Very Wicked Things
Page 19
“Say something, Dovey. You’re distracted as fuck and if it has to do with him—”
“Just stop. Stop saying his name. Please,” I said, my fingers twisting the napkin on the table.
He groaned and threw his hands up. “I’m right sick of you moping over him. Just learn to trust somebody else.”
“I’m not moping. I’m fine.” I hadn’t been fine in a year.
He barked out a laugh, but it sounded humorless. “Why won’t you give anyone else a chance, then?”
“I went out with Jacques.”
He waved his hands, dismissing me. “You used him. I mean a real relationship.”
“Like with you?”
“Why not me?” he stated earnestly, some of his earlier irritation fading. “I’m your friend. I care for you. And maybe I’ve only been going through every girl here, waiting until you noticed me. Maybe I’ve decided to risk it. Go big or go home, right?”
I blinked, struck speechless. One part of me wanted to explore the possibility of us because I was attracted to him—how could I not be?—but the other side didn’t trust him with my heart. Hell no. Not with the way he treated his girlfriends.
Because he was just like Cuba.
“You mean the world to me,” I said. And he did. Without him, I was basically friendless.
“But?” Spider asked.
“I—”
Cuba sauntered by, his long legs encased in low slung jeans, his impossibly broad shoulders stealing my gaze. His roses and thorns tattoo peeked from under the sleeve of his shirt, and my mouth got dry, remembering those biceps and how tight they’d held me. Why did he have to be so beautiful? My eyes searched his face, looking, waiting, yearning for him to see me.
But his head never turned in my direction.
“Fuck you,” Spider said to me in a low tone, his face reddening.
I flinched, my eyes back on Spider. “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand, but he jerked away, snapping out of his seat.
“And that’s my answer.” Giving me a grim look, he walked out of the cafeteria.
I felt hurt by how fast he left me. But then anything to do with Cuba had always pushed Spider’s buttons.
I got up and took the remains of our lunches to the trash. As I passed the jock table, my eyes sought Cuba. As usual.
He was back at his seat, sunglasses off, staring down into his uneaten lunch while Sebastian and crew talked around him. Perhaps feeling my gaze, he lifted his head and our stares connected. I didn’t know what I’d see there, maybe left-over anger from this morning, but not the hopelessness he allowed me to see now. I’d seen a similar expression this morning at his locker, but the emotion I now read in his eyes clawed at my chest.
And in the face of his desolation, a trickle of truth came to me.
It all made sense.
It dawned on me the ugly thing I’d failed to see.
Today was the day his mother had killed herself.
Caving in to the inevitable, I moved toward him, my feet pointing his way, being drawn like a magnet in his direction. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. That I understood his darkness today. I’d lost my own mother to pills and alcohol when I was ten.
He stiffened at my approach, his gaze hurriedly dropping mine. I winced and waited for him to look back up, but who was I kidding? He’d never needed me.
Even in his darkest moment last year, he’d rejected me.
Emma tugged on his arm, and he turned to her, a fake smile on his face.
I had to turn away.
“Lie until it becomes the truth.”
–Cuba
STROKE, BREATHE, STROKE, breathe.
I swam in the Olympic-sized swimming pool inside the athletic center after class. Football was officially over, but I continued to work hard at keeping in shape. There’s something about pushing myself with exercise that numbs me out and makes me forget. And I’d gotten addicted to the high of powering through exhaustion. Conditioned by years of sports, my body was my machine and the only thing I had real control over.
Everything else was a crap shoot, especially my personal life.
My arms sliced into the water in a perfect rhythm, reminding me of Dovey and how she danced. The first time I’d seen her dance had been through the huge windows of the Symthe Arts Building where she practiced. It’s not surprising since the building sat adjacent to the football field.
One day, during football practice while I was supposed to be covering the line of scrimmage, I got distracted by her short skirt and long legs when they flashed by the window. I came to a dead stop when I saw her do this flying jump thing through the air. Next thing I knew, I’d woken up, stretched out on the field.
The concussion had been worth it.
After that, I’d noticed her more and more. Out in the quad, in class, in the cafeteria, in the library. Where ever she was, my eyes had found her. And when we’d both gotten placed in the same history block together, I’d sat behind her and began my campaign to get her notch on my bedpost. And in the end, she’d been like all the rest, unable to resist me.
But I didn’t want her now.
And I’d nailed it home today with my mean words.
But then why did I hurt so much now, when I’d been able to stave it off for a year.
But, I think I knew what was going on with me.
Something had shifted in me today at our lockers. Something had clicked or been turned on or whatever. I was feeling more. It was as if I was finally waking up after being submerged in water for a year. Drowning my feelings had been comfortable, and I wanted it back.
