by Monica James
I’d almost forgotten we were speaking because my body was doing the talking for me.
My arms are still suspended above my head, secured in his hand, while the other slips to my waist and finds the flesh where my t-shirt meets my jean shorts. He runs his finger along the waistband and smirks when I bite my lip to impede the whimper.
“Like that, Princess?”
This time, my hum of approval breaks past the floodgates because he just called me princess. “Why do you care what I l-like?” I pose, hoping to fake confidence, but the stutter in my question gives me away.
In an indirect way, I’ve just confessed that I do like it—a lot, but I’m suddenly so sick of pretenses. Lincoln has never stirred these deep-seated feelings in me.
I feel sick to my stomach because a wave of realization drags me under and I gasp for breath. I want Sin—I want him with every shred of my body, and while I’m horror-struck by that fact, I can’t ignore it a second longer.
I’m in love—in love with my enemy—and I don’t know how to make it stop.
I don’t know when the line was crossed, or if there ever was a line, but the thought of letting him go punches a hole straight through my chest. Tears sting my eyes. He’s able to hurt me because I’ve never wanted anything more than I do him.
I turn my cheek, embarrassed. When did this happen? How could I have been so stupid? For my entire life, it’s been drummed into my head that the boy standing before me is nothing but trouble, and his surname alone is a reminder of what his family did to mine. That should have been enough of a deterrent, but all it’s done has made me want him more.
“I don’t care,” he whispers, leaning in close, his warm breath bathing my neck. “But I like seeing you, feeling you…” To accentuate his point, he glides his fingertip over the top button of my shorts. “Squirm.” And squirm I do.
But I can’t help but think he’s lying.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from asking him something I know I’ll regret.
My flesh sparks alight when he dips low and glides his nose along the column of my neck, inhaling my perfume. “Oh, Princess…” His breath continues to tickle my heated skin. “If you want it, all you have to do is ask.” I go weak at the knees, and stars flash before my eyes. I don’t even know what he means by it because I want it all.
“What the fuck? Get off her!” Lincoln’s voice smashes through my hormone-fueled fog, and I sag forward, thankful Sin is holding me up because I would have crumpled without him.
Sin turns over his shoulder, an amused grin pulling at his lips. “Your knight in shining armor has arrived,” he says, tongue in cheek. He breaks our connection, and I instantly miss his warmth.
“I-I don’t need any saving. I can save myself,” I whisper, impressed I managed to spit that out without choking.
His attention snaps back to me, both eyebrows raised. “I know, Princess.” He knows? This is news to me. “I’ve always known that. But does he?”
We both focus on Lincoln, who comes charging over, fists clenched, nostrils flared in rage. His Hulk Hogan impersonation reinforces Sin’s train of thoughts. Lincoln doesn’t know me at all, but to be fair, it’s because I’ve never let him in. I’ve never wanted to.
“Have fun with Commando Ken,” he mocks, walking backward and completely ignoring Lincoln’s abuse.
I want to say so many things, but most of all, I don’t want him to go.
“Are you okay?” Lincoln says, rushing over and holding me out at arm’s length.
I know I should be thankful, but his concern is entirely unnecessary. “I’m fine,” I reply with more bite than intended. When he tries to touch my cheek, I shrug from his hold.
“Whoa, I’m not the enemy here. He is.” He hooks his thumb toward Sin, who is slipping into his jersey, uncaring. “That motherfucker. I’ll kill him.” Sin whistles a tune happily, the sound mocking and provoking.
Just as Lincoln lunges forward, I latch onto his bicep. “Stop it. I’m fine. I don’t need you jumping to my defense. I can look after myself.”
“It didn’t look that way five seconds ago.”
“I had it under control,” I counter stubbornly.
This gallant act pisses me off because it just corroborates what Sin said—Lincoln doesn’t know me at all.
“Whatever, Holland, you’re shaken up. We can discuss it later.”
The more he speaks, the madder I become, and the more amused Sin becomes. “She’s a big girl, Linc. Probably has bigger balls than you do.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Lincoln spits, the veins in his neck popping.
“Thanks for the reminder,” Sin replies with a grin, slamming his locker shut. He’s getting off on this. He knows I’m about to tell Lincoln to close his mouth for good.
I need to end this before it gets out of hand. “If you’re done comparing who has the biggest dick, I have homework to do.”
Lincoln’s mouth falls open while Sin bursts into laughter. “There’s no competition there, Princess.”
“Fuck you, man.” Lincoln shakes his head, angered that I’ve shot him down.
“You’re not my type,” Sin replies, adding fuel to the fire.
“What’s going on here? Break it up!” Coach’s booming voice shatters the spectacle, reminding me I probably should be leaving now.
“Sorry, Coach. I was just leaving,” I apologize, but Coach turns his annoyance toward his son.
“You know better, Lincoln. Jesus Christ!” His face turns a beet red.
“Coach!” Lincoln protests but is swiftly cut off.
“You can sit this one out.”
“What the hell? What about the game this weekend?”
Coach’s discipline is a little extreme, but I know better than to intervene.
“You can sit that one out too.” The locker room falls silent.
