Rules

by Doe, Anna B.

  “Fine.”

  To onlookers, we probably look like a pair of difficult five-years-olds. But I refuse to give in. It’s not just because it’s her—although I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t intrigue me—but it’s something I’d do for any girl. The world is full of douchebags ready to strike at any moment, and nobody’s going to get hurt because I couldn’t take ten minutes to get them home safely.

  Falling in step behind her, I walk her home. Because of course, she didn’t plan to take the bus in the first place. Stubborn as a mule, that one. I keep a healthy distance between us, knowing that we’ll get into another fight if I come any closer, and I was done with fighting for tonight. I wasn’t lying when I said earlier that my head is hurting. The steady throb is still present behind my temples.

  Brook tries to ignore me. She probably thought I’d give up after a while, but not a chance. I feel her lingering stares every now and then, usually when she’s turning a corner, so it looks accidental in case I do catch her looking at me.

  But I see them.

  Just like I see her.

  We walk silently for a bit.

  Noisy, wide, bright streets slowly narrow down, growing darker and quieter as we move. Lights are dimmer, placed further apart. People here hang out in smaller crowds, all looking around wearily.

  Buildings are rundown. What were once stores are either closed or in such bad condition they should be. Houses are smaller, built so close you can probably peek in your neighbor’s living room if you look through the window. Yards neglected.

  I swallow hard, feeling out of place. And although it doesn’t change a thing, I understand why Brook didn’t want me to bring her home.

  Even though my clothes are neutral—black jeans and shirt, leather jacket and Doc Martens—I stand out. My black Ducati wouldn’t help much to blend in. Not on the streets where rusty, fifteen-plus-year-old beatdown cars predominate.

  Finally, after more than half an hour walking, Brook stops in front of a building. Just another one in a row of once-upon-a-time white that is now a gray building with color peeling down. Balcony railings are rusted, and I’m sure I can see more than a couple of broken windows repaired with duct tape.

  She tilts her head to the side, and I take a moment to get my fill. The mass of light brown hair pulled in a high ponytail with bangs covering her forehead. Slightly wavy and natural with a few strands falling out and cupping her oblong face. Her green eyes are deep set, surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes. Her skin is pale, and there is a dust of barely visible freckles covering her nose and cheeks. And then there are her lips, pouty and pink. Lips that beg to be kissed.

  Devoured.

  Whatever she wanted to do or say, she thinks better of it. Turning her back to me, she walks into the building without a word.

  Leaning against the nearby tree, I wait for a while to see if maybe she comes back, but when she doesn’t, I call it a night and go back.

  Through the narrow, dark streets with creepy people lingering, I walk back into the light of what I know.

  Away from Brook’s world and back into mine.

  But even though I’m away, I can’t stop thinking, can’t stop wondering…

  How does she do it?

  How does she survive treading on the line between darkness and light and still stay sane?

  Chapter Eight

  BROOK

  NOW

  My heart beats faster inside my chest, my skin tingling in awareness, as I walk down the quiet, dark roads, my head burrowed in the thick wool scarf around my neck.

  He’s following me. Again. I’ve known it for a while but haven’t done anything to address it. Haven’t shown in any way that I know.

  I probably should have done something as soon as I realized what he was doing, but I guess I’m a sucker for punishment.

  I’m not even sure how long he’s been doing it. Since the beginning? I knew it was a bad idea to let him follow me home after we finished our first study session, but it was either that or let him drive me—I’m not fooling myself into thinking I ever stood a chance to go home by myself. When Max puts something into that thick head of his, he sticks with it—and at the time, having him follow behind me seemed like the lesser of two evils. Right now though? I’m not so sure.

  Then, one night when I was getting back home from work, I felt somebody watching me. It’s a strange sensation, just a prickle of awareness at the base of your neck. So I started paying more attention to my surroundings while trying to seem as unfazed as possible so as not to give it away. When you live in my part of town, you get used to keeping all your senses open. Always looking over your shoulder, but careful enough so that other people don’t notice you doing it.

  He was good; I’ll give him that. It took me a while to realize it was him, but when I did, I was furious. I was so close to turning around and letting him know what I thought of him and his stalker ways, but at the last moment, I changed my mind. I wanted to see how long he’d pull it off.

  And now, weeks later, here we are.

  I thought he’d give it up by now. That he’d get me home safely a few times and placate his hero complex or whatever the hell he needed to placate and then he’d stop doing it. Obviously, I underestimated him because he still follows me. And lately more than usual.

  Slowing my steps as I near my building, I debate on what to do. I couldn’t continue this way, not after everything that has happened. That’s one of the main reasons I stay away in school, keeping to the library or art studio when I’m not in class. I can’t be next to him.

  Yet, here I am.

  Letting him follow me. Pretending I don’t know so I can have at least one tiny part of him for myself.

  Glutton for punishment, that’s what I am.

  But there is only so much one can take before it all becomes too much.

  I stop in front of the stairs. Tilting my head back, I look at the dark, starless sky. The wind is blowing hard, rattling the branches of a nearby tree. A shiver runs through my body as the cold air gets past my leather jacket and a thick sweater. A flash of lightning in the distance colors the sky.

