I snorted because there had been a moment with two hot guys I was willing to possibly jump between the sheets with, and that would never happen because I wasn't planning on hanging out with them again. Or any of them for that matter.
“Believe me, sex can be just as exciting and thrilling and comparable to what you do,” she went on, “Hell, you're the one that got a tattoo when you were thirteen, which I don’t know how the fuck you did-”
I huffed, letting my irritation with her disappear, and interrupted. “I told you, it was a bruise that just never went away.”
It was a lame excuse but the only one I could come up with at the moment. Honestly, I didn't know where I'd gotten the silver tattoo from, and it bothered me. It most likely was the result of the-one-time-night-of-drinking that afterward I swore I wouldn’t do ever again, since I got wretchedly sick. Thus, the black pouch that had become a part of life for me. I blamed the alcohol, but really, I had always had the illness; it just decided to rear its ugly face that night... and never left.
“Yeah, that turned into an intricate tattoo.” Tracy sighed. “Babe, all I'm saying is there are other ways to fill that rush besides doin’ what you’re doin.’ And I don’t feel comfortable about aiding the destruction of your life when I’m not there to pull you back when you need it. So there. Can’t do it, babe.”
“Won’t do it, is more like it,” I growled, staring at my computer. “But I get it. You love me.”
“And don’t go trying to do it yourself because, if you do, I have daddy's dearest number, and I won't hesitate to use it.”
“You suck.”
She laughed. “Cock? Hell yeah!”
I scrunched up my nose. “Seriously, Trace?”
“I’m all over that rod, babe,” she retorted, and I swore she was grinning. “Allll. Over it.”
I huffed. “Good-bye, Tracy.”
“Love you, babe. And remember, ‘Don’t be a nun, have some fun!’” She laughed.
I hung up, shaking my head. Maybe I was being a prude but not intentionally. Who’d want to get down and dirty with a girl who always carries ‘the pouch’ on her hip? It wasn't like it was a hunk magnet. No. It was a sign for others to stay away. Hence the reason I tried to hide it underneath my shirt whenever I could.
I heard the front door shut. “Honey?”
“In here!” I answered my dad as I jumped up quickly to shove my wet clothes in my hamper. I slid myself down on my computer chair and tried to look busy when I heard him coming down the hall.
“Emailing a friend?” my dad asked when he reached my doorway. His tired gaze went from my computer to me. The move was hard on both of us but even more on him.
Even though Dad seemed tired, he was dressed to impress.
His tall, lengthy form that I never inherited shifted as he leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. That move pulled up the sleeve of his cuff to show off the titanium watch that was tucked underneath. My gaze rested on that piece of metal as the ache started to build up again. My mom and I gave him that watch.
I looked away. “Yeah.” As I pushed the hurt aside, I answered him, “Tracy’s sending me something.”
Dad dropped his arms, causing his sleeve to cover the watch once again. He hitched a thumb behind him. “I’m going to make some lunch. Do you need to eat?”
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
His brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed with worry and his gaze ran over me, probably checking for fatigue. That glance wasn’t a new one. “Are you sure? You’ve checked your-”
“I’m good, Dad.” I smiled, weakly. “Really, I’m in the normal range.” I patted the pouch by my side. “Hooked up and everything.”
His face relaxed as his tense shoulders dropped. “Okay. How about your school schedule? All setup and ready?”
I gestured to the computer. “Set it up last Wednesday online and transferred my credits. Got my schedule Friday and I start on Monday.”
“Good-good.” He nodded.
We stood in awkward silence for a few seconds before he started toward me. “Hannah, I know this move isn’t what you wanted-”
He paused as his phone rang and grabbed it out of his pocket. He looked at the caller and then glanced up with a grimace. “Got to take this.”
I waved him off and he turned, heading out of my room and down the hall. “I’ll make you a salad with chicken, just in case,” he called out before he answered his phone. “Hello? Yes, this is he.”
I relaxed in my computer chair, relieved that he didn’t notice anything off. He was right, though, I did need to eat.
