I wasn't sure what kind of story I expected from him. I honestly hadn't expected to hear that he'd voluntarily hurt himself because he couldn't control the need to hurt Kyle. It was flattering, to be frank, that there was a part of him that wanted to defend my honor that was equally as strong as the part of him that wanted to protect me. On the other hand, I was frightened that rather than tell me he was angry, rather than tell me that he desperately wanted to hurt Kyle as much as Kyle had hurt me, he'd gone and hurt himself in the process.
"Babe," I said, finally, releasing myself from my thoughts. "I understand you were angry. Hell, 75% of the time, I'm still angry. And I totally don't blame you. I just want you to know that just like you expect me to come to you when something hurts me, I expect you to come to me when something angers you. I don't want repeat incidents like this. I want to know that when I tell you something upsetting, you're not gonna go home and bust your other hand wide open rather than tell me that you're furious."
He stared at me for a moment, and then blinked. "Noted," he said.
I took his injured hand, kissing it lightly before bringing it up to the side of my face. I closed my eyes, still holding his hand in mine. I didn't want to let go.
"Nickayla?" he asked, moving closer as he pulled his hand away and wrapped his arm lazily around my waist. "Are you okay? You look...weary."
I sighed, opening my eyes and then narrowing them at him.
"Let's just say if you ever let Belinda Moreno put her grimy paws on you again, you'll have to write a character letter on my behalf and present it in court, saying that I don't attack unless I'm provoked," I said, staring him down.
He chuckled, kissing me on the head. I rested against him, knowing that we only had about five minutes left of Nutrition before we had to head back inside. I didn't want to let go of him yet.
"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" he asked.
I pulled away from him, playfully smacking him in the chest. I glared at him unblinkingly, wondering whether I should smack him for real.
"No, but you detect a truckload of hatred," I said. "Belinda Moreno is the school slut, and not to mention, she's a fucking bitch. She made Michie's life a living hell, and I can't stand her. Just the fact that she touched you makes me want to scrub you down with a Brillo pad."
I sighed, forgetting that Colin was still new. He listened with conviction as I explained to him how Michele and Brody had been childhood sweethearts, but after his mother died, he changed. He started dating, even though he knew that Michele would never stop waiting for him. He kept her hanging by a thread--and he never discouraged her either, so she watched, waited, and cried as he went through our entire middle school class without a single regard for her feelings. When eighth grade came around, Belinda and her family moved down from East L.A. and it was only a matter of weeks before she was able to seduce Brody. Every chance she got, Belinda rubbed it in Michie's face that she got Brody's virginity, that she was chosen, and Michele was still waiting for him. It was sickening to say the least, and for a long time, I tried to discourage my best friend from waiting around for Brody Durham. I knew that he was hurting and girls were his way of forgetting that his mom was dead and his dad was a deadbeat, but that didn't make anything that he was doing right.
"It sounds like you're a wonderful friend, baby," Colin said as he twined his fingers with mine, leading me down the hallway. "You helped both of them without actually choosing a side. What made you actually approve of Brody dating her though, in the end?"
We'd made it to Colin's locker, and I turned to Michie's so that I could put her copy of Macbeth back inside.
"Brody came to me at the end of sophomore year--after Ben's party, actually," I said. "I told him point-blank that he had no right treating Michie the way he did, and he cried. Seriously, he cried, babe. He told me that his mom's last wish before she died was for him to find someone who loved him, because he deserved that. Then he broke into this intensely devastating explanation of how he was afraid he would grow up to be just like his dad, and even though he was fairly certain that he was in love with Michele, he dated and had sex with other girls to try and get over her, because he felt like she deserved better. It was his blatant, heartbreaking honesty that made me see him in a new light, and it convinced me that he was the better that Michele deserved. The version of himself that we all saw before his mom died was the one we all loved, and that guy was the one that Michele needed. He asked for my permission to take her on a date, and--though hesitantly--I said yes, I never doubted him again."