I feel awful because this is kind of my fault. Lincoln glares at me before shooting Sin a glower dripping with pure venom. Sin merely smirks smartly.
Lincoln storms out of the room while his father pats Sin on the back. He doesn’t seem concerned he just embarrassed and penalized his child. “Ready, son?”
“Always,” he replies, looking at me smugly. That’s my cue to leave.
I push past the boys, shielding my peripheral vision with cupped palms and only focusing ahead. Now that I’m not shaking with rage, I realize my outburst has drawn the attention of the entire football team, some of whom I will never look at the same way ever again.
“Come visit us again,” a few of them tease, only adding to my embarrassment.
“Not on your life. I’ve seen what’s on for show, and it ain’t nothing to write home about.” I attempt to stage confidence, but squeak when one of the boys emerges from the shower without a towel.
Sin’s highly amused chuckles are hot on my heels as I run out the door.
I toss my math textbook to the floor and fall onto my back, groaning. Today made me a useless mess. I left school early and came home with the intention of forgetting whatever epiphany I thought I had. But so far, all I can think of is the way I felt in Sin’s arms.
As I peer around my modest bedroom from the floor and take in the family pictures on my dresser, I continue asking myself where my loyalty is. My parents have never taught me hate, but I know they would be furious with me if I told them how I feel.
My eyes land on a tattered copy of Romeo and Juliet on my small desk. I now understand Juliet’s woes.
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
But this isn’t a Shakespearean play, nor is Sin a Romeo in disguise. It’s a full-blown tragedy, and I’m a fool for even entertaining such a notion.
Sighing, I fold my arms over my stomach and look up at my glow in the dark star-filled ceiling. I wish these stars would guide the way, light up my path, and tell me which way to go. But none shine brighter than the others. They all twinkle with the
same potential to change my life forever.
“Sweetie, can I come in?” My mom knocks softly, checking on me for the tenth time in the past hour.
Sitting upright, I tighten my lopsided ponytail and reach for the textbook I had tossed aside in haste. “Sure.”
The door opens a second later, and I pretend I’m too lost in mathematical equations to hear her enter. “I brought you some juice.”
“Thank you. You can just put it over there.” I point at the three untouched glasses on the bedside dresser. She’s hovering, and even though I appreciate it, I just want to be left alone.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay? Your father and I can cancel our reservation. We booked this night away months ago when we thought you’d be at prom.”
My parents are staying at a fancy hotel downtown. It’s not something they do often, and I refuse to allow my bad mood to affect their night too. “Mom, go.” I meet her worried eyes and instantly get hit with the guilt bat. “I want you to go and have an awesome time.”
She wrings her hands together, her dilemma apparent. “I’ll just cancel. We can stay home and watch Pretty in Pink. Who needs prom?”
When she makes a beeline for the landline, I shoot up and gently grab her slender shoulders. “Go,” I repeat with a smile. “You look too beautiful to stay indoors. And besides, I have a paper to finish.” This is a lie, but she believes me.
“Oh, Sweetie, I feel horrible.” Her tender eyes soften.
“Mom, seriously, I’m fine. Please don’t cry; you’ll look like a racoon otherwise.” She laughs, and I’m thankful the mood shifts. “You look really pretty.”
She shyly brushes at the skirt of her red dress and smiles. “You don’t think it’s too much?” Tilting my head to the side, I tap my chin in contemplation. She looks seconds away from running out the door to change.
“You look stunning, but…” I raise my finger.
“But?” She pales, smoothing a hand over her curled hair and nervously tugging at her small diamond earrings.
Dashing over to my wardrobe, I crouch down and hunt through the half empty shelves. When I find what I’m looking for, I offer them to her, and she smiles. “But you need these.”
She fingers the gold strappy heels, biting her lip. “I couldn’t.” But I can see that she could.
“Of course, you can. Belle gave them to me because they pinch her feet. I’m pretty sure she wore them for five minutes.” I pat the bed, indicating she’s to kick off her grandma flats and show off those killer legs. She finally gives in, not that I needed to twist her arm.
As she crosses her leg to slip on the five-inch heels, I decide to ask her a hypothetical question before it eats me up inside. “Belle is going to prom with Sin. London,” I correct quickly.
She works the buckle while looking up at me. “I thought she might. Aren’t they dating?”
It’s been a general rule we don’t speak about the Sinclair’s and Belle knows better than to mention Sin to my parents.
“I don’t know if you’d call it dating. Belle doesn’t think he’s interested in her anymore.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. That boy doesn’t exactly have the best role models.”
I nod, watching her fingers work the clasp, unable to face her. “I know, but…”
She pauses mid loop. “But what?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and meet her questioning stare. “But do you really think he’s that bad?”
My question has bowled her over. She appears visibly stunned and opens and closes her mouth twice before answering. “Holland…is there something going on between you two?”
“What?” I shake my head firmly, my ponytail whipping from the force. “No, god, no, I just…” I tug at the silver locket around my neck as she exhales in relief. “I mean, he went to prison for me. He can’t be that bad.”
