by W Winters
Everyone lets me be… except for Seth King.
That has to be why I’m thinking of him like I am. All of the thoughts of what he’d do to me.
He doesn’t talk to me, really. He doesn’t do anything but walk me home. I didn’t ask him to and at first I didn’t want him there. I don’t need an audience for my grieving and no one owes me anything. Whether he knew my father or not. I told him just that, but it didn’t deter him and to be honest, a piece of me was grateful that there was someone there.
When the school bell rings and all my text books are swept up and safely zippered into my back pack, I know he’ll be there. Waiting for me as if he’s supposed to be there. He doesn’t even know me; not like that.
He doesn’t tell me he’ll be there, but I know when I walk out of the double back doors of the gym, feeling the cool autumn hair sweep my hair behind my neck, Seth will be standing at the edge of the parked cars. Which is directly in my walking path home.
Above everything else, the moment those doors swing open, l can hear his voice when he’s talking to one of his friends. Lately they’ve been there, surrounding him when I get out.
I know the crowd of his friends, although I had no idea they even knew my name until recently. Everyone knows them. They have a certain reputation.
They’re the boys who are trouble. I know Derek and all the things people say he does. Seth is their ring leader. That’s a good way to put it.
Before I’ve even taken a step out of the school building, I can hear Seth’s voice and most times, he glances through the people around him and sees me.
They usually disperse before I get there, but sometimes they’re still talking. Especially Derek, he doesn’t seem to get the hint like the others do.
I’m not the kind of girl to allow a man to tell me anything. Certainly not Seth. I listened though. Not a piece of me wanted to be alone on the way home. All the evidence of how low my life had gotten was waiting for me. So I let him. He stands right at the entrance to the field, where the gap in the fence was made so anyone living on the north side of town could walk through. Students like me.
I go to him; he walks me home. It’s as simple as that.
But last week, his crew was talking and I didn’t want to be a part of it. I didn’t need Seth to walk me home and I definitely didn’t need to wait around for him. I thought, I’m strong enough and I’ve had enough of Seth acting like my babysitter or whatever he thinks this is. I’m not one of them and I don’t need to be a burden.
I walked around Derek and Seth, not wanting to interrupt their conversation and not wanting to anticipate that he was waiting for me. Even though he’d been doing it every day; I wanted to make it clear that I didn’t assume it was going to last forever and, more importantly, that I didn’t need him to. I didn’t need his sympathy or whatever it was that convinced him he should be watching over me like he did.
After all, I barely know him. I know of him. It’s different. His crew is older and seniors. I’m only a sophomore.
Their father’s run the gang, if that’s what it’s called?, that my father was a part of.
I’m just the lonely girl Seth has to baby sit, I think. Maybe his father told him to do it, as a favor to my now dead father; I don’t know. I don’t care either.
So last week when I saw that their conversation wasn’t coming to an end, I decided, if he’s busy, I go about my business, refusing to be the inconvenience I knew I was.
Seth didn’t like it, though. He didn’t like me walking around them. He didn’t like that I didn’t wait.
I know that he didn’t because of the way he yelled out my name. It was deep and full of irritation. The little hairs at the back of my neck stood up and it wasn’t because of the chill that comes at the end of October.
I couldn’t even look over my shoulder at him. Instead I stood there, frozen, for only a moment, watching the tall grass woven between the posts of the white fence waving in the breeze. And then my right foot moved and my left. I kept my head down and continued forward.
He wasn’t the boss of me and he still hadn’t given me a reason he was doing all of this. I still don’t know for certain.
So I kept walking. None of them owe me anything. Regardless if they were close to my father or not. If they want to help because my Dad worked with them, they can send money or something, I’m sure my Grandmother could use the help with the bills.
At least that’s what my thought was, when I ignored him yelling after me.
Until his strong arm came from behind, wrapping around my lower belly. His forearm was solid against my hip and my back hit his chest.
“Wait for me, Babygirl,” he whispered although his tone was rough and demanding. Babygirl. The name is probably inconsequential to him. I bet he calls a lot of girls that three syllable nickname. It hit me hard though, like it meant more. It’s like a memory you can’t place. When it feels so familiar and comforting, but you don’t know why. That’s what his harshly spoken whisper, almost a reprimand, did to me. The girl I used to be, wouldn’t have tolerated it before. But that girl is long gone, and she took my will with her.
Seth’s breath was warm on my neck. It travelled lower even through the cold. His hand lingered, it had slipped through my cardigan and his thumb brushed the exposed skin there, as my shirt underneath rode up.
It was maybe a third of minute, all of twenty achingly long seconds of him standing next to me, his heat enveloping me. I swear he’s hotter than everyone else.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak and it’s then that I noticed the other guys, most certainly Derek, must be right behind me. I felt their presence. They followed too and they were close enough for me to hear although they whispered. The few students who walked around us stared. Great, I thought, now I’ve made a scene.
I heard Derek’s voice, that’s what made me turn around to face all of them, something about having a good night, but he said my name with it. Have a good night, Laura. That’s all it was. Derek’s first words to me, casual and seemingly innocuous.