“Just stop. Stop saying his name. Please,” I said, my fingers twisting the napkin on the table.
He groaned and threw his hands up. “I’m right sick of you moping over him. Just learn to trust somebody else.”
“I’m not moping. I’m fine.” I hadn’t been fine in a year.
He barked out a laugh, but it sounded humorless. “Why won’t you give anyone else a chance, then?”
“I went out with Jacques.”
He waved his hands, dismissing me. “You used him. I mean a real relationship.”
“Like with you?”
“Why not me?” he stated earnestly, some of his earlier irritation fading. “I’m your friend. I care for you. And maybe I’ve only been going through every girl here, waiting until you noticed me. Maybe I’ve decided to risk it. Go big or go home, right?”
I blinked, struck speechless. One part of me wanted to explore the possibility of us because I was attracted to him—how could I not be?—but the other side didn’t trust him with my heart. Hell no. Not with the way he treated his girlfriends.
Because he was just like Cuba.
“You mean the world to me,” I said. And he did. Without him, I was basically friendless.
“But?” Spider asked.
“I—”
Cuba sauntered by, his long legs encased in low slung jeans, his impossibly broad shoulders stealing my gaze. His roses and thorns tattoo peeked from under the sleeve of his shirt, and my mouth got dry, remembering those biceps and how tight they’d held me. Why did he have to be so beautiful? My eyes searched his face, looking, waiting, yearning for him to see me.
But his head never turned in my direction.
“Fuck you,” Spider said to me in a low tone, his face reddening.
I flinched, my eyes back on Spider. “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand, but he jerked away, snapping out of his seat.
“And that’s my answer.” Giving me a grim look, he walked out of the cafeteria.
I felt hurt by how fast he left me. But then anything to do with Cuba had always pushed Spider’s buttons.
I got up and took the remains of our lunches to the trash. As I passed the jock table, my eyes sought Cuba. As usual.
He was back at his seat, sunglasses off, staring down into his uneaten lunch while Sebastian and crew talked around him. Perhaps feeling my gaze, he lifted his head and our stares connected. I didn’t know what I’d see there, maybe left-over anger from this morning, but not the hopelessness he allowed me to see now. I’d seen a similar expression this morning at his locker, but the emotion I now read in his eyes clawed at my chest.
And in the face of his desolation, a trickle of truth came to me.
It all made sense.
It dawned on me the ugly thing I’d failed to see.
Today was the day his mother had killed herself.
Caving in to the inevitable, I moved toward him, my feet pointing his way, being drawn like a magnet in his direction. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. That I understood his darkness today. I’d lost my own mother to pills and alcohol when I was ten.
He stiffened at my approach, his gaze hurriedly dropping mine. I winced and waited for him to look back up, but who was I kidding? He’d never needed me.
Even in his darkest moment last year, he’d rejected me.
Emma tugged on his arm, and he turned to her, a fake smile on his face.
I had to turn away.
“Lie until it becomes the truth.”
–Cuba
STROKE, BREATHE, STROKE, breathe.
I swam in the Olympic-sized swimming pool inside the athletic center after class. Football was officially over, but I continued to work hard at keeping in shape. There’s something about pushing myself with exercise that numbs me out and makes me forget. And I’d gotten addicted to the high of powering through exhaustion. Conditioned by years of sports, my body was my machine and the only thing I had real control over.
Everything else was a crap shoot, especially my personal life.
My arms sliced into the water in a perfect rhythm, reminding me of Dovey and how she danced. The first time I’d seen her dance had been through the huge windows of the Symthe Arts Building where she practiced. It’s not surprising since the building sat adjacent to the football field.
One day, during football practice while I was supposed to be covering the line of scrimmage, I got distracted by her short skirt and long legs when they flashed by the window. I came to a dead stop when I saw her do this flying jump thing through the air. Next thing I knew, I’d woken up, stretched out on the field.
The concussion had been worth it.
After that, I’d noticed her more and more. Out in the quad, in class, in the cafeteria, in the library. Where ever she was, my eyes had found her. And when we’d both gotten placed in the same history block together, I’d sat behind her and began my campaign to get her notch on my bedpost. And in the end, she’d been like all the rest, unable to resist me.
But I didn’t want her now.
And I’d nailed it home today with my mean words.
But then why did I hurt so much now, when I’d been able to stave it off for a year.
But, I think I knew what was going on with me.
Something had shifted in me today at our lockers. Something had clicked or been turned on or whatever. I was feeling more. It was as if I was finally waking up after being submerged in water for a year. Drowning my feelings had been comfortable, and I wanted it back.
