My gut was telling me I could. The idea of Turner doing something malicious was so discordant with the guy I’d gotten to know. It just didn’t fit.
And Jenny had defended him.
He hadn’t threatened me or even raised his voice. He hadn’t demanded I keep my mouth shut. He was just asking me to trust him.
I decided to take a leap of faith and do just that.
“OK, I’ll trust you, but I’ll be keeping an eye on Jenny.”
He released a heavy breath. “That would be amazing, actually. I can’t be around twenty-four seven, and knowing she has another person I trust in her corner actually makes me feel a lot better.”
I dragged my hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “But you have to trust me too. I know it’s frustrating for you, but I need you to trust that my reasons for keeping my identity secret are not frivolous. I just need time. I’ve been my true self with you in every other way, I promise.”
“I believe you. I’ll try to be patient.” He pulled me flush against his chest and kissed me on the forehead, his lips landing off-center, as he couldn’t see me.
But I could feel him. Every hard muscle pressing against me. His strong arms holding me, making me feel safe, even after I’d felt scared just moments ago.
“Did we just have our first fight?” His shoulders shook under my hands with quiet laughter.
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “Aren’t fights something couples have?”
“Is that not what we are?”
“Oh . . . uh . . . you’re not seeing anyone else?”
“You are?” He suddenly sounded a little worried, a little unsure. “I mean, I’m not interested in anyone else.”
“Good. Neither am I.” Not that I had any other options. He was it for me, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. But he had girls all over school hanging off him. There was no question he’d been asked out several times already. Had he said yes to any of them?
“Good.” A smile warmed his voice, and his hands started rubbing small circles on my lower back.
“Are you sure about this? You don’t know what I look like.” I couldn’t help feeling a bit insecure.
“I’m not falling for your looks, Mena. I’m falling for your personality. And this fine body.” He gave me a squeeze on the hips, his strong fingers only just digging into the area above my ass.
I laughed and dropped my forehead to his shoulder.
“Now, since we’ve survived our first fight”—his low words reverberated through my chest—“we really should make up.”
“Oh?” I smiled into his shirt, then tilted my head to speak just beneath his jaw. “And how do you propose we do that?”
I punctuated my suggestive question with a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck.
His voice was as breathy as mine when he answered. “I have a few ideas.”
Chapter 8
I KISSED HIM again, a little higher, getting drunk on how his arms tightened around me every time my lips connected, how his breathing grew shallower. Emboldened by his reaction, I did something I’d been daydreaming about since I got a good look at him—I darted my tongue out and licked his jaw. Just a little lick right under his ear.
He exhaled sharply and turned his head, his lips searching for mine in the dark. I tipped my face up and met him halfway.
We kissed as if we were reuniting lovers, back together after being unsure we’d ever see the other again—tongues tangling, hands tugging at clothing. The bell rang as we started to back toward the rear wall of the room, neither of us willing to break the kiss. My back connected with the stack of gym mats, and Turner smacked one hand beside my head for balance as he leaned his body flush against mine.
He pulled his delicious lips away and croaked against my burning cheek, “We should get to class.”
“Fuck that.” I managed to get my hands between us and pulled the zipper of his hoodie down, stroking his chest and hard abs all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. He groaned as my hands slid under his T-shirt, my thumbs rubbing those hipbones I’d been at eye level with in the library.
Just like that day, I had the urge to kneel down and lick them, but I settled for copping a good feel. I’d never given anyone a blow job—I wasn’t sure I was ready for that—and getting on my knees and licking that general area was sure to lead to a dick in my mouth.
Instead, my hands ghosted up his back, drawing him against me. The discordant thud of basketballs on polished wood only just registered—a gym class was starting. I vaguely hoped they wouldn’t need any other equipment.
Turner kissed me deeply, in smooth, rhythmic strokes of his tongue against mine. His hand went to the back of my head and, finding my hair up in a ponytail, gripped the hair tie firmly and tugged. It stung for a second, and then my hair tumbled down around us.
He inhaled deeply and broke the kiss to whisper against my lips, “You smell so good. Like strawberries.”
My response was an incoherent moan. I was beyond words, completely lost in the lust; the heavy, heady feeling low in my belly; the ache between my legs.
I rolled my hips against his, and his body responded, his hips meeting mine in a steady rhythm.
“You feel fucking good too,” he growled.
I forcefully pushed my lips once more against his. I could drown in his voice, find bliss in the gritty quality I’d put there. But I needed his lips on mine.
I widened my legs, bent my left knee. He took it in his big hand and hooked it over his hip.
And then I could feel him, his hardness right there, giving me exactly the friction I was craving.
I moaned loudly. Too loudly.
The sound bounced off the walls, reminding me where we were. My sudden rush of adrenaline only added to the heady cocktail of pleasure already coursing through my veins.
Turner started kissing and licking my jaw, his mouth moving down toward my neck as his hand traveled up my front. He caressed my breast over the fabric of my T-shirt, his hand almost completely covering it, while our hips kept up a steady rhythm.
