The new semester was both better and worse than the last. Better, because I had the best boyfriend in the world—something I didn’t have at the beginning of the school year—and I started my art class.
To be honest, I loved it, and Ben was annoyingly smug about that fact.
But the semester was also worse, because Ben and I had zero classes together. We shared a lunch period, but I hardly saw him between classes.
And it was also worse because of Eric fucking Boyt.
Unlike my boyfriend, I saw Boyt everywhere. Our school wasn’t obnoxiously huge, but Boyt’s constant presence in the corridors I used was uncanny. I could traverse the hallways without catching a glimpse of Ben, but Boyt lurked around every damn corner!
His glares followed me across the cafeteria, and when I was alone during passing period, he would waltz by, as close as possible without actually touching me. He was like a stray dog I couldn’t shake, except this dog didn’t want me to take it home and care for it. No, this canine was rabid and wanted to rip me apart piece by fucking piece.
Whenever possible, I avoided him, but when contact was inevitable, I did my best not to cower. He scared me; he would always scare me, but I was sick and tired of submitting to his intimidation. I would no longer allow my fear to dictate what I did or how I acted. So, I held my head high and glowered right back. By refusing to turn away, I claimed my own type of victory. And, holy hell, if it didn’t irritate the shit out of him.
He got off on the control, had from the start. It wasn’t about sex. If it was, he would have been happy to fuck his girlfriend’s ass or hire a male escort. No, it wasn’t about fulfilling some lusty gay fantasy; it was about dominance, the high of power. I fought him, disrespected him, and forcing me into submission was his way of teaching me a lesson. Him getting off was just a perk.
But now, I robbed him of the stolen control, sending seething glares his way or ignoring him completely, which seemed to incense him even more. Fear was foreplay, and fighting him was a reaction—not the one he wanted, but still a response. Indifference drove him batshit. It was my way of taking the power away, and he hated it.
Two weeks after school started, I literally ran into Boyt during a bathroom break. My second to last class of the day was pre-calculus—which sucked ass in the completely not fun way—and I tended to stow away in the bathroom for five minutes during the lesson to gather my sanity. Whether Boyt knew this or simply had terribly convenient timing, I would never know.
After using the toilet and washing my hands, I ran my wet fingers through my hair to fix the flyaways. Once satisfied, I rounded the corner to leave, and it was déjà vu. The moment my body hooked around the corner, I smashed face-first into a hard chest. The stench of cigarettes and familiar musk assaulted me, and I recoiled on instinct, my heart leaping to my throat.
It had been over a month since I’d been this close to Boyt, and against all odds, he’d gotten bigger. His muscles stretched the seams of his shirt, and he loomed over me like a Redwood tree. Maybe I’d simply forgotten his immense size, but he looked like he’d added ten pounds of muscle to his already hulky physique.
With dark hair cut close to his scalp, a strong jaw, and dark-chocolate eyes, he might have been attractive. There was a line of girls waiting for his attention, yet I would never feel anything but disgust when I looked at him. If he wasn’t such an asshole, I might have returned his interest back in the day. For obvious reasons, the possibility was nonexistent now.
“Brigs,” he greeted with a sardonic smirk.
I swallowed the urge to regurgitate my lunchroom spaghetti with mystery-meatballs all over his sneakers. “Boyt.”
I didn’t have to fear him. This bathroom was located in the center of the school, and it was the middle of the day. He couldn’t hurt me without risking discovery. It would be the most humiliating thing I ever did, but I was more than willing to scream bloody murder to attract attention if the psychopath manhandled me.
Straightening my posture, I jutted out my chin and held his stare. His amusement darkened to something more sinister, and his lip curled. I rolled my eyes, examining my cuticles with feigned apathy.
“Best watch where you’re going, faggot.” He shouldered past, the hit rattling my bones, but I didn’t miss the pass of his hand over my thigh. And just like that, my bravado evaporated.
My frozen limbs thawed as I scampered toward the exit, desperate to get out of range of his long arms.
His dark eyes flared in satisfaction, his gaze scanning me perversely. “Wouldn’t want you getting yourself or your pretty boyfriend into trouble, now would we?”
