Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8)

by Allison White

  “Hey,” I say nonetheless, voice low.

  “What do you want?” Rachel snaps, unable to sustain the awkwardness any longer. I would have snapped if she gave me a few seconds. But watching Red’s face fall makes me question being harsh with her. Her lips pull up into a slight smile in a few seconds, though.

  “I just wanted to say hey,” she says unsurely.

  I’m confused. Why is she trying to talk to me? Does she seriously think we can be, what, friends? Continue our relationship like she didn’t scar me? I want to ask her, but I can’t with Rachel becoming furious, shaking beside me. She wants to protect me, her friend, but I have to sort this out myself. She isn’t my bodyguard.

  “Can I talk to you?” I ask Red, and her eyes light up for a split second before a grim smile dims them as she nods solemnly. I pull her to the side, giving Rachel a nod that tells her I’ll just be a second.

  We’re tucked in a corner, and I stare at her for a few moments. She’s leaning against a wall with a banner promoting the yoga class in bright colors above her head. Seeing the banner pushes the obvious question as to why she came over to “say hi” away, and I end up asking her, “Why are you taking yoga?”

  Her eyes widen in surprise and supposed relief, and she stammers out, “Um, I need it for a PE class.”

  Great. So she has the class with Rachel, who hates her guts. I would wish her good luck, but, you know…she’s a terrible human being.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurts out.

  I frown. “What?”

  She looks around, embarrassed. “For taking the job, and this class. If I knew you’d be working there or be here right now, I wouldn’t have been here or there. I mean, wow, I don’t think I’m making any sense. It’s just, you once told me you weren’t interested in working for your father, and I didn’t think you’d be there—”

  “So you took it?” I ask for clarification.

  She nods silently, eyes timid as they glance at the floor. I watch her for a few moments, confused and uncomfortable by her sudden change. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so anxious or shy. Who would have known breaking a guy would change who you are as a person?

  “But why?” I ask. I don’t understand why she would take the job, and Lord knows my father won’t tell me the truth.

  She gathers some courage to look me in the eyes. “Because I need the…” She flushes and clears her throat. “I need the job.”

  “One hundred grand wasn’t enough for you?” I say harshly before I can think.

  I can’t ever seem to control the anger when I’m around her. It’s like it built into this colossal ball of fire, and I can’t extinguish it from within. As hurt as she looks each time, I feel lighter and more myself.

  Maybe I just need to get it all out, go mad and rant about how I feel in her face, but I don’t think I have it in me to hurt her like that, despite what she did. Which makes me upset and frustrated and feel weak. And I don’t know what to do.

  Her trembling lips and quick blinking tell me I hurt her as I thought I did. “Noah, I…” She stops, and I think she’s going to walk away like she did in my apartment, leave me with the same broken heart, but she inhales sharply and looks me square in the eyes, face and voice soft. “I never ever meant to hurt you. I am so, so sorry. You meant so much to me.”

  I laugh, not because this is funny, but because this situation is so hilariously fucked for how broken I am, but she says this BS. “Never meant to hurt me?” I stop laughing and narrow my eyes. “You ruined me.” My heart is pounding, head whirling, but I continue. “You stole from me for who knows what reason, and now you come back and say you’re sorry and claim you never meant to hurt me and expect me to forgive you just like that?”

  “I don’t expect you to just forgive me, I was just—” Her words are quick, frantic, apologetic.

  “Saying utter bullshit! You are not sorry; you’re vindictive and insane, and I will not accept any sort of apology or feel anything for you. Never again. You can’t just—just come back and everything will be fine. Red, shit—real life—doesn’t work like that, nor will it ever in your fucked-up mind!” I rant and am panting for breath at the end. There are people glancing at us as they walk by, but I am focused on her teary blue eyes.

  “I…I’m sorry, I’ll go.” She sounds defeated, and I nod. It’s probably best if she just stays away from me. Not only at work, but everywhere else on the fucking planet. I turn from her, my heart beating like a wild drum, and lean into the wall.