Colin slammed his locker door, and then leaned against it as he pulled me toward him. He cradled my head in his hands, kissing my forehead. I wrapped my arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.
"You're beautiful," he whispered.
I stared up at him, my cheeks aflame.
"Thanks," I said, unsure of how to respond because the compliment came out of nowhere. I was vaguely aware of the fact that I virtually sucked at taking compliments graciously.
He grinned down at me, shaking his head slightly.
"I mean it," he said. "And I don't just mean your outer beauty. You have a beautiful soul, Nickayla Quinn. You find something good in everyone. Most girls would have called Brody a man-whore and sent him on his merry way. Instead, you listened to him and you believed in him, because that was what he needed and because that's just what you do." He paused, releasing me from his embrace and squeezing my hand with his good one as we strolled down the hallways. "I bet, if you look in your heart, you can probably find some redeeming quality--from before the incident—that you still love about Kyle, even though he hurt you."
I made a face, sure that he was yanking my chain.
"Maybe," I mused. "But I'd have to dig way, way down deep."
He swung my arm as he led me down the hallway, a slight frown on his face.
"I'm not asking you to go looking, Nickayla," he said. "I'm perfectly happy with living the rest of my life thinking that Kyle York is an asshole of epic proportions."
"You and me both, Babe," I said, giggling.
Eighteen.
I sat down on the floor, the small shoebox between my legs. I pulled out every single journal I had in there, smiling at the dates. I'd journalled since I was ten years old, needing some way to get all of my emotions out without throwing a temper tantrum like Naomi did at that age.
Once I hit middle school, I had a different journal for every guy that I was interested in. There was Eric Christensen in the 6th grade, and his cousin Roman by the beginning of 7th grade. In the 8th grade, I had a slight crush on Brody, although I'd never admit to him that there was a whole journal dedicated to him. In the 9th grade, I met Kyle, and he had at least three journals--although the last two were mostly descriptions of the rape and the after-effects that it had on my emotional well-being.
I didn't know when I'd decided that it was time for Colin to have his own journal, but when I did decide, I went out and bought a black moleskin journal, and brought it home. I smiled as I labeled the inside cover with the words Colin Daniel Westwick: Junior Year in gold gel pen. I blew on it to get the ink to dry faster, and then opened it to the first page, inhaling the scent of the brand new pages. I closed my eyes, letting my hand move freely over the page with the pen pressed down onto the thin, soft paper.
Ever since I'd met Colin, there were so many thoughts that I was desperate to get out of my head. I'd etched every single feature of his face in my mind from the very first night I'd met him, and every word he'd ever said to me was placed in my heart under lock and key for safekeeping, but there was something personal about immortalizing him in one of my journals.
I continued to write, not even thinking about the words as I wrote them, because my heart knew Colin and what he meant to me more than my mind ever would. I couldn't open my eyes, didn't open my eyes; I only focused on pouring my heart out onto the page.
Just as I was getting into the groove of writing again--I hadn't written in any of my journ
als in months, but it was just like riding a bike--I could hear the sounds of someone coming up the stairs. I looked at my door expectantly, wondering who it could be, since I was the only one upstairs.
There was a knock on my door, and I closed the journal, shoving it into the shoebox with all the other journals.
"Come in!" I exclaimed, when I was sure that my secret was hidden again.
Colin came waltzing through, and he smiled down at me, his hand behind his back. I hurried to my feet, eager to wrap myself in him. I watched in excitement as he pulled a bouquet of lilies and snapdragons from behind his back, wrapped in blue tissue paper and a piece of plastic.
My heart pounded at the sight of him. His hair was ruffled, disheveled in that way that showed off his chiseled features. His green eyes were alight and burning with a fire that I would never get tired of seeing as his mouth turned up on the corners in my favorite crooked smile. He wore a grey t-shirt, his dark jeans hanging on his hips in a way that absolutely made my mouth water, and the leather jacket that he wore took my breath away, sending chills down my spine.