At the threat to Ben, my courage returned, and I bared my teeth like an animal. “Suck my gay cock, bitch.”
Fury contorted his features, and I ran for it. I sprinted back to class like the devil was on my heels, simultaneously terrified and exhilarated by my insult. It felt good to stand up for myself, but my mouth had a knack for getting me into trouble.
Ben knew nothing of the encounter, and I kept it that way. If I told him, Crazy Ben would come out to play. No matter how much I loved the image of Boyt beaten to a bloody pulp at the hands of my sexy boyfriend, it wasn’t worth the risk of Ben being expelled or, worse, arrested.
Maybe I wasn’t strong enough to protect Ben in a physical sense, but if my silence kept him safe and happy, I would glue my lips shut. He’d been through enough, hadn’t he? His dad was a monster, and the loss of his mom remained an open wound. The foster system sounded like a nightmare, and he’d been expelled once already. If he got expelled again, he’d lose his scholarships and his entrance to MIT.
He might consider the losses a price to pay for Eric getting what he deserved, but to me, it wasn’t worth it. So, I buried the truth deep in my gut, covering it with layers of more harmless insecurities for Ben to discover. Some things were better left in the ground.
“You know,” Ben said, eyes on his bedroom ceiling as I lounged between his open legs, my chin on his stomach, “the meet with Central is this Friday.”
“Oh, it is?” I circled his navel with my index finger, and his muscles trembled from the ticklish sensation. “At home or away?”
“It’s at Central.”
His fingers drifted through my hair as I pressed my lips to his happy trail. “That’s okay. I’ll sit with Esther.”
“You’ll come?”
“Only if you do.” I waggled my eyebrows, cringing when he flicked my nose. “Damn, I was just teasing. But, yes, I’ll come.”
“Cool.” He squirmed when I lifted the hem of his shirt to continue my ministrations, snickering. “Stop, I’m ticklish.”
“And?”
Apparently, I had a death wish because I snaked my hands under his shirt and attacked his sides. He squealed like a girl, convulsing under me, and my tickling quickly turned into an all-out wrestling match. With a growl, he pounced on me, and we rolled around on his bed like little boys, tickling, hitting, and kicking at each other as we play-fought.
He was stronger, so I had to fight dirty. I yanked his leg hair, twisted his nipples, and even utilized my teeth. The bite I left on his bicep was the last straw, and he overpowered me, pinning me to the mattress. With his weight settled on my hips, he cinched my hands above my head as we laughed.
Tears stung my eyes, and my stomach ached. I swore Ben was having a giggle fit, like, straight-up giggling like a four-year-old girl. Our chests chugged from exertion, and when I went limp in surrender, he threw his fists in the air, pumping like he’d just won a boxing match.
“Ben is the winner!” he chanted his name like he was his own cheerleading squad, the mantra broken by stray giggles. “Say I’m the winner.”
Grasping his hips to keep him balanced on my lap, I sat up with a naughty smile. “Well, I have my sexy boyfriend on my lap, so who’s the real winner here?”
He glared through his blush. “I’m the winner. Say it.”
“I’m the winner.” I stuck out my tongue childishly. “There, I said
it.”
“You’re impossible.”
With a shrug, I teased the skin above his jeans, my fingertips dancing over his torso. “The only thing that would make this better is if you were wearing less clothing.”
His legs tightened on either side of my hips, his breath quickening as I kissed his throat. “Always sex on the brain.”
“Like you’re any different,” I chided, and he chuckled deep in his chest.
“Maybe,” he sing-songed. “Maybe not.”
Unexpectedly, his hand snuck between our bodies and pressed to the front of my pants, and the panic was as sudden as it was shocking.
“No!” I shoved him off of me, scooting back on the bed as I pressed a palm to my galloping heart.
“Shit, Silas. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Ben crawled toward me cautiously, eyes wide with regret. “Baby, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine, I’m fine. You just caught me off guard, is all. Just give me a second.”
