front seat as I rounded the street to my neighborhood. I came to a halt at the stop sign and answered my phone, the Chinese damn near spilling onto the floor.

  “Mom?” I answered. “I’m almost home.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief into the other end of the line as I began driving down one of the side streets. “Oh, good. We can just talk when you get here. I made brownies, and I have ice cream in the freezer.”

  I grinned. “Sounds good, but what do we need to talk about?”

  I hated when someone said that. We need to talk…but not now, later. What a pointless thing to say. Just say whatever it is you want to say in the moment it’s meant to be said in. No use in skirting around a subject. Just spit it out.

  My mom must’ve thought I needed some cushioning for whatever it was she was going to tell me if she was pulling out the big cards like taking off the entire weekend from the hospital and buying ice cream. This was a cautiously similar situation to when I was ten and Sammy got run over. We need to talk, sweetie. It’s about Sammy. But oh, I got ice cream for you. As if ice cream would help me cope with my dog getting run over.

  I was about to pull onto our road, but I still questioned her anyway. Half of me wondered if my dad was going to be waiting at the house, both of them ready to tell me they were getting a divorce.

  My chest burned with the sudden thought of her doing the opposite.

  Holy shit. What if she took him back and that was what she wanted to talk to me about?

  My foot slammed on the brakes, the containers of food flying forward, but I blocked them with my arm.

  “Oh no, we can just talk when you’re here. I think it’s better if you just see for yourself.”

  “Mom,” I forced her name between my teeth, trying to sound casual. “Dad’s not there, is he?”

  She gasped. “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t trick you like that. Although, I do feel that you should talk to him eventually.”

  No can do.

  Relief had me pressing on the gas again. “I’m almost home. I’ll see you in a sec.”

  Once I pulled up into my driveway and cut my engine, I glanced to Madeline’s window. I knew she’d be home tonight. Her light was on, as usual, but her window was open. I squinted before looking down at my busted knuckle and then shook my head.

  Not my problem. Last night was another lapse in my sanity, but I was back. I was no longer concerned about Madeline. I did my public duty, and now she could deal with her shit all by herself like she wanted.

  I didn’t allow myself to look at her window again as I rounded the front steps to the porch. The smell of brownies wafted around as I pulled open our front door, carrying the takeout. I strode into the kitchen and walked over to my mom, placing a swift kiss on her cheek. “Hey, Mom. Smells like I’m back in the sixth grade when you made brownies to soften the blow of telling me we were moving.” Another time she tried using brownies to help me cope.

  Her cheeks rose as she pushed her hair out of her face. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  A guttural laugh came from my throat. “A little.” That and the fact that our new neighbor was hot as hell. Too bad she turned out the way that she did. Madeline was still hot, though—one of the many reasons I had a hard time being in the same room as her.

  “I know why you’re making brownies tonight—at least, I hope I know.”

  My mom’s hazel eyes were glossy as she looked away. “We should talk about your father and the future.” She sighed, placing the knife for the brownies on the counter. “But we need to discuss something else first.”

  I stood up a little taller, concerned. “What’s wrong, Mom? Did Dad threaten you or something?”

  Her tiny smile calmed me. “You’re such a good boy, Eric. So protective over me.”

  My brows crowded. “I’m not a boy, but of course I’m protective over you. You’re my mom.”

  She shook her head softly, edging toward the stairs. “No, my sweet son, you just have this fierce protectiveness inside of you that begs to be released. I’ve seen it over the years. With me, your friends, for those that you love.”

  I snickered, following her up the stairs. “There’s not much I love, Mom. You and a few friends. That’s all.”

  She laughed softly and shook her head again. We were standing outside my bedroom door now, and I was one hundred percent confused. “What’s going on?” I glanced at my bedroom door and then back to her.

  “You tell me.”

  My mom opened the door quietly and pushed it forward. My bedside lamp was bathing my room in a soft glow, and when I looked at my bed, my expression fell. What the hell? Madeline?

  There she was, curled up on her side on top of my covers, spreading her flowery scent all over my shit. My pillow was likely engulfed with the smell of her shampoo. Madeline looked so small and fragile lying there. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her knees tucked up to her chin. She was in the fetal position with her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Her soft, heart-shaped face that often resembled a stoic statue was soft and relaxed. If I looked hard enough, I could probably see the line of dainty freckles on her nose.

  “What is she doing here?” I asked, looking back at my mom.

  Her eyes were wide as she shrugged. “I found her asleep in your bed when I brought in some clean clothes.”

  I didn’t detect any resentment from my mom. Only curiosity. But that didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. I was sure that Madeline, the daughter of the woman my dad fucked, was the last person my mom wanted to find in my bedroom. God. I felt like shit.

  “Give me a second, and she’ll go home. I have no clue why she’s here.”

  I hesitated for a moment, almost feeling bad that I was about to wake her. I knew she rarely slept, and she looked so incredibly peaceful. No. Fucking no. Madeline didn’t get to make me feel this way. She was always fucking with my head.

  I took one step in my room, but my arm was tugged, pulling me backwards. My mom shut the door quietly.

  “What are you—"

  She shushed me and pulled me back
down the stairs and into the kitchen. The smell of brownies hit me once again.

  “Mom, what are you doing?” I asked.

  She dropped her hand from my arm and gazed up at me. I was much taller than my mom at 6’1”, but she’d always been on the shorter side. “That’s Madeline, right? From next door?”

  I swallowed, clenching my jaw as I looked away. My answer came out harsher than I meant. “Yes.”

  “Is she okay? Why is she here?”

  Was she okay? No. No, she wasn’t.

  I kept my expression imperturbable. “I’m not sure. We aren’t friends. I don’t know why or how she’d be in my room.”

  Her brows knitted together as she looked away, staring at the untouched takeout on the counter. “But you used to be, right?” Her eyes moved all over the kitchen as if she were lost in her thoughts. “What happened between you two? I remember you were close. I found your cute little window notes that you two used to hold up at night when you were supposed to be sleeping.”

  I pulled back, my face feeling hot. “I didn’t know you found those.”

  She smiled, and her eyes lit up like the jumbotron that laid at the end of our football field. “I found them all stuffed under your pillow once. Of course, I put them all back in their rightful spot so you wouldn’t know I touched them. How did you think I wouldn’t find those? I made your bed every day.” She laughed, putting her hand on my chest. “I was certain you two were going to become a couple.” Her hand dropped. “But then things changed.”

  I shifted my jaw back and forth, moving back to rest against the counter to stare at her. “What do you mean?”

  She began grabbing silverware and plates, her back to me. “I saw the change in you both. You became a little closed off. Grumpy, even. And then…”

  “And then what?” Suspense had me clenching my fists. What wasn’t she telling me?