Cruel Kisses: It’s Just High School #2

by Mpofu, Thandiwe

  Tortured, restless, full of anguish, but still somewhat peaceful because she’s in my arms.

  There are a bunch of calls I need to make right now, specifically, one to dad so he can do me a solid, so I pick Mia up and place her gently in the bed, kissing her puckered lips as I do. Then I leave the room, going down to the lounge where I can make a call without disturbing her.

  She looks like she could use the rest, so I leave her to it.

  Dialing dad’s number, he answers on the first ring.

  “I take it you found her?” he questions, his voice low.

  “Yeah, she’s…” I don’t even know what to say to that. “Anyway, I need a few things from you.”

  I quickly rattle off everything I need, and he agrees without question.

  “When are you back?” he questions.

  “I have no idea.”

  “We need to talk about the future.”

  Yeah, not until I come to the table with my contingencies. I won’t be fucked over by my own parents. Again.

  “Not now, Dad. I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

  “Well then, where is your brother?” he questions, making me frown. Where is that shithead?

  “He’s all right but remember what I told you, don’t tell him.”

  “Julian, I get that you want to protect your brother, but playing with fire…”

  “Is a side hustle of mine that I do fluently having been raised by wolves wearing sheep-skins.”

  And with that, I end the call. Then I call Cole.

  “Where the fuck are you, asshole?” he says as soon as he answers.

  “On my way to Paris.”

  “Are you that lovestruck?” he taunts. “Damn, heartbreaks must be hard these days, but to the asshole with money, he can just fly over to Paris and nurse his shit back to life.”

  “Fuck you, man,” I sigh, relief flooding my chest.

  “How is she, man?” Cole questions. “This whole thing with Mia had me out of my mind, dude.”

  “I know.” I need a drink, but right now isn’t the best time for that. “There’s something off about her, man. She’s seriously sad, a bit out of it. She’s different, she even feels different. I don’t know how to really explain it, man, but she needs a time out.”

  She needs more than a fucking time out. She needs a whole lot more TLC and I’m her man for that shit, even if I don’t have a clue about how to go about it. Love is as foreign to me as patience, but Mia, she brings out a protective instinct in me that goes above the regular possessive shit I thought I had with her. This is more.

  “And let me guess, you’re calling to tell me that you’re taking a time out with her, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t leave her alone like this.”

  He’s silent for a while, then he blows a heavy breath through the phone.

  “Shit, this is going to put a dent in our workout regimen with football and everything we said we would get done this summer.”

  “I know, man,” I mutter, running a frustrated hand down my face. “This isn’t how I imagined everything would go, but I just…”

  “You can’t leave her, I get it and honestly, Liam was right. Mia should’ve been your first priority right from the start. You have to choose her all the fucking time.”

  He was right, of course he was right, but would Mia choose me first is the question. But I don’t want to think about that right now. Just the mention of my brother’s name makes my chest tighten with unease.

  “Speaking of Liam…” I start, then trail off but Cole picks up on it anyway.

  “Fuck, J, what did you do?” he sighs. “I know that tone.”

  “It’s not what I did specifically, it’s what was done. There’s some shit that I need to get rid of as soon as possible, before my brother finds out.”

  “Well, whatever it is you have to do, do it quickly because he just left.”

  “He left?” I frown. “Where did he go?”

  “To the airport,” he chuckles, as if realization just dawned on him. “Guess he now knows where Mia is headed as well.”

  Ah, hell. This is going to be so fucked up. I don’t need my brother to come here right now, especially when I can’t even look him in the fucking eye, knowing the shit I know.

  “Dude, whatever it is, just tell him the truth,” Cole says, bringing me back to reality. “I’m sure he’d rather hear the truth than find out that you lied to him.”

  The thing is, I already lied to him. By not telling him as soon as dad told me about it.

  “Hey, can you do me a solid?” I start, hating that I’m springing this on him, but he’s the only one I trust with this shit. With my life, even. It’s the same with me for his life.