Settling beside me, he didn’t touch me, but his presence was soothing. I breathed through the astonishing fear, allowing it its place without letting it control me. It had been several weeks since I’d reacted badly to Ben’s touch. It took us both by surprise.
“You okay?” His fingertip traced the shell of my ear, ending at my piercing, and I nodded.
“Yeah. That was weird. Sorry.” I scrubbed my face as he nuzzled my shoulder.
“I should be sorry,” he murmured. “I should have gone slower.”
I knocked his head with mine, pursing my lips in annoyance. “Stop. It’s been a while since I reacted that way. Neither of us expected it. It’s not your fault. I’m okay, see?”
Guilt curled his shoulders, and I grunted as I wrestled him to the bed. He let me, limp as a fish, and when I arranged us on our sides, facing each other, I captured his face with my hands.
“I’m not mad, and I’m not afraid. Please, just let it go.” I kissed him, refusing to stop until he kissed me back, and he did so, grudgingly.
“Sorry.”
“And I forgive you.” I smiled, then desperately changed the subject, resorting to a game we played the past few weeks. “Here’s something you don’t know about me; I was in a play once.”
With a raise of his eyebrows, he massaged my waist beneath my shirt. “I thought you weren’t an actor.”
“Oh, I’m not. I had bad stage fright and puked behind the paper mâché castle.” My story had the desired effect, and Ben threw his head back with jovial guffaws. “They called me Pukey for weeks.”
“That’s terrible,” he managed through his chortles. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Makes for a good story. What about you? Any embarrassing childhood stories?”
I shaped his collarbone with my finger, and air whistled through his nose as he exhaled. “I lost my Speedo during a meet once. It was too big, and when I dove, it slipped right off.”
“Aw, poor thing.” I brushed our noses together. “I bet you were red as a cherry.”
“It was pretty embarrassing.”
“Meh, I bet no one remembers. You were a swimming, diving superstar.”
He rolled his eyes, pinching my side lightly. “I only did sports so I had an excuse not to go home. Not exactly superstar material.”
The atmosphere thickened, and I worried my bottom lip as we tiptoed over the landmine-laden ground. “You don’t like diving?”
“It’s fine.” He shrugged, studying my hair, my chin, my nose—anywhere but my eyes. “I chose swimming because it was the sport that showed the most skin. So, a couple months out of the year, my dad couldn’t kick me around as much. If the bruises showed, that’s when the questions would start. He was an asshole, not an idiot.”
By the time he finished his speech, his tone was ice cold, and I fiddled with the collar of his shirt, unsure how to proceed. Apologizing didn’t help, but neither did making light of it. I couldn’t imagine Ben at the mercy of anyone. He was always in control, confident and cool. The scared boy who was beaten by his father didn’t fit with the image of the guy before me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring down the mood,” he mumbled sheepishly.
“No, don’t apologize. I just… I wanna say sorry, but I don’t think that helps.” He smiled sadly as I kissed the tip of his nose. “But I am sorry you had to live like that.”
“Everyone has their shit,” he dismissed.
“I was short for my age in elementary school. Shocker.” I chuckled awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood. “And, uh, one day before gym, the other boys thought it would be funny to lock me in one of the gym lockers. They left me there the whole class period, and I freaked out. It was dark and hot, and I couldn’t breathe. I got so scared, I passed out. I only got out when one of the kids finally told the teacher.”
“I’m sorry.” Lips peppered my brow, and I sighed.
“Everyone has their shit,” I echoed. “It’s why I’m claustrophobic. I was a really bitchy kid, and when I pushed Mom too far, she’d threaten to lock me in the closet. It was a sure way to shut me up because I was terrified of being trapped in dark, enclosed spaces.”
“That’s kinda fucked up. Why would she exploit your fear?”
I’d never thought about it that way. I was a terrible child; an ill-behaved drama queen. I assumed I deserved it. Mom never hit us or anything, but she had a temper, same as me. She’d yell sometimes. It was just one of her empty threats.
“She never did it. She’d just bluster about it when I was being a little bitch.”
“I’m sure you were a nice kid,” Ben said kindly.