  The storm is almost here. I should get inside. I should keep pretending like I’ve been doing, but I can’t anymore. I can’t keep doing this to myself.

  “You don’t have to do it, you know,” I say softly, my back still turned toward him.

  Quiet is the only thing that greets me, and for a split second, I doubt myself. Maybe it was never him following me to begin with, but some creep. Maybe…

  There is a slight shift, and I can hear the footsteps coming closer. “And what do you think I’m doing?”

  “Following me home.” I tilt my head to the side, thinking. “Although I’m not sure if it’s because you have a hero complex or stalker tendencies.”

  He chuckles, the light sound barely audible with the howl of the wind.

  “Maybe I was simply in the neighborhood. Ever think of that?”

  “Oh, really?” I turn around to face him. He’s standing close, closer than I thought, and although his nearness unnerves me, I don’t take a step back. Lifting my brow in question, I ask, “And what does a rich kid do in this neighborhood a few times a week?”

  Gray eyes narrow, and I can feel his irritation. I’m calling him on his bullshit and he knows it. Rich kids only come to this side of town when they are up to no good, and no matter how edgy and out of sorts Max is acting lately, I never, even for a moment, thought that he’d get himself mixed up in some shady shit like doing drugs.

  “How long have you known?”

  I shrug, pulling my jacket tighter around me. The days are slowly getting colder, and soon it’ll be full-on Michigan winter. Tonight it’s colder than usual since the sky’s about to open. There is a pressure in the air, and you can smell the rain.

  “For a while.”

  “Why not say anything?”

  Thunder strikes in the distance, followed by blinding lightning. For a split second, I can see hi
s face, light and shadow accentuating his prominent cheekbones and square jaw.

  And the look in his eyes… God, those eyes.

  My whole body shivers, only this time it has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with Max.

  Dark gray irises seem bottomless as they swallow me in. And down the rabbit hole I go willingly. I know I should look away, break our staring contest and just run, but his eyes have me glued to the spot.

  “It’s going to rain,” I finally state, breaking the silence. “I should go inside and you should go home.”

  I start to turn around, but he grabs my wrist, tugging me back. My whole body sways with the motion before it bumps into his hard one. A jolt of electricity runs through me, making my body hum in awareness.

  Max lifts his hand, reaching out to cup my cheek. Our eyes meet and my muscles tense as his fingers graze at my cheek before I manage to turn my head to the side.

  Rejecting his touch.

  Rejecting him.

  “Don’t…” I plead quietly. “Just don’t…”

  Closing my eyes, I gulp down hard, begging him silently to let this go. Let me go and walk away. Walk away so I can patch the open wound he inflicted all over again.

  * * *

  MAX

  “Don’t…” she pleads quietly, not even looking at me while doing so. “Just don’t…”

  “Don’t what, Brook?” I ask, irritated.

  Angry even.

  With her.

  With me.

  With this whole situation.

  The way she flinched away from my touch is like a slap to my face. And I deserve it, oh, do I deserve it. But I’d take the slap any day of the week over this.

  Her body is tense under my touch but I can’t seem to let go, and for all her words, she doesn’t pull away.

  “You know damn well what!” she grits angrily, turning to look at me.

  Good.

  Angry is better than sad.

  When there is anger, there is hope that something can be done. The indifference is what you need to be afraid of because once it’s there, nothing can be done to salvage the situation.

  “No, I don’t!” I yell. “I was supposed to forget about it, remember? You wanted to act like nothing happened when we both know damn well it did. But that’s what you do. You avoid shit, pretending it never happened.”

  “Don’t you dare put this on me!” Her finger stabs me in the middle of my chest, fire burning brightly in her green eyes. “I wasn’t the one who called you by your best friend’s name. I’m not the one who’s in love with your best friend, but since I can’t have them, I’ll take whatever consolation prize I can get. That’s all on you, buddy.”

  Well shit, when she puts it like that…

  Another clap of thunder booms, this time closer. “You were never a consolation prize, Brook,” I say, concentrating on her face. Her ivory skin, so much lighter and more delicate than mine. And those cat-like eyes that always observe, seeing everything.

  “Yeah, right. Tell that to somebody who wasn’t there. Maybe they’ll believe you.”

  She tugs her hand out of my grasp, and this time I let her be. A drop of rain falls onto my cheek, and I feel it slowly run down.

  “It’s true.”

  Brook laughs, but there isn’t a trace of amusement in the tone. She shakes her head, a sadness I didn’t notice before evident on her face. The fire that was burning brightly in her eyes now completely extinguished.

  “You can’t see your face when you look at her, but I’m not blind.”

  More drops fall until it’s a real downpour, and both Brook and I are drenched in seconds.

  I run my fingers through my wet hair, pulling at the ends in frustration. This girl… this stubborn, stubborn girl. “And how is that?” I yell over the rain and wind.

  She looks away from me, nibbling at her lower lip. Pouty flesh pops back out and her throat bobs as she swallows.