Chapter Six
No matter where you went to school, it was never any different, until I saw them.
Stunned. That's the feeling that struck me as I watched them pass by in the hallway. People moved out of their way as if they were gods and we were just the lowly peasants who basked in their greatness. There were eight of them. Jamison and Miles walked with two others I did not know. One of them was tall. Like really tall and medium built, kind of fit. His dusty blonde hair reminded me of a sand storm while the grin he sported made my insides tremble. Along with them were two very pretty-pretty girls that made me look like a hobo in my name brand clothing and simple hair-do. I wanted to hide.
So I did, not so stealthily, behind a group of teens and watched them walk along with fascination. I jerked back when Miles’ eyes met mine. His widened with recognition, then he nudged Jamison and gave a chin lift my way. My eyes narrowed as I gave him one back only to have him grin and shake his head before bumping the shoulder of the guy next to him and Jamison. He gestured my way again, and they started talking in great detail, probably about my stunt on Saturday. The tall hottie smiled and wiggled his brows at me in a suggestive manner while others around us in the hallway also looked, wondering what had caught their attention. Hmm... maybe they weren’t talking about that.
I rolled my eyes, turning away and walking in the opposite direction, knowing a blush crept across my cheeks. I knew they were making fun, which got me back to the reason I hated high school. Especially a new one.
Lost in my thoughts, I shuffled my way down the hall, grimacing when someone bumped into my side. The side that held the black pouch that I depended on to keep me alive. Well, not really, but it was practically true. I wouldn’t die if I had a break from it for a few hours but it was dangerous to do so, and I wasn’t fond of fainting or going into a full blown seizure. I looked awful when that happened; not to mention, Dad would overreact and call an ambulance. He did it last time and the time before, but I bounced back pretty quickly when they hooked me up again, not suffering any lingering effects. Medical problems were such a hindrance, especially when you were a risk taker.
Opening the door to my first period English class with a soft smile, I sat down at a desk in the back and thought about my jump at the party and then the creek.
I sighed, leaning back in my seat with my eyes closed, reliving it. The rush. My stomach dropping, pulse frantically pounding beneath my skin. The first touch of the frigid water and how it made me gasp. The whole experience was unforgettable, leaving me exhausted but fulfilled.
My first jump had been like that too.
That's where my small-time risks went from drinking and illegal street racing to swimming with sharks and scaling large buildings. The rush fades once you get use to it, which has me looking for the next, new thrill.
The week after cancer took my mother, leaving me fighting to live in the aftermath, I had found myself again within the rush of a freefall. In those glimpses between the thrill and reality, I had once again found peace. That feeling never went away, no matter how many times I did it.
That opened a whole new world for me.
At age fifteen I became UTimes most watched thrill seeker. The youngest one. Dad didn’t know. No one knew except Trace. I used a fake name and never let them see my face; I blurred it out. Even after I was diagnosed and my dad became obsessed with finding a cure, he
still lingered in the shadows. I got off on the thrills; it made me ‘feel something’ when I felt numb. It wasn’t healthy, but it worked. Now my best friend thought I needed to stop, that getting laid was a rush in itself. She was nuts.
“Hannah Cain?!”
My head shot up from my musing at my desk, realizing roll call was in progress. I peeked around, seeing a few kids, particularly two dark-haired girls in the front, snicker as my hand slowly raised. “Here,” I mumbled.
“Hurry it up! We’ve got shit to do!” I yanked my hand back down and glared at the guy off to the right who had slunk down in his seat, folding his arms and groaning. He was gorgeous. And apparently he had a mouth on him.
“Snowden!” The teacher called out a warning.
“Yeah-yeah,” he muttered, waving him off.