I was going to say, you too, like a normal person, even if it was weird that he’d speak to me. He never had before. But when I turned, Seth was there, too close, and with a look in his eyes I didn’t care for. Concern, disappointment, maybe something else too when his gaze met mine.
It’s been 34 days since the first time he walked me home. I count because I’m waiting for it to end.
Only 22 of those 34 days he actually walked me home. 22 days of him by my side every step of the way after school. The weekends I’ve been alone to obsess over the change in events.
And 7 days since that day I can’t shake, when I disappointed him. When he called me Babygirl. It was last Thursday. And here I am, still wondering about it, replaying it and debating on where I should stand today if they’re talking again. I won’t walk off, because I don’t want him to look at me like that again.
It’s a foolish reason, but I know it to be true.
So all of this. This sexual tension between us, I know I’ve made it up in my mind. It’s embarrassing and I hate it. If there was anything at all between us, he would have made that clear. He doesn’t even speak to me apart from occasional niceties when we walk the fifteen minutes to my grandmother’s townhouse. Nothing. And if I know anything about Seth, if he wanted me in anyway, he would have been damn clear about that.
I’m just a girl who lost her father, and Seth is a boy who feels the need to make sure I’m okay because he knew my father. I’m sure that’s all this is. But my mind wants it to be more.
Setting my apple down on the rather full tray of food I probably won’t be able to stomach, I make a mistake and I look over at them. At the table of boys who are trouble at best, dangerous at worst.
I just miss making eye contact with Seth’s right hand man, literally sitting to his right. Derek’s good looking; I get a glimpse of him first before cowardly looking back down at my tray. He has the same dark brown hair as Seth does, but his is lo
nger, swept to the side. He actually styles his hair. Seth’s is shorter, but still long at the top. Long enough to barely grip maybe, but not much longer than that. Short enough not to have to style.
I’ve been doing that recently; I think with a touch of humor as I tap the plastic fork on the tray. I’ve been comparing every man I see to Seth. I always come to the same conclusion: they can’t light a match to Seth.
It’s his eyes though and his dominating air around him that draws me into Seth. The piercing blue gaze, the broad shoulders and that strong jaw line. Everything about him radiates power and sex appeal.
One more glance, just one, and I drink him in. Even though Seth’s not overly muscular, he’s toned and has enough of an etched lining of muscle that anyone who sees him knows he works out, or rather, that he could hurt them easily enough. It’s what keeps his jaw sharp I think. It’s a clean line, severe like his gaze can be.
Apart from that, he’s charming, classically handsome. When he smiles, God when he smiles, I inwardly sigh, his pale blue eyes brighten, shining with humor, and his cheeks soften in a way that makes him more than approachable.
He doesn’t smile much, though. Not recently.
I peek up, trying to disguise my curiosity as just coincidence that I’m looking his way again to see if he’s smiling now.
My breath is stolen when our eyes lock and my heart does a weird thud, maybe it’s pretending to be dead just like I am. To no longer exist since he caught me in the act of daring to look his way.
Fuck, I’m shit at this. I’ve never been a good liar and I don’t hide a damn thing well. I can’t look away though, not when he’s still staring back at me. I’m caught, literally and figuratively, stuck right where I am, feeling my skin tingle and my cheeks burn.
My heart’s caught too.
It only beats again, when he nods to the right, his head tilted, almost unperceivably, motioning with it to come to him.
I can see myself doing it, walking over to him. I’d leave my tray though, there isn’t a place for me. There isn’t room there. What would I do? Stand there like an imbecile waiting for his next demand? I’m foolish enough as it is.
What if when I got there, he hadn’t called me over. What if all of it is all in my head?
I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking by just looking at me. I think he does because the corners of his mouth slip down as my lips part. As if I’d spoken the excuse. As if he could hear it from all the way over there.
“Hey,” the word comes with the short clank of a tray hitting the cheap table. It jostles as Cami sits, her blonde hair bouncing with tight curls as she tells me, “Sorry I’m late, fucking algebra.” Picking up her apple she asks me, “You doing alright? You look a little flushed.”
Emotions swarm up my chest and my cheeks heat even more. “Fine,” I answer her without looking in her eyes and refusing to look Seth’s way again. “I’m fine.”
I hate lying, but I’d rather do that than admit how irrefutably not fine I really am.
Seth
Derek shuts his steel locker door and it bangs louder than it should. I don’t care; I keep the back of my head resting on the cool metal of the lockers and stare down the hall at room 4W with my hands in my pockets. I’ve never had a class in that room, but Laura has two of them every day in 4W.
“You really that pissed over her not coming to sit with you?” Derek sounds exasperated and I turn back to him, not bothering to move even though the warning bell rings. The halls are far from vacant, I have plenty of time to get to the other wing of the school.
“She doesn’t listen,” I bite out the complaint lowly, although there’s not much emotion in my comment. Laura Roth has a bad habit of doing what she wants, when she wants. And the bottom line is that she doesn’t want me. Which is best, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want her.
