by Winters, W.
“You really that pissed over her not coming to sit with you?” Derrick sounds exasperated and I turn back to him, not bothering to move even though the warning bell rings. The halls are mostly vacant, so I have plenty of time to get to the other wing of the school.
“She doesn’t listen,” I say, biting 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 for the 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 past him and down the corridor. I have nearly every class with Derrick. Thank fuck. I don’t know how I’d get through the day without him there. I’m not a scholar, I’m not booksmart. 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 a corner. She’s a nice enough lady, married and with kids of her own in college. Even her reprimand to those students sounds motherly. Her voice carries over to us along with 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 Derrick. 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 down the days for years.
“I’m just saying,” Derrick speaks beneath his breath, “she’s not trying to be a problem, she’s just out of it.” My gaze narrows as I take in my friend. We’re nearly the same height, but I’m still just a hair taller than him.
“Who said she was being 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 off with two thick textbooks in her arms. Derrick gives her a tight smile that she returns with a blush and a quickened 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 soon the two of us are standing outside of our classroom sooner than I’d like. The door is still open and Derrick places his shoe against it deliberately, keeping it open. “You’re letting her get to you. … that’s a problem whether you want to admit it or not.”
I catch our English teacher’s gaze as Mr. Chasting stares back at me before looking to 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 at graduation 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 says, agreeing 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 Derrick’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 classroom. 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.
Derrick 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 add and turn to look Derrick in the eyes. Slipping his hands into his pockets, 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 me up.” I feel tense and unsure, knowing everything has changed and I need Derrick here. I won’t survive without him.
“I back you on everything, but you’re supposed to trust me, and you know that means I won’t be shy 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 that 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 minute.
“People mourn differently, yeah?” I ask him although it’s rhetorical. 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 an 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 I press the right one against the wall, letting my knuckles turn white.
The story is that our dads 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 out. “This is what we signed up for. We knew what we were doing.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince anymore.
“I know. And I’m here with you. Your right-hand man. I just feel like…” he trails off and scratches his jaw, staring down at his feet instead of meeting my gaze.
“Out with it,” I say, biting out the words.
“Everyone lost someone and we’re all dealing with it differently. But I don’t get why you won’t leave her alone.”
“I’m just protecting her.” The answer slips out easily enough. It’s what I’ve told everyone.
Derrick scoffs. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“Fine,” I answer him, subconsciously nodding as I tell him, “You’re right. I want her and it’s fucked. But I’m just being there for her, I’m not pushing anything.”
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes pinned to mine. “You’re waiting. You know it’s going to happen. She wants you, you want her. It’s going to happen and you’re making sure it does.”
“It will be her call if it does,” I answer him, at peace with that decision.
“You can never have her. A lot of shit went down and more is coming. You really want to drag her into it?”
“She’s already a part of it and you know it.”
�
�Don’t do this to her. You want to feel better, and I get it. But this? This is wrong.” His conclusion is spoken hard and clear.
“Are you going to stop me?”
“No.” His tone drops, as does his gaze. “I’ll still be here. I won’t stand in your way.”
“Good. Drop it.”
On some level I should feel relief that he’s going to drop it, but I don’t.
I don’t think I can stop myself. And he’s right; I don’t deserve her after what I’ve done. But I can’t help myself.
Laura
My shoulder’s sore. I carried all my books around today rather than going to my locker and the damn strap has been digging into my shoulder. It hurts more than I try to show.
Secretly, as I make my way through the thinned crowd to the open double-doored exit, I hope Seth asks if he can carry my bag for me. I’m not a damsel in distress, but my pride is kind enough to acknowledge that it hurts. He always asks, and with my luck, I think: today will be the day he doesn’t ask and I’ll have to ask him.
I swallow the thought the moment the chilly November air hits me. Everyone scatters in front of me, but I stay where I am, my feet planted on the asphalt just outside the doors.
“Oh, sorry,” I mumble when someone behind me brushes past and I realize I’ve been blocking the doorway.
A nervous heat ricochets through my body from my tiptoes all the way up to my ears, which turn red hot. I imagine they’re about as red as my nose must be when I shiver and a cold gust of wind smacks me right across the face.
Unwilling to stand here any longer, growing colder by the second, I force myself forward toward the field.
My heart drops with each passing second. I have no right to be upset. This raw tightness in my throat can get the hell out of here. And it can take my insecure thoughts with it. One step. He’s not mine. Therefore, there is no loss. Another step. I knew this wouldn’t last.
Another step and I whirl around at the sound of my name.
Seth’s face is flushed as he jogs to catch up to me. Tall and handsome, and literally running after me. Blip. My heart does a thing that feels like a mix between a sink and a flip.
“Couldn’t wait for me?” he asks although it’s obviously rhetorical, stopping just in front of me. He’s so close that his heat is immediate and with another gust of wind, I’m hit with his heady masculine scent.
“Sorry.” My apology makes him noticeably flinch. With a tight smile, I shift my weight and adjust the strap of my bag.
“Let me get it.” Seth doesn’t ask, he tells me, and he reaches for my bag before I even have a chance to hand it over.
“Thank you.” Relief is immediate.
“No problem.” All sorts of emotions threaten to show themselves and instead, I bury them down. I shouldn’t be this happy that he’s here. We’re still nothing. I’m just getting used to it. I look forward to it, even. I don’t know what I’ll do when he stops, but I don’t want to think about that either.
“Are you still stalking me?” I manage to ask, even as the gratitude fills me.
“Of course,” he answers with a cocky, asymmetric grin. “Technically,” he adds and starts walking, his stride long enough to quickly put distance between us. He turns around to walk backward just as we get to the open gap in the fence. I’m faintly aware of the eyes on us, but I ignore them all. “Since I’m in front, you’re the one who’s stalking me,” he teases with that handsome smile and my God, I laugh. It’s genuine and loud enough for him to hear it.
