But even knowing all that shit and how talented her wicked tongue is, I can’t seem to shake her. It’s like she got under my skin somehow.
The truly fucked up thing is, I don’t want her to go anywhere. I want her to stay where she was born to be, right under me.
Of course, I prefer to hear her scream and gasp my name while she’s under me, looking up at me like she did when I kissed her that first time, but we have all the time in the world to put her in her place.
I’ve had my hands full with taking care of Aiden, keeping Liam out of trouble and trying to abate my anger but fuck, I need to deal with her. I want to talk to her, I want to see the look on her face when I touch her, when I kiss her and remind her that she’ still on my shit list. Which is why tonight is the night to stop all this shit.
Mia invades my mind when I don’t want her to, causing all sorts of havoc in there. I hate that she fucks with my concentration, especially when I could use the energy and time thinking about far more important shit than her, like looking out for my brothers in this crumbling house, littered with landmines and two people who should’ve never been parents to begin with.
“Where’s Aiden?” I question my mom when I get downstairs. She’s on her phone, shopping bags around her. She just got in then. “I don’t know.”
She never knows anything about Aiden.
“Have you seen him today?” I grit out, my fists clenched so tight as I stare at the impassive look on her face.
She shrugs a careless shoulder. “I’ll check on him later.”
“Don’t bother,” Dad says as he passes the room, going to his office. The fuck. It takes effort to hold my tongue and turn around so I can look for Aiden before I leave for the game. I find my brother in the sunroom at the back of the house, with his nurse helping him eat.
“Hey buddy,” I call as I enter the room so as not to scare him. He looks up, a big smile on his face.
“It’s game night, right?” Aiden questions, his eyes bright with excitement making me smile.
“Yeah, buddy.” Tonight, we put Clintwood Academy on notice. “Tonight’s the night.”
“May I come too?” His eyes widen with a bit of desperation that tugs at the faulty thing that heaves in my chest.
I crouch down before him, making sure not to disturb the IV in his arm that seems to be killing him faster than the fucking blood cancer. I touch his arm, noticing the one of the many small scars that cover his body. The back of my mind tingles, as if an elusive memory is telling me that I already know but for the life of me, I have no idea how this happened to my brother.
I would ask him again, but each time I do, he gets agitated to the point where I can’t calm him down. I need to find out what happened to him. These didn’t just happen.
“Come on, buddy, we talked about this.” I feel like shit, refusing him like this. It’s not like before when the world didn’t know he existed—Mia took care of that—it’s that, he’s sick and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. I need him to stay here where he’s somewhat safe.
“But I feel so much better tonight. I didn’t throw up and I finished my food, ask Lilo.”
Lilo, the name Aiden calls Liam probably because of that shitty cartoon they watch when one of them can’t sleep. (I try not to judge, most of the time.)
“I know you did, buddy.”
“So why can’t I go?” Aiden’s voice drops to a low pitch, the light in his eyes dimming just a little bit. Fuck, I hate this. It would mean the fucking world to me if he came to watch me play but I can’t put him in danger.
“Well, because the stadium is full of crazy, loud, and sweaty people,” Cole says, walking into the room, almost bouncing with energy, obviously ready for the game.
“Cole!” Aiden exclaims excitedly, that hero worship he always reserves for my best friend bright in his eyes. I roll my fucking eyes, making Cole’s grin even wider.
Not this shit again.
“Hey buddy,” Cole says, practically pushing me out of the way as he passes the last game ball into Aiden’s lap. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Is it from the last game?”
“Yup, I couldn’t trust his royal pain in the toosh to give it to you,” he says, pointing at me, making Aiden laugh. “So, special delivery for you.”
“Gee, thanks Cole! You’re the best.”
Am I suddenly invisible or something? Cole grins, then ruffles Aiden’s hair. “Now, you be good, okay? We’ll be partying with you after the game.”
“You will?” Aiden practically jumps up and down in his wheelchair, glancing at me for something. Reluctantly, I nod, letting him know that we will in fact, be here tonight. After I get to Mia of course.
“Sure, that is, if you’re good.”
“I will!” My heart stops when I see the smile on his face. It’s so big, transforming his face from sick to full of life in an instant. Even his eyes sparkle.
Oh God, please don’t let this be one of the last smiles I’ll ever get from my older brother. But fuck, I know better than to hope on a prayer that I know will probably go unanswered. God is almost always busy with other people.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I stand up and fish it out and there’s another text, this one raising the hairs on my arm as I read it.
Unknown: JULIAN, I LOVE YOU. I NEED TO SEE YOU TONIGHT OR ELSE.
As always, I delete that shit without a second thought. I don’t need this shit before a game.
“Let’s go! It’s time to school those irrelevant suckers!” Liam shouts, as adrenaline and something else entirely different—superiority—courses through my veins. We’re the best and we know it and tonight, we’ll make sure Clintwood knows it again and again.
“Fuck man, you look ready to demolish,” Cole says when we get to our school.
We could have gone to Clintwood directly, but because our team does everything with finesse and swag that would make anyone and their grandmother weep with jealousy, we get into our cars, doing the whole Rebel Saints motorcade thing, everyone following after the Cole’s car with the school bus at the end. It was a pride thing.
