by Gemma Weir
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He questions, like he’s not sure he heard me right.
Allowing my mask of indifference to slip slightly, I lean forward and press my lips against his cheek. “Pick me up at seven.”
He nods, his shock morphing into smug confidence. “See you later, baby.”
“Later,” I say, twisting away from his arm and heading for my locker, only to find both Emmy and Brit waiting for me, gleeful smiles etched across their faces.
“Eeeeekkk,” Brits squeals the moment I’m close. “Henry is so hot.”
She’s right. He is. Tall, blond, and athletic, he looks like a young Channing Tatum with the abs to match. Henry’s popular, on the football team with my brother, and I’ve always thought he seems like a pretty nice guy; the exact opposite of Valentine.
“Where’s he taking you?” Brit asks, her excitement palpable.
“Mastoni’s.”
“Oh my god,” she gasps. “That’s so romantic.”
Emmy rolls her eyes behind Brit’s back. “I need to get to class before the bell.”
“See you later.” I say to her before spinning around to pull my books from my bag and slide them into my locker. Brit is still chattering on about my date tonight, but I’m barely listening. Closing my locker, I lift my purse onto my shoulder and grab my coffee from where I’d placed it on the floor by my feet.
My skin tingles with awareness and I twist my head to look over my shoulder. Dark angry eyes stare back at me. His lips are twisted into an angry snarl and I visibly shudder before I can stop myself.
My breathing become shallow and my body moves without permission, arching toward him like a flower seeking the sunlight. I can’t explain my reaction. I don’t understand it. He frightens me, frustrates me, intrigues me.
He watches me watch him and for a moment every thought running through my head crashes to a stop. The world shrinks until it’s only us. Me and him and this tangible energy that runs cold and harsh and terrifying between us.
When he turns away I feel bereft, and the world crashes back into focus around me. Every doubt, every insecure thought I’d been keeping at bay until I found him staring at me, surges to life and my head hurts from the intensity.
I feel the eyes of the kids still in the hall, the way they watch and judge me. The way they envy and hate and pity me.
Do they think I’m a freak?
Can they see the turmoil in my eyes?
Can they see that he hates me?
Does he hate me?
Do I hate him?
Do I like him?
How can I like him when he’s mean to me?
Are they all whispering behind my back?
Do I care?
Should I run?
Should I hide?
Over and over the thoughts consume me and my momentarily quiet mind becomes a cacophony of noise. My heart feels too big in my chest, my lungs not big enough, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. Brit’s still behind me, still talking, despite me not having responded in what feels like hours, but she’s oblivious to the mental breakdown I’m having.
Maybe she just doesn’t care.
Maybe she hates me.
Maybe none of this is real and I’m just losing my mind.
The last thought is the one that sobers me enough for me to place my palm onto the cool metal of my locker. The cold, hard metal centers me, pinning me to this moment, this place, and forcing me back to the present.
“I have to go to the restroom,” I say into the space ahead of me, hoping that Brit heard me over her incessant chattering. Making myself walk slowly, I push open the restroom door and lock myself in one of the stalls. I don’t sit down. Instead, I cover my ears with my hands and close my eyes tightly.
The muted silence calms me slightly and I concentrate on breathing. In and out, in and out. I fill my lungs, then release the air until that slight sense of panic, as if I’ll never be able to breathe again begins to dissipate.
The repetition soothes me further and my heartbeat gradually slows. Squeezing my eyes closed even tighter, I visualize a brick: hard and dense, the surface rough and impenetrable. I visualize another and place it next to the first, then another, layering row upon row of bricks, building a wall around my mind and stuffing all of the plaguing thoughts behind it.
It won’t last forever. Hell, lately, I doubt if it will last until lunch; but for now, with all of my anxiety segregated, I can breathe easy again.
My morning classes pass in a blissful haze. I learn stuff, ignore everyone who isn’t one of the top tier, and luckily don’t have to see Valentine. When lunch rolls around, the idea of dealing with the noise and everyone in the cafeteria feels less appealing than ever before, so I text my brother, Griffin, and Emmy and let them know that I’m skipping the lunch room and eating outside again. Their replies come back almost immediately.
Zeke: KK see you later.
Emmy: Okay, was planning to bail anyway, see you later xo
Griff: KK <3
Not wanting to risk another run in with Valentine, I slide my cell back into my pocket and make my way across campus to the other side of the football field. I find a quiet spot right behind the field goal posts and settle down onto the grass, pulling out my lunch and stabbing at some of the lettuce in the salad Mom has made for me.
It’s quiet and peaceful out here and I breathe deep, smelling the freshly cut grass and enjoying the lack of prying eyes and whispered gossip. I don’t know why being at school is so much harder for me this year. Maybe it’s that I’m sick of being what’s expected of me, or the weight of the expectation to stick to the status quo. Or maybe I’m just being an overly dramatic teenager. Either way, this right now—being on my own—is exactly what I need.
I think about my date with Henry tonight and a small surge of excitement pools in my stomach. When he’d asked me out in the past, I’d automatically said no. I’m not sure what made me change my mind today. Henry feels safe and easy and maybe that’s exactly what I need after the upheaval Valentine has caused in my life.