Appalled at the display, I couldn’t help but stare at him. It was Win, but it wasn’t. While Win had short hair, his brother- twin -had shoulder length, deep red hair and three, yes three, small silver hoop earrings on one ear. Surprisingly, for a redhead, his skin wasn’t fair, but tan, and he had an amazing jawline with a slight trace of growth. Snowden wore a long-sleeved black shirt with the arms rolled up to his elbows, a silver thumb ring, dark wash jeans and leather ankle boots to finish out his hot badass look. He didn’t turn my way so I couldn’t see his eyes- nevermind- there they were. Green. Brilliant emerald green. He was sigh-worthy. His brows slashed downwards as his eyes pinned mine.
Wait... uh-oh. I’d been staring too long. His lips curled into a smile as he took me in, probably seeing my dirty blonde hair, tan-ish complexion unlike his freckled golden skin, with curves to boot in all the wrong places. To say it bluntly, I was not a tall glass of water. More like a mutt with a streak of recklessness. But as his gaze continue downward, it stopped at my chest, which had me rolling my eyes. Now, I did have those. My personal shelves were impressive but not for viewing, so I promptly pulled up my shirt toward my neck, watching his emerald gaze swing back up to my mud brown glare.
His arms tightened as he glared back at me. “Fuck. Me,” he whispered, but not quietly enough.
“Snowden! Detention!” the teacher yelled again, holding out a pink slip. Snowden straightened and got up out of his seat before winking my way, all his previous hostility gone, as others around us laughed. He sauntered over to the teacher's desk and lazily took the pink slip then turned back around to the class, saluting with the pink slip in hand.
His eyes turned and focused on mine a bit longer before he walked out of the class. Those girls at the party were right. Snowden equaled hot. Hot. Hot.
“Don’t think about it, girl,” said a light voice from behind me.
I turned to see a girl there and wondered if she was friend or foe. “Huh?”
She gestured toward the now empty seat. “Snowden Churchill is not someone you want in your sights. He and his group are” - she leaned in, her eyes wildly searching around before landing back on mine - “not to be messed with.”
“Whaddaya mean?” I asked, taken aback.
She looked past me before leaning closer and rushing out, “We’ll talk after class. It’s not safe.”
She glanced up behind me and smiled, sitting back. “Mr. Gains.”
I winced, turning around to stare at our English teacher, who stood right by my desk. “Ms. Hale,” he addressed the girl behind me before his eyes met mine. “Ms. Cain. Reserve gossip for after class.”
“Yes, Mr. Gains,” we both murmured quietly, and I cast my eyes downward to avoid his stare. Mr. Gains whirled around and walked back up to the front to continue his lesson. Eyes peered at me, but I ignored them as I adjusted my black pouch clipped to the waist of my pants, just under my shirt. School was a pain, but Snowden just might make it fun.
When class ended, “Ms. Hale” walked out alongside me, rushing the two of us down the hall and toward a bathroom. Once inside, she shoved us both into the bigger stall meant for those with disabilities and held out her hand. “I’m Stacie.” I shook it, saying my own name, before letting go. “Look, Hannah,” she continued, glancing over to the small stall door behind me when others entered the bathroom. “I’m just going to be straight with you. There are certain families you don’t want to get tangled up with; we have a system. Snowden and his brother Win along with a few friends-”
“Let me guess,” I interrupted her as I rolled my eyes in annoyance and put my hand on her shoulder to get real with her. Sure I knew where she was going with this, I stared at her point blank. “They rule the school?”
She looked shocked, then blinked. “Well, yes. But not just them-”
I took my hand off of her shoulder and leaned back to laugh. “The friends too?”
She nodded, annoyed at the way I was reacting, so I explained, “Honey, this isn’t new to me. The whole ‘they're the richest kids in the school, and I need to keep my distance because hell will rain on my ass if I try to hook up with the stuck-up asshole -’” I paused, hoping she’d fill in the blanks.
“Churchill,” she supplied, amused.
“‘- that will bully me at first but then it will turn into an unnatural crazy ass attachment -’”
“And the Abbotts,” she went on with the names of the families to avoid.
“‘- and that could possibly turn into love -’”
“And the Drex’s.”
I narrowed my eyes. “- which will ultimately end in devastation -”
“And the Hooks.’”