I glanced at the flowers as I accepted them eagerly, bringing them up to my face to smell them.
"These smell amazing, babe," I said, kissing him on the lips. "Thank you so much. How did you know that I love lilies?"
He grinned, looking down at the floor nervously.
"Let's just say that I asked around about you," he said. "People talk, you know?"
I giggled, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him toward me as we both toppled on my bed.
"And what exactly do 'people' say?" I asked, kissing him on the lips as he held himself up directly above me.
He grinned, planting a kiss on my collarbone. When his kiss moved up to my lips, the place he had just kissed felt as though it were on fire. For the longest time, I'd felt repulsed at the thought of a guy touching me. It only took finding the right guy, the one whose kiss touched my soul, whose touch made me feel cherished rather than used.
"Hmm, just that you're a little temperamental," Colin mused, "and that the only way to please you is to bring you lilies. People also said that bringing you roses would basically be like walking myself to the guillotine, because you despise roses."
"Well, People know me very well," I said, nodding. "Next time you talk to Michie, tell her that I'm forever grateful for her telling you about the lilies. I'd hate to have had to chop your head off."
Colin sat up straight, taking my hand gently and pulling me up with him. I watched as he smoothed his shirt out, then looked up to meet my gaze.
"Come with me," he said. "I've got something to show you."
I took his hand reluctantly, but I reached for my shoes.
"Um, you know that normal people don't have dates on Monday evenings, yes?" I asked, tugging on my Keds.
"I'll meet you downstairs," he said, not bothering to answer my question.
I knew that Colin didn't act weird or secretive unless he was about to show me something important, so I didn't hesitate to get ready. I brushed my hair out, trying to get it to cooperate with me. After nearly ten minutes of my hair going one way when I wanted it to go another, and curling up when I wanted it to be slick straight, I decided to wet it, activating my annoyingly natural curls.
I fingered some gel through my hair, flipping it upside down as I tried to give it some volume. It took fifteen minutes of fussing with my curls before I was satisfied with the mop on top of my head, but I shrugged in the mirror, only putting on one coat of mascara before I headed toward the door.
I turned to look inside my room, and, without a second thought, I reached inside the shoebox, grabbing the journal I'd just allotted for Colin, and tearing out the entire first page. I folded it up, sticking it in the pocket of my jean jacket as I closed the door and descended the stairs.
Colin was waiting for me at the bottom, standing in the foyer as his hand hovered over a picture of me from over a year ago. He turned to look at me, and started to say something, but stopped short.
"Speechless, Westwick?" I asked, grinning widely as he walked over to me, his hand reaching absently for my waist.
"Um, definitely," he said, giving me an once-over. "I've never seen you wear your hair like this. And you don't have any makeup on--you look...happy, carefree. I think I like this Nickayla."
"Yeah, you better."
We pulled up behind Colin's house, a tiny shack appearing as we inched closer and closer. I reached for my seat belt, ready to take it off and eager to see what was in store for me. Colin put the car in park, his hands resting on the steering wheel as he looked at me expectantly.
"This is something that's really personal for me," he said quietly, sounding small, which was what he did whenever he spoke about his dad. "So if you don't like it, tell me, okay? I just want you be honest with me."
Rather than ask him what he meant, or why he'd automatically assumed that I wouldn't like his surprise, I took his hand, squeezing it as I placed my other hand on the door handle.
"Show me," I said with a smile.
I opened the car door, leaping out. Within seconds, Colin was at my side, looping an arm around my waist as he guided me toward the shack. I took in my surroundings, in awe of the fact that I was finally going to get to see yet another sneak peek into his life--I could only hope that it wasn't half as ugly as the last thing I'd seen.
"This is my place," he said, a little boy's excitement creeping into his voice. "Jamie--he's my best friend from Raleigh--and I built this. We'd switch off visiting each other every other summer, and on his last summer here, before Grandpa got sick, we built it with his help. My grandfather knew how Dad was, and he wanted me to have a place of my own, a place to hide. He was more than happy to help me." He sighed, as if recalling some fond memory of his childhood, raking his hands through his hair. He pulled me anxiously toward the small shed, fumbling in his pockets as he approached it.