“She’s mourning,” he reminds me and I give him a glare that would shut anyone else up. “You don’t have to remind me.” I don’t hide the anger in my tone as I make my way passed him and down the corridor. I have nearly every class with Derek. Thank fuck. I don’t know how I’d get through the day without him there. I’m not a scholar, I’m not book smarts. With the life I lead, none of the curriculum taught within these walls means a damn thing.
“Get to class you two,” Miss Talbot calls out to a couple, kissing in the corner. She’s a nice enough lady, married with kids of her own in college. Even her reprimand to those students sounds motherly. Her voice carries over to us as does her gaze and the moment she sees us, her lips slam shut. She visibly pales and looks to her right, clapping and telling someone else, apparently his name is Steven, that he can’t be late again. She doesn’t say shit to me or Derek. No one does anymore.
Teachers like her are simply counting the days until we’re gone and they don’t have to deal with us. I don’t blame her. I don’t blame any of them. I get it now, more than ever. Quite frankly, I’ve been counting the days for years.
“I’m just saying,” Derek speaks beneath his breath, “She’s not trying to be a problem, she’s just out of it.” My gaze narrows as I take my friend in. We’re nearly the same height, but I’m still just a hair taller than him.
“Who said she was a problem?”
“Cut it the fuck out. You know what I mean.” The last student in front of us shuts her locker and practically runs with two thick text books in her arms. Derek gives her a tight smile, that she returns with a blush and a sped up pace to get by us. “You’re getting all pissed off because she didn’t come over to sit at the table, but why would she? She makes it obvious she’d rather be alone.” He continues, and the two us stand outside of our class room sooner than I’d like. The door is still open and Derek places his shoe deliberately against it, keeping it open. “You’re letting her get to you. … that’s a problem whether you want to admit it or not.”
I catch Mr. Chasting’s, our English teacher, gaze and he stares back at me, before looking back at his notebook and greeting the class. Not bothering to say a word to the two of us. He knows we’ll come in, sit down, and deal with this last year just like he deals with us. Quietly, causing as few problems as possible and simply sliding by until we can walk across the stage and everyone can be done with this charade.
My response to him is firm. “She’s not a problem and it’s not a problem.”
“You’re right,” he agrees with me, catching me off guard. “You’re the one with the problem. She’s just a sweet girl you can’t seem to leave alone.”
“You know why.”
“I do and I think it’s fucked. My advice?” he offers although I don’t want it. “Let it be,” he hisses and I look over his shoulder to see a girl watching us from inside the class. I think her name is Sandra or maybe Susan. She’s quick to avert her eyes and pretend like she wasn’t trying to listen.
I barely react to Derek’s comments. I’ve heard it all before. I know how he feels and I don’t give a shit. I can’t stay away from her. I’m just walking her home. That’s it. I owe her that at least.
“You’ve made your opinion known,” I remind him, turning around to lean my back against the wall outside of the class room. Seems like I need anything and everything to hold me up lately. It’s fucking draining, dealing with all the shit that’s gone down.
Derek sighs audibly, as if I’m the worst thing he has to deal with. God knows that’s not the case. Letting the door go, he stands beside me. The door shuts softly with a click and it’s quiet for a moment before a resounding bell rings through the hall.
Now we’re late. No one cares, though.
“I’m just saying,” he continues. “She lost someone and maybe you should just leave her alone.”
“Everyone lost someone.” The words are lost in the vacant hall. “Including me,” I turn to look Derek in the eyes. Slipping his hands into his pocket, he nods solemnly. “I haven’t forgotten,” he answers.
“It’s all different now, and if I want to deal with it this way, I
need you to back it up.” I feel tense and unsure, knowing everything has changed and I need Derek there. I won’t survive without him.
“I back you on everything, but you’re supposed to trust me, and you know that means telling you when I think something’s fucked.”
A thin smirk graces my lips but it comes with a humorless huff of a laugh that sounds sick to my ears. “Everything’s fucked.” The past weekend was the hardest and the only bright light I had was knowing, come Monday, I’d have Laura to look out for again. Even if for only a moment.
I can hear him swallow thickly, and it’s quiet for a moment.
“People mourn differently, yeah?” I ask him, although it’s rhetoric. They’re his own words given back to him. Words he gave me when we stood over the ashes this past weekend.
His sneaker kicks against the cheap linoleum floors and I feel like a prick. “Sorry, I’m just being a dick now.” I tell him and close my eyes, pushing down the pain of the brutal truth we’ve been hiding.
“No, you’re right.” He brushes it off but his voice is tight. “I like the way I handle it better.”
“We should get to class,” I speak when neither of us says anything for a long moment. His words stop me from moving more than inch though.
“We’re all dealing differently and when the news breaks, I know it’ll be easier in some ways.” I hate that he’s talking about it at all. We made a pact, not to say anything. A cold prick travels over my skin. Starting at the back of my neck and working its way down slowly. My hands form into fists and press the right one against the wall, letting my knuckles turn white.
The story is that our Dad’s took off and we didn’t want to file a report. We don’t need the police getting involved. Death is a part of this life. So is getting even.
I don’t look at him when I speak. “It will get easier,” I answer him, feeling my throat get so tight the words almost don’t make it. “This is what we signed up for. We knew what we were doing.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince anymore.