Henry doesn’t really know you, a small voice in the back of my mind says. Shaking my head, I force the thought away. I’ve known him forever and maybe Henry could be the guy who sees past my ice queen persona; maybe he’ll actually see me.
Valentine jumps into my thoughts even though I try to keep him out. He said he saw me, but then he also said he knew girls like me. Whatever. Fuck him. He has no idea who I am. He’s just as judgmental as everyone else.
By the time I finish my lunch, it’s almost time for my next class and I reluctantly pack everything back into my purse and head toward the main building. As I walk around the ugly cinder block walls, a hand thrusts out, grabbing me and hauling me into an almost hidden corner.
Valentine pins me against the wall, his angry expression crowding me. “Where the fuck were you?” He demands.
“Fuck you,” I spit. “What I do and where I go are none of your goddamn business.”
“Where. Were. You?” He demands again, enunciating each fury filled word.
I don’t speak. I just glare at him. Who the hell does he think he is? He’s not my boyfriend or my brother. He’s not even a friend. He has absolutely zero right to demand to know my business.
Pushing my hands between us, I shove at his chest as hard as I can. He barely moves, his angry snarl twitching at the corners of his mouth with amusement. “Move out my way, Valentine.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll scream so loud the entire school will come running.”
His lips spread into a wide smile, changing his whole face, except his eyes that remain dark and angry. “Oh, Princess, I think I’d like to hear you scream.”
I want to ask what he means. Does he want to hurt me? Or is he more interested in me screaming in a different way?
“I think you want me to make you scream,” He rasps against my ear, his body pressed against mine, his heart beating fast against my chest.
I
shake my head, unable to form words.
His smile gets even bigger. “I see it in your eyes. You want me and you fucking hate it.” His laugh is bitter and low. “I’ll tell you a secret, Princess. I hate that I want you too.”
Before I realize what he’s going to do, his lips are on mine. He kisses me with angry determination, like he’s punishing me. His tongue forces its way into my mouth, and he deepens the kiss, dominating my mouth like it’s his to own, like I’m his.
My nipples pebble and heat pools between my thighs. I hate him, but I love this. He’s not being gentle or respectful, he’s not treating me as though I’m special. His hands are rough, his kiss is domineering and I’m melting at his touch.
As quickly as his lips are on mine, they’re gone. I feel my eyes go wide and my lips part. My brain that usually swirls with a thousand thoughts falls silent and I just stare at him. Only he doesn’t say anything else, he just lifts his body away from mine, turns around and walks away.
How can he leave? I feel like I can’t move. My body is on fire and only the urge to chase after him, to climb his body and ease this ache he’s caused inside of me, is strong enough to push me upward. I stumble forward, intent on chasing after him, but common sense prevents me from trailing him like an addict.
He isn’t my boyfriend, or even my friend. He’s my enemy, who only last night scared me half to death then threatened to punish me. Was that what that kiss was? Was that my punishment? Making me want him is cruel and completely Valentine’s style. Only I swear he was as into that kiss as me.
It takes hours for my body to calm and I feel his eyes on me every time I step into the hallway to move from class to class. When the final bell rings, I can’t wait to leave and by the time I get home from school an unexpected lethargy has settled over me and I have to fight the urge to change into my pajamas and climb into bed. If I didn’t have a date, that’s exactly what I’d be doing.
Since feeling Valentine’s lips against mine, all of my excitement for my date with Henry has faded, but I refuse to allow him to ruin my night, so I shower and blow-dry my hair into bouncy curls. I pick out a cute deep-red dress that has flared sleeves and reaches mid-thigh. I pair it with my fabulous black suede, over the knee boots and a couple of long gold chains that hang between my breasts.
When I’ve finished my makeup I look at my reflection in the mirror and smile. My outfit is fun and flirty and perfect for Mastoni’s. The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it’s nicer than flip-flops and jean shorts. Grabbing my little black purse, I slide my cell and some money inside and then head downstairs. Mom is in the living room, her feet up on the couch as she watches a show on TV.
When she spots me, she smiles. “You look lovely, honey.”
“Thanks. Where’s everyone else?”
“Your dad is working late, Dill and Leo are eating with Phoenix at your Auntie Nikki’s, and I think Zeke is out with Valentine.”
“Oh,” I say, just as the doorbell rings. “That must be Henry. I’ll see you later.”
“Have fun, honey. Home by eleven, remember. It’s a school night. Be safe,” Mom calls as I blow her a kiss and head for the front door. Pulling in a deep breath, I open the door and smile at the boy standing on the other side.
“Wow, girl, you look gorgeous,” Henry says, his eyes slowly raking up and down my body.
“Thanks.”
“You ready to go?”
I nod and he gestures for me to lead the way to his charger that’s sat at the curb. I roll my eyes and smirk as he darts in front of me and opens the car door. “I can open a car door,” I mutter under my breath.
“I know, but I’m a gentleman,” Henry retorts without missing a beat.
I wait for him to climb into the driver’s seat then ask. “So being a gentleman means opening my car door for me?”
Henry’s laugh is soft and low. “Among other things, yeah.”