He isn’t wrong. I’m ready to play on my Little Minx’s turf and show her that I’m the motherfucking best.
That there’ll never be anyone like me.
That I fucking claimed her, and she’ll never escape me.
I need to remind her that she’s going to face her consequences soon. I mean, I’ve had about two weeks to stew over her kissing my brother at that party and fuck my life, each time I close my eyes, I still see her kissing him.
She needs to learn boundaries and I’m the right teacher I speak her bitchy, ice cold language fluently.
“I’m fucking ready.”
* * *
I sense her penetrating gaze on my back the entire time. It’s crazy to know someone’s gaze like that, but with Mia, it’s like I can feel it when she’s looking at me.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve felt her watching me before. In all those times, I pretended not to notice, but I did. I’ve watched her in secret as well, it almost feels like dirty voyeurism at this point.
Is she thinking of me as I demolish these fuckers? Is she wet for me as much as I’m fucking aroused? Is she imagining how my body moves like I sometimes sneak into her ballet rehearsal just to watch her dance? Fuck, I’m working myself up.
The fact that she’s sitting in the bleachers close to our team’s bench isn’t making the situation any better. She’s sitting there like the Ice Queen she is, surrounded by her school’s elite squad. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she looks unaffected but I know better. I’ve seen that look in her eyes before, and I can see how pale her beautiful face is and I smirk when our gaze connects again for the tenth time since the game started, sure that she can tell that I’m practically decimating her in my head.
Are you scared of me, baby? Can you feel the danger in the air tonight? Good.
I play like I have something to prove, sacki
ng sub-par Clintwood players like it’s nothing. The atmosphere in the stadium is almost electric, making the blood in my veins rush as my adrenaline spikes to an all new high.
High on this game, high on showing off in front of her.
High on her.
Fuck this slow-burn revenge thing, tonight is the night. I need to taste her again, to feel her shudder against me again. I need to shatter that ice-cold heart and show her that my monster is bigger and meaner than hers.
Simply put, the asshole in me is demanding that I deal with her, to do something to get her out of my damn head because fuck me, obsessing over her is annoying at this point. Like a slow throb at my side that’s only intensifies with each day that passes.
“Your game is weak, asshole?” someone says, shoulder checking me. I freeze in my tracks, sparks of anger igniting in me, searing down my back.
I turn around to look at the asshole, who’s just begging for another face rearrangement.
“Walk away,” I grit out, giving him a withering, yet dismissive look that makes his face cloud with anger, making his crooked nose that I broke the last time I gave him said face rearrangement, much more prominent, sticking out of his helmet like fucking Pinocchio. Which was an insult to the lying kid.
“Nah, this is my fucking field, my turf, it’s all fucking mine,” he growls like a fucking dog with rabies. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
A deadly silence falls over the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I see my teammates all look in my direction, waiting with bated breath to see how I respond—including the asshole who’s begging for a beat down.
I take a step toward him and watch in grim satisfaction as he tenses up, but his eyes harden. And yet, he looks like he’s pleased at my reaction, like he was waiting for this, pissing me off.
See, there’s something about Sean Matthews that turns my stomach. It’s like he has a few screws loose in his head and I have a gut feeling that he wouldn’t mind breaking every fucking law known to men just to fuck a person up and since I pissed all over him our freshman year, ridiculed him and made him feel fucking inferior ever since, he’s been itching to get at me.
I hate the predatory look he has in his eyes right now, like there’s something he’s planning. Something particular sinister, just for me.
He was a douchebag sure, but he was calculated, provocative fucking psycho junkie. The whole family was screwed up like a bunch of juvenile inbreds.
“Walk the fuck away before I give you something to shit your fucking pants about,” I grit out, feeling the violent rush of blood in my veins.
“Or else what?” he taunts, a sickening smile on his face.
“Go beg your daddy to get his hooves off your peanut balls, Matthews,” I mutter, watching as he gets even angrier. “You look a little pressed.”
He steps closer to me and a murmur rises from the crowd, everyone feeling the tension in the air, the taste of violence hanging over us like a cloud.
“I’ll fuck you up, right here, right now, Fitz!” he growls menacingly. I just stand there looking bored, daring him to get on with it. “I’ll fuck you up!”
“What’s stopping you?” I question, my voice almost hypnotic, too soft, too low, a dangerous note there that makes my best friend run to us, getting between Matthews and me.
“Okay, Undertaker,” Cole shouts, pushing me back but staring at Matthews. “We know you’re itching for a fight, but not here.”
Matthews opens his mouth to say something, but Cole ignores him, turning around to look at me, He grabs the front of my helmet, and stares me in the eye.
“Not. Here,” he growls so low, no one else hears him.
I knew why he was saying that. College scouts were in the stands. Misconduct isn’t something D1 schools like in their players and well, there’s no way I’m going to let an asshole like Matthews ruin that for Cole and me.
“Nah, let’s sort it out right now, unless you’re too much of a pussy, Fitzgerald!”