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Can you find out as much as you can about Kendra and Roxy Bishop?”

  “Bishop?” he questions. “You don’t mean THE Bishops, do you?”

  “The very ones,” I mutter dryly, rolling my eyes. The shit my parents would do.

  “Well then, I should go grab popcorn because this shit is about to be off the fucking chains. Damn, what hashtags do I get to use for this?”

  “There’s nothing hashtag worthy about this shit,” I bite out and he laughs.

  “Oh, yes there is! Let’s see here, there’s #yoursofuckingfucked, #youafuckingliar #Miashouldjustmarryme and whole other hashtags you don’t want to see trending on your Twitter with your fucking face on there.”

  “Fuck you, jerk!”

  “Does he know?” he questions, and I already know who he’s asking about.

  “No,” I grit out and he throws his head back, laughing his fucking head off.

  “You’re asking for it, sir,” he chuckles. “But I’ll help wherever I can. Shit, I’mma fly out there too. Why should I miss out on the fun?”

  Talking to Cole was always a mix between getting clarity and clownery that made me want to wring his neck sometimes, but he was and will always be, my best friend.

  “Dude, I’m sorry about practice and college., but we need to make a plan though.”

  “Yeah, we can find a way to make it work before early practice starts,” he says. “Gotta go get my dick wet.”

  “Stephanie?”

  “I’m not pussy whipped, bro,” he chuckles. “This dick isn’t in love with a cute, devious ballerina while about to get hitched with one of the…”

  “Fuck off!” I say then end the call, ignoring the eyes on me. Damn Mia for making us fly commercial. Fuck.

  After a while, I go back to the room, a platter of finger-foods with me and some juice. Mia’s wasting away right in front of my eyes. She obviously hasn’t been taking care of herself, which is a fucking bitch, but I’m here now. Taking care of her is not some cute Pinterest shit. I feel like from the moment I met her in that hospital, she’s been mine to take care of. To love. To protect. To provide for.

  And I don’t give a fuck about her whole independent strut.

  So, when I get back in the room, I place the food on top of the mini bar, then walk over to wake her up but I stop dead in my tracks.

  No, that can’t be…

  But it is.

  The sleeve of her shirt has ridden up, exposing the wounds that are maybe a few days old. Seeing them is like a freight train has just ripped into me and has left me laying slain and bleeding to death.

  No, Mia. No.

  She’s been cutting herself.

  That’s why she was obsessing with her sleeves, the way she hesitated for me to hold her hand. The look of panic in her eyes when I reached for her hand.

  My beautiful girl, my strong powerful girl, she’s been self-harming. The longer I stare at the cuts, I see that it’s not just one. They’re jagged, a bit deep, like she cut herself with broken glass or something.

  Jesus Christ.

  Just then, graphic images of bleeding wrists, slit by sharp blades, enter my mind, freezing me on the spot. I see it all vividly, like I’ve just been transported to that day,
that night when that girl died in my arms.

  “You should’ve saved me.”

  Shit! Not that again. I swear, at times I can still hear her pain pleas. I could’ve done something to stop her, but I didn’t and so she died right in front of me and now the girl I love is…

  “You should’ve loved me.”

  No, this can’t be a repeat. No, I won’t let Mia be like Sandra, killing herself in front of me.

  But as I reach for her other hand and pull up the sleeve, I already know what I’m going to find.

  Fuck my life! This is going to be one hell of a fight and I don’t know if we’re going to make it out alive.

  17

  A year ago…

  “I promise you, tonight’s about to be one wild ass night,” Liam hollered from downstairs, the excited note in his voice almost contagious.

  I’m about to respond when my phone buzzes with a new text alert. Fishing it out of my pocket, my stomach sinks as disgust rolls down my spine.

  Does this girl ever quit?

  Unknown: Please, come and see me. I need you.