I laughed. “I was far from nice. I probably would have made you cry if we’d been friends in middle school.”
We chuckled, snuggling closer as our legs tangled. “Even in middle school, I didn’t cry easily. I’m sure I could have handled you.”
“Well, you can handle me now, and that seems more important.”
Nudging my cheek, he silently sought a kiss, and I granted the unspoken request. Our lips glided together leisurely, unrushed, just the way Ben liked it. He was always more patient than I was.
“Yeah, I think I can handle you just fine.” He wiggled his head smugly, and I poked his stomach.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Snickering, he reconnected us. “If you insist.”
Twenty-Two
The swimming pool—pardon me, the aquatic center of Central was double the size of ours, with rows upon rows of bleachers on both sides of the pool. A separate diving pool sat at the end of the lanes, the two pools separated by a three-foot-wide walkway. Teammates working as lap counters sat along the walkway, waving their numbered boards underneath the surface as the long-distance swimmers raced. The entire room echoed with the shouts of cheering parents and coaches.
As I entered the room, the humidity smothered me like a thick, wet blanket. I shrugged out of my zip-up hoodie to alleviate the uncomfortable heat. I searched the bleachers for purple streaked hair but couldn’t see a damn thing through the crowd.
Central was our rival school, and the turn out for the meet was larger than normal because of this. Parents donned our school colors of red and gold as Central supporters wore blue and silver. I didn’t care much for competition between the two schools; I was only here to support Ben.
Awkwardly stumbling through the bleachers filled with red and gold clothing, I avoided squashing the toes of strangers as I fought to gain Ben’s attention. He was focused on the 500-meter race taking place and didn’t see me.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I read the text from Esther.
Esther: Three rows behind you.
Spinning on my heels, I grinned as Esther stood on the seat of a bleacher, waving her tiny arms frantically. Even though she attended Central, she wore our colors to support Ronnie. I climbed over disgruntled adults to reach her.
“Hey.” I stole a quick hug. “I was hoping you hadn’t abandoned me.”
“I t
old you I’d come.” She knocked my torso with her narrow shoulder, her bunny glare in full swing.
“Well, thanks for saving me a seat. What’s the score?”
We sat down as Esther pointed to the board. “We’re winning.”
“We, Central? Or we—”
“We, as in, the team we are both rooting for.” With a jab of her fingernail, she pierced my bicep, and I yelped.
“Ouch, keep the claws in. Damn.” I rubbed my arm as she hid a giggle behind her palm.
Dressed in a black jean skirt over black leggings, she sported her punk Polly Pocket look. She wore a red shirt and a yellow hoodie over top, but her black nails, smokey eyeshadow, and edgy haircut supported the grunge style. Her signature black buckled boots adorned her tiny feet.
I tucked a stubborn strand of purple hair behind her ear. “You look nice.”
She dropped her eyes with a shy smile, her pale cheeks pinking. “Thanks. You, too.”
With a snort, I glanced down at the plain white T-shirt I decorated for Ben. It read, Go, Ben, Go! on the front and on the back I’d written, World’s #1 Boyfriend Diver. I hoped wearing another homemade shirt would inspire him.
Coach Kane had mentioned in passing how much better Ben dived when I came to watch. Since then, I’d done my utmost to attend every meet I could. It helped that Ben wore a Speedo and looked hella-fine in it.
“I don’t look half as good as Ben does in that Speedo, that’s for damn sure,” I said.
Esther snorted, her blush darkening. “If my mother heard you talk, she’d put pepper on your tongue.”
Blanching, I feigned a gag. “That sounds like child endangerment.”
“It’s called discipline.” She rolled her eyes, bringing a bottle of water to her lips. “Spare the rod, spoil the child.”
“Spare the rod? If that ain’t a gay anecdote, I don’t know what is.”
She choked on her sip of water, spewing half of it on the person sitting in front of us, and I roared with laughter as she hacked out half a lung. I apologized profusely as the man turned around with a furious glare, but my regret didn’t ring genuine as I fought to speak through guffaws.
Every Hidden Truth (Far From Ruined Book 2) Page 23