“Fuck off, Matthews!” Liam with a careless chuckle, aiming to ridicule him. As always, my brother succeeds.
“Oh, look who just joined the Zoom call,” the younger Matthews brother starts, coming to a stop beside his brother, but I don’t bother with him.
“Fuck off, douchebag, go suck your brother’s kindergarten pencil sized dick,” Liam says with a yawn.
All hell breaks loose after that. The rivalry between St. Jude and Clintwood has always been intense but this right here, this is more. More hate. More anger. More show of testosterone, but I silently stare at Sean, sizing him up, feeling the blood in my veins turn cold.
We stare at each other, the tension mounting. Both teams start crowding around us, but I don’t look away from him.
The refs blow the whistle continuously. Assistant coaches run onto the field to break the mounting commotion. Players shove each other. Insults are hurled from one team to the other and back. It’s stupid, but I just stand there, Cole standing beside me, both of us watching Sean.
There’s something about him…
“I know what you did to her,” he growls, his voice carrying over the commotion.
Her? Ah, the stalker sister.
“You mean your crazy ass sister?” Cole deadpans.
“She told me what you did.”
I have no doubt that she spun some shit about me, most likely that I hurt her and now this? Fuck that.
“I would never touch your sister with a ten-foot pole, now fuck off!” I go to turn away, done with this bullshit of giving him a show, but the threat in his voice stops me when he speaks again.
“You’re going to get what’s coming for you! You should’ve stayed away from her!”
I turn back around to look at him. “Is that a threat, asshole?”
He cracks his neck from left to right, a great show of intimidation that doesn’t work at all. I take a step closer to him, then drop my voice.
“Because I fucking promise you, shithead, against me and mine, you’ll live to regret it.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but the ref comes between us and blows his whistle in his face.
I can see the violence in his eyes, I know he’s itching for blood.
Coach runs on the field, a thunderous look on his face. “If you want to fight, take it to some seedy underground ring, not on this fucking field,” he curses. “Play ball.”
And as I walk away from him, with coach dragging me by my helmet, I know one thing for sure.
Tonight, really is the night.
We win the game 54-6. We practically sacked them. Everyone is on a high and I know Liam and his buddies are throwing a party—it was inevitable obviously.
“Did you see the look he gave you?” Cole says, his voice low as we change at the back of the state-of-the-art visitors’ locker room. I don’t need to ask what he’s talking about. I already know. “Is that girl still stalking you?”
I glance at my best friend, not saying a word and he chuckles. “Guess that’s my answer.”
“You saw the look on his face. He wants bloodshed,” I mutter, staring ahead, not bothered at all. “He’s going to get it.”
The locker room is empty when Cole and I are done, everyone’s already gone to the celebratory, St. Jude style, party. “Think he’ll try something here?”
“Doubt it,” I say. When we get to the almost empty parking lot, I see Sean there, with his asshole friends surrounding his car.
“The Devil’s Track,” he calls out. “You and me. Right now. No audience. No bullshit.”
Oh, there will be bullshit, all right. I’d be a fool to trust the horse shit that comes out of his mouth.
But, I’m no coward or a punk, so I nod, agreeing to his challenge and watch as he smirks, looking like he’s got a few dirty tricks up his starchy, bleached down sleeve.
Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I actually want to fuck him up. I want to hurt him for getting in the way of my plans with Mia, who by the time the game was o
ver, wasn’t in her seat anymore, definitely running away like she always does.
Cole sighs. “I fucking hate that asshole. He gives me the creeps.”
I stare at Shane from across the lot and nod, making him grin. He gets in his car then and drives out the lot, heading for the tracks, obviously.
“Well, he thinks that’s a head start,” I mutter, making Cole chuckle.
“Well, that’s his funeral,” he says. “Follow you there?”
“Yeah,” I say, but when I start walking toward the only two cars left in the lot, I hear something, a groan. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, man?” Cole says, typing on his phone. But I hear it again, a whispered groan. I look up, trying to see where it’s coming from.
“A voice,” I say as dread sinks into my back, running down my spine until I freeze like a deer caught in headlights. “Listen to that.”
Cole deadpans, looking at me. “Are you saying you’re hearing from a ghost now? Because ghosts are some stupid shit and if it’s Jesus, we would both know.”
“Julian, I love you,” the voice says, now louder.
Cole and I look up at the same time only to see a shadowy, hooded slim figure walking over to us. It’s definitely a girl and as she walks over to us, that sinking suspicion on who she is blares in my head like a siren.
Speechless, Cole and I watch as she ambles her way over to us.
She’s looking at me with dead eyes, sunken in her pale face but there’s a cold, cutting smile on her face that freezes the blood in my veins.
No…
“Jesus,” Cole whispers.
That’s when I see the blood streaming down her fingers, dripping down on the ground. As if from an out of body experience, I follow the trail of blood, trying to locate where it’s coming from. Her arms are dangling at her sides like she dislocated her shoulders and her wrists are slashed open, where the blood is gushing from.
Holy shit.
“Do you love me, Julian?” Sandra croaks, the cold, almost inhumane smile on her face making my stomach turn.
Cruel Kisses: It’s Just High School #2 Page 20