  I roll my eyes and delete the text like I’ve done with the hundreds of others like this she’s sent me at random hours of the night and day. I don’t need to know who it’s from, the nauseating stench of desperation that would put a pigsty to shame seems to be Sandra Matthews’ signature, announcing her unwanted and oppressive presence way before she speaks—or texts in this case.

  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a damn about anyone who isn’t my family, so I didn’t bother to pay attention to who stalks me or who’s obsessed with everything I do or with the skeletons in my family’s closet.

  Unlike my brother, Liam who practically thrived in attention and lived to make heads roll with envy and want, I was another issue altogether. Of course, I heard what they said about me; that I was too closed off and cold for anyone to mess with. I didn’t give a shit, so long as they got out of my damn way.

  Not Sandra Matthews, though.

  She was way past the short road to pissing me off now.

  I was pissed with her relentless stalking, not angry.

  With me, the two have a fucking a wide margin. They feel different. Manifest themselves differently and their effects have different levels of twisted-up longevity.

  Pissed was being followed by a pathetic measly, mentally unstable, crazy girl—whose family I hate—as she pathetically begs me to ‘love’ her, which was never going happen even if hell froze over.

  Whereas angry was kissing a siren, a Little Minx, allowing her to sneak into my soul and take a large, fucked-up piece of it hostage then watch helplessly from the sidelines, unable to do a damn thing, as she used her skilled, fiery tongue to hurt my brother without a care in the world, her stunning, aquamarine eyes dark and alight with mirth as she stared back at me, daring me to come after her.

  That was anger.

  It was the kind I haven’t been able to shake off my shoulders or move on from for years now.

  The kind of anger that influences every decision I’ve made since kissing her that first time.

  I suspected I had the kind of anger that might kill a normal man, especially letting it consume me after all these years, but I wasn’t normal. I was the monster that was biding his time, getting ready to check her at every turn, make her beg for mercy if necessary. I have every intention of returning the favor.

  “Yo, did you hear me?” Liam shouts. I roll my eyes. Some days I hate that he was an attention loving jerk, but he was still my brother and I’d do anything for him. Including ruffling his feathers a bit.

  “I find your excitement a bit out of place,” I call back, grabbing my football gear to get ready for the game.

  “Wait, why?”

  “I doubt you’re playing, asshole!” I call back to my brother as I go downstairs to check on Aiden, with my gear in a bag slung across my chest.

  “Fuck you, I’m so playing!”

  Liam hadn’t made first-string yet, though he wouldn’t mind selling his soul to the devil just to get there.

  I’ve watched my brother work fucking hard to get in tip-top physical shape, his one goal that he took on ruthlessly was to lose weight—something he never cared about before the first day of high school.

  See, Liam was a chubby kid growing up but after the first day at his new high school, he came back home eyes red and wild, then basically begged Dad to be transferred to my school, then he practically made a home out the gym. He has since lost a hundred pounds and would put those IG fitness models to shame with the way he’s toned and built up muscle, but there isn’t a single day that he doesn’t work out.

  I’m pretty sure something happened at Clintwood Academy, that drives his demons. Sometimes he’s in there in the middle of the fucking night, like he’s trying to expel his demons—or mean words that haunt him.

  “Uh, really?”

  “Yes! I’m no superstar like you or Cole, but I’m a fucking decent player,” he counters. “Besides, coach already said I’m playing tonight.”

  Silence.

  I can hear the smug note in his voice, and I sigh. “What kind of deal did you make with coach? Did you promise him to use the private jet again?”

  The thing about my brother? He had no illusions about himself.

  He knew his limits. Knew where his weaknesses lie, but he was also fully aware of where his strengths are. And he took full advantage of them. Mainly? His charming, deceitful, lying tongue that could either build a person up or savagely destroy that unfortunate soul.

  Liam is the only person I know who could argue himself out of hell. Well, him and my aquamarine Little Minx, of course.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he chuckles, popping his head out to stare at me as I pass his landing. “I promised that he could keep fucking Mrs. Gerard—who by the way, is a married woman—in secret. I even promised not to tell Mrs. Gerard that I know.”