“Jeez, woman!” I cried throwing up my hands in exasperation. My voice rose as I hurried and tried to get everything I was saying out. “‘- and heartbreak, caused by manipulation and mind games to humiliate the person.’” I took a breath. “Why would I subject myself to that? And damn, why so many of them?”
A toilet flushed in the stall next to us, and a voice spoke up. “It isn't just the school they rule,” the voice stated before walking out of her stall and yanking open the door to ours. Huh, we must not have locked it all the way. The bathroom, which had been full of noise, quieted.
The voice in my head yelled, “Holy shit” as I got a good look at who had just spoken and tried to keep my expression neutral. Dark hair, red lips and blue eyes to boot. She was one of the girls that had been with Jamison and Quinn earlier in the hall before class. This day kept getting more interesting.
The girl's eyes were on Stacie when she spoke, but slid over to mine as her grin grew, displaying perfectly straight white teeth. “We own this town.” She leaned in and whispered with fake politeness, “I’d watch what you say. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now would we?”
I pulled away from her before she patted my cheek. “Stay away from us. The Churchills, Blackwells, Abbotts, Hooks’, Drex’s and anyone else you see us with.” Her voice turned cold and I swear fire lit in the depths of her eyes. “Understand?” I didn’t answer but kept quiet. “Good.” She straightened, clasping her hands together again with fake enthusiasm as her smile came back. “I’m glad we’ve gotten that taken care of. Toodles.” She gave us a little wave as she turned to the sinks. The rest of the people in the bathroom parted for her as ‘miss snobby’ quickly ran her hand underneath the sanitizer and rubbed them together as if she had collected the world's deadliest disease. From there she seemed to glide over to the paper towels to wipe before opening the door with the offending piece of trash to prevent germs, then she tossed the used paper over her head into the trash can behind her. Perfect shot. The door closed and chatter started back up again.
“See what I mean?” Stacie finally spoke as the noise level in the bathroom went back to normal. “Did you see it?”
I kept my gaze to where the girl had walked out and couldn't deny that I had seen something unusual. “Who was that?”
“Serena Blackwell.”
Hmm. Maybe things were not as they seemed. Stacie and I made our way out of the bathroom into the hallways. The two of us weaved our way through the throngs of classmates that were rushing to get to
their next class. I shrugged off my thoughts and said goodbye to my new friend before I headed off to World History with Mr. Shimmit where I survived. Barely.
Chapter Seven
Now it was Gym class, and it might be a struggle. My dad had excused me from any form of physical activities due to my condition, but the school told him for me to graduate I needed to take the class. I didn’t have to do swimming, running, or sports (which was practically everything Gym was about), but I had to stretch with them and do the endurance testing.
Despite my dad’s and the school's restrictions, I had it in my mind to chat with the coach beforehand and make a deal so that I could at least be included in the running and swimming aspect of Gym. It was either that or go as intended and just avoid bringing up my restrictions and blend in with the rest of my classmates. I knew I was capable and didn’t want to be singled out. New school, new chances, and no one who knew me and what this black pouch on my right hip was for. I liked it that way.
The inside of the locker room was the same as any other with narrow metal lockers, bright fluorescent lights and a plain flat surfaced floor that looked like it had failed a thousand waxes in an attempt to make it shine. Sounds of laughter and chatter could be heard as I reached the coach’s office. I peered in and saw her at the desk going over paperwork. I knocked. She glanced up, eyeing me. “Yes?”
I handed her my schedule. “Hannah Cain. I’m new.”
Her gaze ran over the paper briefly before shooting over to her desk and typing my name into her computer. “Ah, yes. Hannah Cain with a medical condition.”
She turned back to me. “All right, kid. What am I dealing with?”
I came further into her office and shut the door. I turned around and lifted up my shirt and tugged down the band of my shorts a bit so she could see my monitor and pump at my thigh. “I have PV diabetes... among other things.”
The Bridge Over Snake Creek Page 5