“You wish,” I tell him with a smile and feel the heat in my cheeks when he slows down so I can catch up. He made me jog a little to do it; maybe he wanted to make this chase even.
It will never be even though, I’m certain of that.
It’s been thirty-four days and it’s then I decided I needed to write the little moments down. As the days blend together, the tension between us changes into something warmer, something closer. It’s easier and lighter.
Day 1: He told me he’d walk me home and that day I held his hand.
Day 24: He called me Babygirl. The first time he held me, even if it was only to stop me from leaving without him.
Day 36: He started meeting me outside my classroom and immediately takes my backpack without prompting when he sees me.
Day 45: It’s too cold to walk, so Seth insists on driving me home. That’s the day the news broke about his father. I hugged him and refused to let go for the longest time. And he let me, holding me back in return.
Day 46: My hand brushed against his more than once in the car and I swear I couldn’t breathe because of it.
Day 50: I thought he was going to kiss me over the console. But he didn’t.
Fifty days with Seth King so close. Fifty days of subtle touches and longing glances. It’s not in my head. I know it’s not. I just want him to kiss me. I’ll be the one who loses in the end of whatever game he’s playing. Because I’m already falling. I’m tired of fighting, though. I don’t know how I can stop myself.
Seth
“You’re a bad influence,” Laura comments as she picks at the hole in her jeans. There’s a broad, beautiful smile on her face though and a tempting tease in her tone. I fucking love it.
“Yeah,” I answer her, grabbing another beer. “I know.” The football game is on in the main room of The Club, so I invited her back here, to the back room.
Weekdays are no longer enough. I need her on the weekends too. Derrick warned me against mixing business with my personal life, but I can’t tell the difference between the two anyway.
There’s a pool table in front of us, and then there’s only this amber brown leather sofa. Just those two pieces of furniture in the dimly lit back room, and just the two of us. Whenever I meet her gaze, the strong girl I know Laura to be is suddenly shy. Shy looks damn good on her. It only makes her look that much more fuckable.
“I don’t really drink.” The chilled beer in her hand moves to the other. Her thumb drags up the side of it, leaving a trail in the condensation against the cold glass.
“You have to at least try it,” I say and brush my shoulder against hers, inching closer. Then I shrug as I add, “Or not,” and take a swig of my own. Resting my elbows on my knees, I lean forward and tell her, looking over my shoulder, “You’re right, I’m a bad influence. I’ll drink it. I just didn’t want to be rude and not offer you one.” I want to ease her nerves, but I know part of the reason she’s nervous is because she’s waiting for me to make a move. She’s getting bolder with every passing day. It’ll happen soon; I know it. I’m fucking dying for it.
“’Kay,” she answers me, and then takes a swig of her own. Her nose scrunches, but she swallows. Watching her lick her lips afterward makes my cock harden. I have to rip my gaze away and I focus on the cracked door as a roar of cheers drifts back to us.
“Someone did something good,” she says quietly and I can hear her take another drink.
“Did you want to watch the game?” I question her, almost praying she says yes just so we’re not alone back here. Everything is her call. But damn she’s pushing me to give in with that innocent and tempting look in her eyes.
“As much as I like it out there, no, I want to play,” she says and gestures to the pool table. Right. I drop my head, remembering that’s why we’re back here. It’s not so I can fuck her on this sofa like I want to do. With Laura, the days feel like they’re passing slower and slower until that moment she lets me walk her home. That short amount of time is a blur, leaving me wanting and waiting in agony until I can see her again. She’s addictive. Her soft glances and gentle touches are my drug. I want more.
More than that, she wants more.
“What are we betting?”
“What do you want?” she asks me in return, the question deliberately seductive, and I have to swallow tightly, taking a long drink of my beer. I nearly finish the damn thing.
“How about if you win, you can pick where we go next Sunday,” I offer her, know
ing it’s a win for me too.
“I like it here. I told you I was curious what it was like.”
“I still can’t believe you’ve never been here,” I say before finishing the beer and stand, grabbing the rack to get the game started before all the blood in my head moves to my dick and I forget about the pool game again.
Laura follows my lead and says, “I don’t see how you can’t believe that… as I’m not twenty-one so I shouldn’t be in a bar and this isn’t exactly my crew.”
“Crew,” I repeat and lean back, grabbing the cue and lining it up. “You don’t need to be in the crew,” I emphasize the word, mocking the way she said it, “to hang out in here. Didn’t you want a job? We need a new waitress and you don’t have to be twenty-one for that.”
She’s quiet for a moment, not answering and I would give anything to know what she’s thinking. Everyone knows The Club is our hangout and she’s right, not everyone is welcome. It’s only a bar, but it’s where all the cash is funneled and laundered so all the dirty shit we do comes out clean in the books.
She finally relaxes her shoulders, letting the bottle sit on her knee to tell me, “I really love the atmosphere though. And the people… it’s nice to be around here, I guess that’s how I can put it.”
“Well, I’m glad you came.”
Just as I’m pulling back the pool cue, Laura calls out, “Uh, no. Ladies first.” She pulls at the stick from behind me, and playfully nudges my shoulder. She teases, “And to think, I thought you were a gentleman.”
I loosen my grip on the cue and when she has it fully in her grasp, I raise my hands, letting my gaze roam down her body. From the tight cream sweater to the faded pair of jeans with a hole in the knee, she looks utterly desirable. The cut on her sweater is lower than most of them. At school she’s always hidden behind baggy sweatshirts. It doesn’t escape my notice that she decided to wear a sexed-up version for today’s venture. A not-date with yours truly.