  I stare at my brother for a beat, then shake my head. “You’ve already told someone, haven’t you?”

  “I said no such thing!” He clutches his chest, looking appalled. “I’m not a tattletale.”

  He was. Especially when whatever it was had potential to cause mayhem and havoc. “You do know if anything happens he’ll blame you, right?”

  “Well, he won’t be around to make me suffer after they fire his ass.” He retreats back into his room just as my phone buzzes with another text. For fuck’s sake!

  Unknown: I love you so much. I forgot to say that!

  I hated the smiley faces as much as I hated the dreadful three worded nonsense she’s been repeating for a month now.

  Sandra Matthews put a whole new spin to the definition of ‘stalker’. She was relentless, strangely observant in a way that made me uncomfortable (which wasn’t a small fit) and definitely psychotic.

  I have no idea how she manages to keep contacting me even though I’ve blocked each number she’s used. It makes me think that her dumb asshole brothers are somehow involved in this shit show.

  If that’s not it, then her spidey abilities allow her to do whatever the hell she wants because she manages to keep texting anyway, calling at odd hours of the night, sending nudes of herself and trashy poetry that doesn’t make an iota of sense and other rubbish I’ve chosen to ignore.

  “Why don’t you just change your number?” Liam questioned, with that duh look on his face.

  “Because of Aiden, shithead.”

  Our brother had managed to memorize my number years ago so he could call me in case of an emergency or if he just needed me. There’s no way in hell some bitch is going to make me change my number and make Aiden go through memorizing that new number.

  “Then you’re fucked,” he said, laughing at my ordeal with tears rolling down his cheeks after I recounted getting in my car after football practice only to find Sandra spread eagle on the backseat of my car, taking pictures that she said she was going to send me.

  Two things I didn’t want to do had to be d
one.

  I got rid of the car and two, I finally let her have it. All along, I had tried my best to be civil, but a line had to be drawn somewhere, so with one of my infamous cold, penetrating stares, I demanded that she get dressed and out of my damn car where I proceeded to tell her to fuck off, that she was desperate for a fuck she could get from just about anyone and that I didn’t want her.

  I knew people were watching.

  I could hear them laughing at her.

  I saw the tears welling in her eyes as she began to tremble. Did I give a damn? No.

  As far as I’m concerned, I had been nice to her by not throwing her out of my car the way I found her—though I had half a mind to do so and wouldn’t have blinked twice even if I followed through.

  I didn’t mind having a stalker. Actually, I think I do have a suitable, tiny, fiery-tongued, blue-eyed stalker, though she’d never admit that she watches me like I watch her. Always from the shadows though, from afar, afraid to get too close to the blazing inferno she set when she betrayed me.

  My phone buzzes again with a new text.

  Unknown: I love you so much, you’re my heart. You’re the only one who’s keeping me going.

  Followed closely by another one.

  Unknown: I know you love me too, run away with me.

  No, thanks.

  This girl is a psycho. She doesn’t need to get laid—by me or anyone else—she needs help. Like, real, professional help to set her straight, so she can at least get it through her thick skull that I don’t want her. Clearly she didn’t hear me last week.

  Don’t get it twisted, I do fuck. I could have fucked her and sent her packing or actually glanced at her with a dead once over like selecting fish at the market, either one would have been acceptable to a girl who didn’t have any self-respect.

  But my dick, for all intents and purposes, only ever seemed to work fully when a certain pair of aquamarine eyes that I hate stare right at me, which, unfortunately, was never as often as I liked.

  It’s been a thousand days, five hours, and ten minutes since I kissed Mia and a thousand days, five hours, and eight minutes since she immediately turned her back on me and used that tongue for her other high quality skill; setting shit on fire, i.e, my fucked up world, which includes and is indeed limited to, my family’s best kept secret, Aiden.