  I should feel better knowing that she’ll stay away from me, that she knows that I can’t ever forgive her, but I just feel ten times worse. Like I didn’t do the right thing. I didn’t ever think there was a place lower than this; it feels like rock bottom, but no, there’s worse. And apparently turning away the girl who ruined me with her bare hands isn’t doing any good.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  There’s a sound of apologies and things hitting the ground behind me, and I turn around. She’s muttering an apology to a guy who gives her one back before scrambling off. I am about to turn away and finally leave when I notice a bruise on her shoulder as she pushes her fallen duffel bag on her shoulder blade.

  “What happened to you?” I ask, pointing to the bruise she quickly covers by tugging at her short sleeve, even though I shouldn’t care. I just told her I’m done with her, yet here I am…God. Even I’m confused by me. But I can only blame the sliver of me that cares for the girl.

  “Fell off the bike dismounting it,” she mutters quickly then scampers past a glaring Rachel, headed for the locker rooms.

  I take a step toward her but stop mid-stride when I glance at Rachel’s frown. Right. I should leave. I don’t care anymore. I wave at her and turn toward the exit. But I can’t seem to find the off-button for that sliver of care as I glance over my shoulder with a frown.

  Since when doesn’t she know how to dismount her bike?

  ***

  Red

  I am so stupid, I think to myself as I fall on a bench in the locking rooms. I saw Noah and just couldn’t resist going over to talk to him. I wanted to see if we could just be friends. I thought if I’d said a simple hey, the good, the pure, and bright side of him would power through the dark cloud I’ve cast over him and he’d smile and accept me back.

  Fuck. I’m just as naïve as I first thought he was.

  When I first saw him, I thought he was cute. And not just because of his breathtaking facial features or his broad shoulders and charming smile. No, I thought he was a puppy with a brightness to him. He was bright and loud with white noise around his crinkling-eye smile, and he was adorable, blushing as I made fun of him. I didn’t mean anything by it; it’s how I am. And he intrigued me so much, I couldn’t keep my eyes or mind off the cute new guy at the fraternity.

  I thought about him more than I thought I would. I acted like I despised him because, truth was, I really liked him. More than someone like me should like someone as amazing and sweet as him. He was the light and I the fucked-up dark. He should have come to his senses and stayed far, far away. But as we were sort of distant enough to keep me at ease in fear of tainting him, it was like there was this string that kept us tethered. And no amount of pushing from him and shutting him out could break that connection.

  I hated and loved it.

  But I definitely loved him.

  And I fucked everything up, and now he hates me, and so do I. I hate me so much, I can’t even look in the mirror without losing my mind and punching it. I need to get away from myself. I need to rewind time, transfer classes; hell, I would have freaking dropped out, if it meant leaving him unharmed from me.

  But I was selfish and loved the way he made me feel…like, I don’t know…myself, that I stayed and fucked him up. Fucked us up. And I hate myself a little more each time I think about it.

  I run my hands over my scarred knuckles, eyes throbbing closed with tears building up.

  “What happened to your shoulder?” a girl
asks, and I snap open my eyes and wave the thoughts away with a quick sniffle. I stand up, ready to swear her off, let my never-ending anger flare up, but I see it’s his friend…what’s her name? Rebecca? And so I feel a sting in my chest, and I timidly turn to my locker.

  “Fell at the gym,” I tell her. I pull off my shirt, holding back a wince, and hope she hates me enough to leave, but when I look back at her as I’m tugging on my black tank top, she’s still there, glaring. She sort of reminds me of a Cabbage Patch doll, or any kind of doll really. She’s petite and has doll-shaped lips and ridiculously large brown eyes.

  I wonder if she and Noah are together or have hooked up…I wouldn’t be surprised if he did, just overwhelmingly hurt. But that’s not fair of me. I hurt him. He deserves to move on, fix himself. Lord knows I can’t do that for him. He hates me, and I hate to think about it, so I wave the thought away and focus on the petite doll.

  “Looks like Karma finally got off her ass, huh?” she says with a painstakingly sweet smile.