Then he was pushing up under my T-shirt, pushing my bra out of the way so he could fondle me skin-to-skin.
He groaned into my mouth, the sound going straight to my core. Maybe I was ready for a blow job after all—I wanted to hear him make that sound over and over. I wanted to be the one to wrench it from his throat. I wanted all our clothing gone. I wanted a bed instead of the stinky old gym mats at my back.
Something banged against the door, making us both jump.
We stopped kissing and froze, only our hips still rocking slightly as we panted and listened, suddenly thrown back into reality.
“I said no contact, Andrews! How in the hell did you two end up there?” The coach sounded mad but a little amused.
The class’s chorus of laughter followed, along with a loud male guffaw right on the other side of the door. The door that stood between an entire class of sophomores and Turner and me.
“Shit.” I pushed gently against his chest, and he removed his hand from my breast. I missed it already. I never wanted to wear a bra again—Turner could just walk behind me, holding my boobs in place with his big, warm hands, all day every day.
“Since you’re there, grab the orange cones, would ya?” The coach shouted again.
“Fuck.” This time it was Turner’s turn to curse.
I adjusted my bra and ran a hand through my hair. Snatching up my bag, I rushed in the general direction of the football-field door and ended up walking right into it, bumping my knee with a grunt.
“Mena?” Turner hissed into the dark. “Fuck, what are we gonna do?”
“I’m sorry. I gotta go. Just hide or something.”
“What?” He sounded panicked, but I was running on pure adrenaline now. I had to get out of there immediately.
I found the door handle just as the other door creaked open. Thankfully, mine opened inward, blocking me from view as light flooded the room.
I close
d the door behind me and threw my hood up, thanking every deity imaginable that no one was on the football field as I powerwalked away. I’d go to the bathroom to get my shit together and kill more time before my next class started.
No one—not even Turner—stopped me as I hurried off, and I smiled, my chest heaving. I couldn’t believe we’d gotten away with it. I just hoped Turner hadn’t been busted.
_______________
“Not too dark on the eyes, Philly. I want to look sophisticated, not slutty,” my mom directed me as I started applying eyeshadow to her lids.
“Eew! Why the hell would I make my mother look slutty?”
We’d set up at the kitchen table, all my makeup spread out, Mom at my mercy. She’d come home in almost as good a mood as me—declared we’d get Chinese for dinner, but it would be just me and Dad, as she was going to a seminar thing, and could I please do her makeup?
I took pretty much any excuse to do makeup, so there we were.
She smiled. “I didn’t mean you’d do it on purpose, sweetheart.”
“So, you just think I’m shit at makeup,” I deadpanned.
“What?” She backed away from my brush and opened her eyes. “No, Philomena, I was just trying to crack a joke.”
I snorted and let my grin burst through. “I know. I’m just messing with you, Mom.”
She breathed a massive sigh of relief and closed her eyes again so I could get back to work. “I just don’t know these days. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but you get in your moods, and I . . . well, I worry about you sometimes.”
I paused for a second and looked into my mom’s face, her eyes closed, her chin tipped up. We looked so similar, but her eyes were a little more tired, her lips marred with a few lines. She was still pretty. It didn’t make sense, because I wasn’t pretty. How the hell did that work?
I got back to work, fighting the urge to tell her everything. The messages, the taunts, the way I was ignored at school, even the few incidents where I’d actually been attacked.
But then I swallowed around the lump in my throat and shoved down that urge. There was literally nothing she could do. No point in adding further stress to my parents’ already frantic lives.
“Anyway, you’re in a good mood today.” Mom broke the silence before I could. “It’s nice to see.”
“Yeah I . . . had a good day.” I couldn’t stop the smile pulling at my lips as I thought about what Turner and I had been doing in the storage room just hours earlier.
Mom cracked one eye open and gave me a sly grin. “I know that smile.”
“You know nothing, woman. Close your eyes.” I gave her a very serious look, but the smile broke out again as soon as her eye closed.
“You have a crush,” Mom sing-songed.
“Mom.” I laughed, then after a pause, added, “It’s more than a crush.”
What the hell had just possessed me to imply to my mother I was seeing a boy? Maybe I was just desperate to tell someone, bursting with the excitement Turner made me feel.
“Holy shit, my Sweet Chilly Philly has a boyfriend!” My mother squealed like a preteen and backed out of the reach of my makeup brush.
“Mother.” I shot her a withering look.
“OK, OK, I’ll try to have more chill,” she said while bouncing in her chair.
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t finish your makeup if you’re bouncing around like that.”
She stopped and closed her eyes again, tipping her face up. I sighed and got back to work.
After a few minutes she asked, “What’s his name?”
“Uh . . . I . . .”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know his name.” She chuckled.
“Of course I know his name.” He just doesn’t know mine. “I’m just . . . it’s kind of new.”
“OK, I respect your privacy. I just have to ask, Philomena, do we need to have the safe-sex talk?”
“Mom!” Now it was my turn to screech. “No. I am well across safe sex, and we do not need to discuss this.”