  It seems like hours before she looks at me again. I’m cold and frustrated and angry, but there is no way I’ll leave before I get some kind of answer.

  Yes, I screwed up, but she’s the one who didn’t even let me explain. Didn’t let me apologize.

  “Like she’s your whole world.” Brook looks at me, finally looks at me, and for the first time, I wish she hadn’t. “You look at her with the eyes of a man in love.”

  I’m at a loss for words. Stunned into silence. Not because her words surprise me; they don’t. What surprises me is the hollowness in her eyes.

  Resignation.

  She doesn’t wait for my answer but uses this opportunity to slip inside.

  And I stay in the rain, looking at the empty doorway, long after she’s gone.

  Chapter Nine

  BROOK

  “Good morning, Brook! Have a seat.”

  I mumble incoherently something that should sound like a greeting as I take one of two available chairs on the opposite side of the desk. My backpack slides down with a soft thud, and I have to cover my mouth to stifle the yawn.

  After everything that happened, I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind kept going back and forth—rehashing what happened with Max on the night of the Halloween party and last night. Past and present mixing so tight they kept me up until the first morning light peeked through my window. At that point, I gave up and got out of bed.

  Josephine was nowhere to be found. If we were a normal family, I would try to call and figure out where she is, but our relationship is far from ordinary and her staying out or even leaving for days on end isn’t anything unusual. It went as far back as I could remember, and I was always relieved and grateful when she wasn’t around. She’s a hot mess, and I don’t have the time or strength for her bullshit. Especially not after last night.

  She was on edge lately more than usual. I wasn’t sure if it was the breakup, loss of job or lack of money. Maybe all three mixed together, or it could be something completely different. Either way, I didn’t care.

  I stayed out of her way as much as possible, only being home when it was absolutely necessary. Preferring school, Lia’s… hell, even my work is better than being home. And that’s some sleazy place we’re talking about.

  It pays money. Money you’ll need once all’s said and done. Money you might need sooner rather than later.

  “Sorry, I was trying to deal with this mess in here, but it seems hopeless,” Miss Jenkins says, smiling apologetically.

  “No problem.”

  Miss Jenkins is new at our school. She came at the beginning of this year. In her late twenties, she was fresh out of college and had some crazy need to help everybody around her. I guess that made her good at her job as a guidance counselor, but I didn’t need saving or help.

  I was summoned to the counselor’s office last year, as were all the juniors. We talked SATs and colleges. I took the SAT like the rest of my class, getting pretty decent scores too, but I was adamant about not going to college. College was expensive. And yes, I could apply for a scholarship; on paper I was the perfect candidate, but I didn’t want anyone’s pity money. I got enough of that as it was. Pity, not money.

  Miss Jenkins has tried to talk to me on a few different occasions since she got here too, but I told her what I told our previous counselor. College is not in the cards for me. She nodded her head in understanding, dark, long dreadlocks swaying with the motion and brushing against her white coffee-colored skin before suggesting something local.

  I laughed in her face.

  There was no way I was staying local. Not for college, not for anything else.

  Just a few more months. Then I can begin again. Somewhere far, far away from here.

  “Why did you need me, Miss Jenkins?” I ask, so done with this day, hell, this whole week, although it’s barely started.

  I watch her shuffle the files on her desk before she triumphantly pulls one out, opening it on top of everything else scattered on the surface. She scans the file, buying some time. I’m sure she knows what�
��s inside since she wrote it and we’ve been playing this game for a while now.

  Sighing, she leans in her chair, brown eyes zeroing in on me. “Still determined that college isn’t for you? I’m sure we could find something…”

  I cross my arms over my chest, giving her a hard stare that conveys more than words ever could.

  “I figured as much.” She closes the file, her elbows digging into it as she leans her head in her hands. “How about something else? Maybe…”

  “Miss Jenkins, with all due respect…” I start, but she ignores me.

  “Maybe a summer program or night school? Or maybe I could help you find an art contest.”

  I shoot to my legs, angry. “Did Mrs. Brown put you up to this? Did she show you my artwork?”

  Her hands fall down as she jerks away surprised by my outburst. I’m usually quiet and disinterested. My best weapon is silence, not anger.

  “Of course not!”

  “I told her I’m not interested! My art is my own, not for other people to gape at.”

  “Brook…” She comes around the table, her arm extended like she’s nearing a wounded animal. “Mrs. Brown didn’t show me anything. She only mentioned she has a talented student who’s reluctant to show off her work, and I noticed you’ve been taking art class since freshman year.”

  “Yes, right.” I don’t believe her. Not one word. Mrs. Brown always encourages me to show off my stuff, to apply to one competition or another. My answer is always the same, but she never gives up. And now this? “Leave it alone. My plans after high school are mine. They don’t concern you or anybody else.”

  With those words, I grab my things and cross those few short steps that separate the chairs from the doorway of her tiny office. I pull the door open harshly and step out, only to run into somebody.

  Quickly, like I was burned, I pull away, my eyes grazing up from the hard chest covered in the soft black shirt to silver eyes.

  Great. Just what I need.

  “Brook, are you okay?”