  I sigh. “I guess.” Normally, I would have either punched her in the face or spit out a nasty reply, but I’m drained of who I used to be. There’s only this weak, depressed girl in my place. I don’t like her one bit, but I think my scarred knuckles proves getting rid of yourself is harder than it sounds.

  She doesn’t seem to like my answer and barks, “You hurt Noah and you keep coming around to hurt him even more. Why? You don’t think what you did was harmful enough? Do you get off on breaking guys’ hearts?”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t want to hurt him,” I defend myself, but I shouldn’t. I don’t have the right to. Everyone on the freaking planet has the go-ahead to rip me to shreds. I deserve it.

  “Right. Because stealing money from him and leaving for months wouldn’t hurt someone,” she says sarcastically, an aura of rage wrapped around her words. She takes a step toward me; she’s dressed in Nike shorts and a matching hot-pink shorts bra. The more she glares and stares up at me, the more I want to stick a lollipop in her mouth to shut her up and send her off to the playground with the other children.

  “You better stay away from him, and I mean it. I don’t care if you’re involved with the mob or are related to freaking Stalin—stay the hell away.” She pauses, and hurt flashes across her brown doe-eyes. “He’s suffered enough, and he doesn’t deserve anymore suffering. Not from you. So, just stay away from him, got it?”

  Old me would have broken the finger she was waving in my face. Old me would have clocked her and not stopped until I saw blood. Old me would have done a lot of things to hurt her, but I’ve already done too much hurting. I can’t take any more or I’ll break completely.

  So I find myself nodding and facing my open locker. I let her glare at me like I’m a piece of trash for a few moments before she stomps away, curls held up by a pink scrunchie. And then I fall onto the bench and do the one thing old me doesn’t do often: cry.

  Chapter Eight

  Noah

  When I walk into my apartment, I immediately sense something is off. The lights are off, but the fading sun shining through the windows that surround my condo keeps some natural light intact. The air is uncomfortably quiet, and I expected to hear Daisy, the maid assigned to clean a few times every week, vacuuming or listening to the songs on the cute little radio of hers she brings when she’s working. Overall, I just have cold vibes.

  Still, I call out her name as I slowly toe off my sneakers but am ultimately met with silence.

  I can’t help but think of That Night at the fraternity house. My breathing is shallow as it was then, my skin prickled and goosebumps covering my skin. I try to shake away the feeling of eyes watching my every move. I hear the creak of the stairs as I reach the second floor, then the floorboard ten feet away groans. In the present, I’m holding my chest and willing the image of the person watching me in the dark away, but the silent tremors passing through me has me hostage.

  “Calm down, Noah,” I tell myself, but I stop short when I hear feet padding against the floor. I freeze and reach for the bat I keep by the door. I thought I was paranoid when I left it here after one night I came home piss-drunk and thought the coat rack was a serial killer waiting in the dark, but it’s obvious I wasn’t. Whoever robbed me must have figured out where I moved to and came back to do it again, maybe even kill me off this time.

  The sound is coming from the hallway, so I slowly stride over to the opening, bat hung over my shoulder, ready to whack whoever’s head clean off into the air like a damn baseball and I want a home run.

  “Hey, Noah—” I hear a sweet voice as I’m swinging the bat, letting out a battle cry. “NOAH!” Whoever it is squeals and ducks, but I’ve already dropped the bat and am groping for the light. I know that voice! I let out a whopping exhale and fall against the white wall, staring at Rachel incredulously. “Jesus, man!” she screams.

  I almost laugh at her fright when I almost had a freaking heart attack. I’m more confused than upset; she knows how fucked up That Night made me, so why is she walking around my condo in the dark? And then I notice the large pink headphones around her neck and realize she couldn’t hear me call Daisy’s name because she was listening to music with those clunky things.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her, calming down, raising from the wall.

  She stops scowling and breathes out with a shrug, “I got locked out of my dorm, so I thought I’d come here. I hope you don’t mind; I stole one of your old flings’ tops.” She gestures to the white ruffled blouse, and I also see she’s wearing jeans and high-top Converse. Her mouth is glossed, and her eyelashes look longer than usual.