“Fine.” Her expression grew suddenly serious. “Just promise you’ll come to me if you need to, OK? I’ll never judge you or be mad if you need help.”
The urge to tell her about how miserable high school was nearly overwhelmed me again. “I know. Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled and nodded. “And for the love of god, don’t get pregnant.”
“Jesus fuc . . .” I put the brush away, done with her eyes. “Look down so I can do your mascara.”
She obeyed, and I changed the topic immediately. “So, what exactly is this thing you’re going to? Chelsea from work has mentioned going to the same thing, and it sounds a little new-agey to me.”
“Oh, yes, I think I met Chelsea at the first info session I went to a few weeks ago. She’s lovely. And Boyd Burrows runs the sessions. He’s Jayden’s dad—you two go to school together, right?”
“Ugh. Unfortunately.”
“Oh, you’re not friends?”
“Not exactly. How’s that?” I held a mirror in front of her, blocking my own scowl at the mention of Jayden. I wanted to ask if Chelsea and Boyd seemed close at the last session—I was curious if that was the reason behind Chelsea’s sudden enthusiasm for these seminars—but Mom would only lecture me about not gossiping, so I kept my mouth shut.
“I look ten years younger! This is amazing! Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I gave her a genuine smile. I really hadn’t done much—covered up the dark circles, accentuated her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question about this event,” I said as I started to pack up, separating the brushes that needed to be cleaned.
“Oh, it’s nothing ‘new-agey,’ as you put it. BestLyf is a large, successful professional-development company. They have offices all over the country and run workshops and courses. That kind of thing. It’s all about improving yourself while improving your skills. It’s hard to explain unless you come along and experience it for yourself. It’s very motivating.”
“I can see that. There’s not much that will get you out of the house on a school night.”
“It’s worth it. But I’m not sure it’s going to keep happening. I’ve got another two events that they offer free of charge, then the next level up is paid workshops and retreats, and I just don’t think we can afford it.” She sighed.
There wasn’t much I could say to that. Whether it was my mother wanting to improve her skills, my father wanting to spend time with his friends on a fishing trip, or me wanting to get away from my abusers—we couldn’t afford it.
“I hope you and Dad find the money for it, Mom. I like seeing you happy and motivated.”
“Thanks, sweetheart, but you don’t need to worry about that.” She waved her hand dismissively as she walked off toward the kitchen. “How about a snack?”
“Sure.”
We spent the next half hour munching on celery sticks slathered in peanut butter. Mom managed to bring the conversation back to boys and started reminiscing about all the “shenanigans” she and Auntie Em had gotten up to when they were my age and running amok all over Devilbend.
Thankfully, Dad came home and saved me from hearing anything that would have scarred me for life, and Mom left for her meeting.
Turner wasn’t home that evening, but whatever he was up to with his dad, he had time to text me occasionally.
T: I can’t believe you managed to slip away without me seeing you! I’m once again convinced you work for the CIA.
M: How many times do I have to tell you—it’s the FBI.
T: Maybe it’s the KGB. They use beautiful women to lure men with their wiles.
M: Wiles? LOL!
T: Yes. You have incredible wiles. I’m still hard just thinking about your wiles.
I looked over my shoulder to make sure my dad was nowhere around. He was glued to the TV on the other side of the balcony door, but I still dropped my hands low in my lap before replying.
M: We definitely have some unfinished business.
I can’t stop thinking about it either.
T: If my dad wasn’t sitting right next to me, I’d be describing all the things I want to do to you next time.
M: Change of topic then! Did you get into trouble?
T: Nah. Luckily the kid who came into the room as you ran away was someone I know—he’s on the football team. He gave me shit about having a girl in there and tried to get me to say who it was, but he covered for me with the coach, and I slipped out the back door.
M: Good. I was worried you might get caught.
T: But not worried enough to hang around.
M: I’m sorry! I panicked!
T: It’s OK. I’m teasing!
I went to bed with a smile on my face.
But life’s a bitch, so anything good that happened to me naturally had to be balanced out by something shitty.
Chapter 9
MADISON MUST’VE BEEN in a bad mood, because she seemed to have made it her mission to make my life hell all day.
She bumped into me from behind on my way to first period, making me drop my books, then declared, “You dropped something” in a monotone before walking away, as if I were gum on the bottom of her shoe.
Between second and third period, I was at my locker when the whole group walked past. Bonnie slammed my locker door on my arm, and when I wrenched back, wincing, Kelsey slammed the door shut.
“How careless, leaving a locker wide open like that.” Madison was already walking away, the other girls snickering.
I rubbed my arm and flexed my fingers. That was going to leave a bruise.
At lunch, I made the mistake of walking past the cafeteria on my way to hide out in the library.
Jayden rounded the corner just as I passed the doors, his arm slung over Madison’s shoulders, their friends trailing behind them. Turner was with them.
My heart skipped a beat—I wasn’t sure if it was from seeing him or from fear. I hunched my shoulders and tried to slip past, hugging the wall, but it was too late.
“What is that smell?” Jayden waved his hand in front of his face exaggeratedly.
Bully Me: Class of 2020 Page 49