"Grandpa knew that I loved music--he was the one who taught me how to play the guitar and the piano; he taught Jamie to play the drums--Jamie's dad is my mom's ex-boyfriend, and Grandpa sort of adopted him as his grandson--and Suze plays the violin. God, Nickayla--" he paused to unlock the shed, and then reached inside slightly to turn on a light. He led me inside, closing the door behind him. "I can't tell you how many nights Jamie and I spent in here, just talking and eating and playing our hearts out."
I took in the room with my eyes, finding that it wasn't quite as small on the inside as it had looked on the outside. There were a few beanbag chairs spread around the room, blankets folded neatly atop a small table, and some posters hung, covering the walls. Some I recognized, like Nirvana, Paramore, Live, R.E.M., John Legend, Gavin DeGraw, Avenged Sevenfold, Daughtry, Marianas Trench, Rascal Flatts, RENT, Amy Winehouse, Evanescence, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, and Switchfoot. Others were new to me, and I was excited that he was introducing me to new artists.
A small stage had been built, and I had to admit that the outrageous number of guitars impressed me, and the huge drum set that sat off to the left side of the stage.
Colin removed his arm from around my waist, walking toward the stage and picking up one of his guitars.
"Oh, now this is sweet," I said, smiling as I advanced on him, my hands on the stage floor. "I love that your man cave is all about music rather than video games. I swear most guys would marry their gaming consoles instead of having a girlfriend."
Colin grinned, squatting down in front of me so that we were face to face. He kissed me on the lips gently, but passionately enough to leave me craving more.
"Video games instead of you?" he asked, as though this were the most absurd notion in the entire world. "Never."
I smiled, pulling up a beanbag chair, certain that he was going to play for me.
"Wow," I said, teasing him. "There may be hope for you yet." I watched intently as Colin got a stool from somewhere behind the small stage, pulling it toward where I was sitting. "I take it you learned guitar to be th
e next Chris Daughtry?"
Colin sat down on the stool, placing his guitar in lap as he looked up at me.
"Oh, no," he said, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "I learned guitar so that I could be just like Dave Grohl. He is infinitely cool." Colin looked up at me, his cheeks reddening slightly. He smiled a deep, sweet, boyish grin, clearing his throat. "The acoustics in here are amazing. I don't even need a microphone." He closed his eyes, taking a sharp breath. "Don't think or judge. Just listen."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I realized he was quoting what I told him was one of my favorite Sarah Dessen novels when we played 21 Questions. He looked nervous, anxious, and expectant like a little boy showing off his shiny new toys. I closed my eyes as I listened to the soft opening notes of a song I didn't quite recognize.
Colin sang, the slight rasp to his voice enchanting and endearing. He strummed the guitar with such a cool confidence, staring down at the strings as he plucked them, one by one, and I felt as though his love for me was passing through the strings of that old guitar, and he was giving it all to me, no holds barred. He paused when he finished singing the first verse, staring up at me.
I'd never heard the song before, but the words spoke of expecting the person you're with to follow through on everything they say, and how I was hypnotic on his heart.
My heart raced as I registered the words that he was singing. He was putting his trust in me, he was letting me in, giving me something that he didn't think he was capable of giving, but he was scared. Just like me, Colin was scared, and just that thought alone was incredibly staggering. He hadn't been with Mads long, but she had done quite a number on him. I hurt for him, for my Colin, for this precious boy who had wanted nothing more than to be loved, something that he was deprived of at home, and something that Mads had told him she could give him, but of course, she couldn't follow through. My heart ached for him then, this wounded, broken boy whose father didn't love him, whose mother allowed him to be beaten and verbally abused, whose sister who couldn't help him even if she tried, and whose ex-girlfriend had nearly left him totally ruined for all future women.
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