  “How’d you get in?” I ask and move to the kitchen. She follows and sits on one of the high stools. I chuckle as she struggles for a bit. She picks up an apple in the fruit basket and flings it at me. I catch it and bite into it, moaning loudly, and she makes a gagging motion with her finger. I laugh as I wander about in search of something more than an apple to snack on.

  “I used Daisy’s key.” I have her key tucked away inside a patch in the welcome mat outside of my apartment. You wouldn’t know it was there if you hadn’t paid attention to it or weren’t looking for it. Daisy already has a key—as she does for the other four tenants living on this floor—but I left it for her just in case.

  “Well, next time can you not sneak up on me like a psychopath?” I find half of a turkey sandwich I made yesterday and sink my teeth into it. I grab a bottle of apple juice and kick the fridge using my foot.

  “I didn’t sneak up on you,” she counters.

  “Yeah, but I had a mini heart attack,” I defend, and she sighs.

  “I know, I’m sorry.” Then she beats herself up even more. “I’m such a dumbass. I should have made my presence known. The music was just loud and—”

  “Rachel,” I cut her off with a smile. “It’s fine. I just didn’t expect to find a tiny elf girl wandering around in my apartment. So,” I say, chuckling, as she flips me off with a smile, “how about leaving a light on or even the TV? I’d greatly appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” she complies quickly.

  It gets oddly quiet as I eat my sandwich. It’s not totally filling, and I’m so busy wondering which bowling alley we’re going to and if there’s a restaurant nearby that I almost don’t notice Rachel’s staring at me.

  Laughing, I say, “What?”

  “Nothing.” But she sucks her bottom lip, an obvious indicator that she’s lying. That and she’s staring at me all funny-like. Almost…calculating.

  “Rachel,” I whine before chugging some apple juice. “Did you eat the other half of the sandwich? Was it all janked and messed with your head? Did you seriously just watch me eat it? What did I ever to do to you?”

  “Do you still have feelings for Red?” she asks, and it’s so sudden I nearly choke on my apple juice. She apologizes profusely as I lean over the marble counter, inhaling and exhaling deeply. When I lift my head, my eyes fall on her wide ones that a
re searching mine. Probing for answers.

  “No, and I’m getting really pissed that people keep asking that. As if it’s impossible to get over someone,” I snap without meaning to. I feel like utter shit when she frowns, but she stays silent. “I’m sorry, Rach. I just…” I trail off because I don’t know what else to say. I could lie and say I really am over her, but it doesn’t seem to stick when I do.

  Either my friends know me like the back of their hands or I’m a stupidly transparent guy. Either way, there is no hiding behind a lie or a façade. I just can’t shake her, nor do I think I want to.

  This is beyond frustrating because she is bad for me; she did bad things to me. And I don’t mean the kinky way or anything. I mean the “she completely had me in love then just split” way. I mean the “I don’t think I can ever get her out of my head” way. I mean the way that drives me fucking insane, that I absolutely cannot sleep without her invading my dreams. They aren’t even dreams anymore, more like nightmares that revolve around her.

  “I’m over her. Now can we stop talking about this?” I set down my apple juice and offer her a weak but hopefully charming smile. The same one I flash to people on the streets, my friends, myself, every day. “I have to get ready for bowling.”

  “Noah,” she sighs and apologizes, but I slip into the dark hallway and enjoy being away from the constant worrying and smiling and just—everything.

  ***

  “Take that up your tight asses, bitches!” Majesty cries out with her arms flung in the air before crotch-chopping in front of a little boy who wanders into our lane. Poor boy. I chuckle with flared cheeks on her behalf as the mother runs over, mortified, and pulls her son away from the crazy, piss-drunk girl who wobbles over to the rest of our friend group. They’re all laughing at her, and I may be laughing a little too hard.

  “Did you see that? I totally crotch-chopped in front of that little boy.” She giggles.