Valentine Miller is definitely not a gentleman, I think to myself, before pushing him from my thoughts. Glancing at Henry from the corner of my eye I see his amused smirk. It somehow only makes his face even more attractive. We don’t say much as he drives us to the restaurant. When he pulls into the parking lot, he reverses his car into a bay, kills the engine and turns to look at me.
“Are you going to bitch me out, if I ask you to stay put so I can open your door for you?”
I think about answering him with a bitchy retort, but really although his behavior is a bit archaic, it’s also kind of cute. “No, you can open my door.”
His smile is blinding and I watch as he climbs out, circles the car and then magnanimously opens my door. “Milady.”
“Kind, Sir,” I say, playing along. He holds out his hand to me, and I take it, letting him steady me as I climb out. He doesn’t release me as he closes my door, nor when he turns and leads me to the restaurant’s entrance.
The hostess smiles at us as we approach the small wooden desk. “Hi there. Welcome to Mastoni’s. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yeah, table for two under Thomas,” Henry says smoothly.
The girl takes a moment to check the computer, then grabs two menus and smiles brightly again. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to your table. Your server is going to be Lorraine and she’ll be over soon to take your drinks orders.”
She leads us to a table at the back of the restaurant, hands us each a menu and then leaves. Looking up, I study Henry. He’s cute, in an All-American kind of way. His smile is easy, and even though this is a first date he seems completely at ease.
But why wouldn’t he be relaxed? We’ve known each other since elementary school. Reminding myself that he isn’t Valentine and I don’t need to be on edge, I feel some of my tension seep away.
“What looks good?” He asks, and I quickly glance down at the menu in my hands.
“I think I’ll have the prawn linguine,” I say.
“I’m going to have a steak.”
“Steak, really? The food here is great and you’re having something you can cook on your grill at home?”
“I’m a growing boy, I need the protein,” Henry says, lifting the hem of his shirt and patting his defined abs playfully.
“Cute,” I say derisively, slipping back into my bitchy mask and sighing dramatically.
“Wow, Nova. You went a whole,” he lifts his wrist up and checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes without saying something bitchy. Is that a new record for you?”
His disparaging tone annoys me, and I narrow my eyes at him and scowl. “Fuck you, Henry. You’re the one lifting up his shift to flash abs like you expect me to swoon or something.”
“I like you.” He says simply, a smile spreading across his lips.
“What?” I say, shocked by his random change of direction.
“I like you, Nova. I always have, even before you started dating Cade. I know you. I even kind of like that you’re a bitch; makes it more worthwhile when you act nice.”
“You know me,” I repeat back to him, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
“Just like you know me. That’s why we’d be so good together.”
He thinks he knows me. The idea is laughable, he doesn’t know me at all; but I’m saved from replying when our server arrives. We place our order, handing her back our menus before she leaves.
“So what colleges are you planning to apply to?” Henry asks, filling the next twenty minutes with inane chit-chat as we wait for our food to arrive.
When the server places a huge bowl of pasta in front of me, I sigh; the rich smell of garlic and butter rising up from the steaming dish. “You already received a scholarship offer from the University of Texas.” I say between bites of my food.
“Yeah, scouts saw me play at football camp this summer and I had the offer come through a couple of days before we started back at school.”
“Are you going to accept it, or are you waiting to see if you get into the other schools you apply to?”
“I’m a Longhorn,
baby. Going to that school has always been my dream. I said yes the moment that offer came.”
I can’t help but smile. His boyish charm is infectious. Something about Henry is undeniably likeable and I feel my bitchy mask sliding a little. “That’s great, Henry. I’m really pleased for you.”
“If you got in too, we could go to school together. I bet you could rule the U of T just as easily as you rule high school now.”
His words make the smile fall from my face. I can’t think of anything worse than still having to pretend all the way through college, the way I have through middle and high school. “This wasn’t a role I chose.”
“What?” Henry asks, his brow furrowing with confusion.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, lifting a bite of food to my lips so I don’t have to say anything else. We finish the rest of our meals, chatting mainly about the kids at school and how boring the first week back has been. When I excuse myself to go to the restroom, I exhale a long drawn out sigh of relief the moment I close the door behind me.
This isn’t Henry’s fault—he’s a nice guy—but this date, this pretense, feels like hard work. In fact, everything has felt like hard work since school started. For the past few years I’ve played my part without thought, effortlessly. Only now it’s getting harder and harder to maintain my expected façade. The downward spiral to graduation has begun and the end of every week is a week closer to the end of the pretense. I’m not ready to drop the act and show everyone how much of a mess I am; but playing these high school games is becoming less and less appealing all the time.
I use the restroom, then wash my hands, staring at my reflection as I rinse off the soap and dry my skin with a paper towel. I shouldn’t have said yes to this date. He wants the queen bee, the most popular girl in school, only that person isn’t really me.
Smoothing down my dress, I exit the restrooms and walk back to our table. Only, instead of Henry sitting where I left him, Valentine is lounging in his seat, his expression angry.
“Where’s Henry?” I ask.
“He left.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I told him to,” Valentine says coolly, his eyes running down the length of my body.