She takes a minute to find her words. “No, he’s worse.” Standing once she’s buckled her shoes, she places a hand on my cheek. “Just stay away from him, okay? Nothing but trouble follows him. You’ve got a big heart, and I know you want to see the good in everyone, but London doesn’t deserve a second of your time. After everything he’s done to you over the years…” She takes a deep breath, her cheeks flushed. “Just promise me you’ll stay away from him.”
I’ve never seen her so adamant before. She hasn’t really given me a reason to stay away, but I don’t argue. Her resolve is clear, and I know nothing will change her mind.
“Okay. I promise.”
“Good girl.” She kisses me on the forehead, my answer appeasing her concerns.
I am no better off than I was five seconds ago, but I was stupid to think that my feelings toward Sin would be reciprocated. Just because I’ve had a lapse in judgment doesn’t mean my mom will too.
“Now if you need us, you call. I’ve left the number on the kitchen counter along with twenty dollars just in case you feel like pizza.” She smiles, her beautiful face lighting up.
“Thanks. Have a nice night.”
“You too, Sweetie.” She kisses my forehead once again, lovingly brushing the hair from my temple. “My little girl is all grown up.” Her nostalgia is clear, and for some reason, it brings tears to my eyes.
I’m sure she never pictured her life turning out the way it did. The easy way would have been having an abortion, but having me shows her strength and the fact she never turned her back on me. I plan on doing the same.
“Make sure you’re home before one,” I tease in a low voice, doing a poor imitation of my father. She laughs, hugging me one last time, before sauntering out of my room like a runway model in those shoes.
When the front door closes and the car starts with a sputter, I walk over to the window and watch my parents through the lace curtains. In a way, this is their belated prom. I can live vicariously through them.
As the car reverses down the driveway, the headlights growing smaller and smaller, I peer up into the clear night sky and focus on the arch of stars. When I was younger, I used to sit by this window and wish upon every star as far as the eye could see. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize that wishes come true with hard work and determination. There is no magical potion that one can take to miraculously transform into someone other than themselves. If we want something…we have to go out and get it.
Well, that rule of thumb applies to most things…but some, we have to forget and move on.
That curtain of sadness swathes me once again, but I push it aside because I’ve made a promise to my mom. London Sinclair is off-limits, and no matter what I think I feel, that rule can never, ever be broken.
Giving up on the notion of studying, I decide to take a bath and make it an early night. The twenty my parents left still rests on the kitchen counter since the thought of eating twists my stomach into knots.
I’m lounging on my sofa watching a Disney marathon because the magical worlds of make-believe help me switch off. It’s now a little past eleven, and prom is no doubt in full swing.
Lincoln hasn’t attempted to call me after today; not that I blame him, considering I treated him like he was the enemy. I know he meant well, but Sin is right—I can take care of myself. After all these years, he should know because he’s the reason I’m no damsel in distress.
I suppose that’s the reason I love Beauty and the Beast so much. As the credits roll, I decide to call it a night. I haven’t snapped out of my funk, so I’m hoping some much-needed sleep will help iron out the creases, and I’ll feel a little more like myself tomorrow.
I turn off the lights and make my way down the narrow hallway to the bathroom. We don’t have the luxury of having two bathrooms, but after a while, you learn to deal. Belle is still horrified I have to share with my dad, but there are more pressing issues in the world, like if she and Sin are booked into The Beverly Hills Hotel like the rest of my classmates.
Belle’s champagne-colored dress is stunning, and after a few twirls, she decided that regardless of
the fact she felt like a beached whale, she was going to wear it. I helped her get ready, but after an hour, I bailed because the thought of Sin helping her out of it at the end of the night made me nauseous.
She still seemed a little off color when I left, but I guess the status of her and Sin’s relationship was playing in her mind. We avoided what happened this afternoon because I didn’t want to ruin her night with my woes.
I’m brushing my teeth, lost in a completely different dimension, when a thunderous pounding thumps at what sounds like my front door. I pause to listen, hoping it’s just a car backfiring. I wait, breathing out a sigh of relief when it’s silent, but that breath is taken in vain because it sounds once again, only louder this time.
There is no way in hell I’m opening that door.
I make a dive for the light and switch it off, so my home is cloaked in darkness. I don’t bother rinsing out my mouth. Creeping out into the hall, I stare down the passage, the front door a few yards away. Maybe whoever it was had the wrong house and is gone.
My heavy breathing fills the corridor, my knees knocking together in anxiety. Yes, we don’t live in the best part of town, but I’ve never had a random try to bash down my door in the middle of the night.
Crossing my fingers behind my back, I don’t dare move a muscle, too afraid the movement will alert the knocker that someone is home. Just when I think they’re gone, the banging sounds once again, but the raps are louder and a lot more frantic this time. I slap my hands over my mouth to mute my yelps.
Before long, the knocking is one continuous song, getting more and more intense as each second passes. I need to stop standing around like an idiot and do something because I doubt an intruder would knock, alerting the occupants of their arrival.
Maybe someone is in trouble.
That has me tiptoeing toward the door, the worn-out carpet muting my steps. I have no idea what I plan to do because by the time the police arrive in this neighborhood, I’ll be bound and gagged, and smuggled over the Mexican border.
Reaching for the baseball bat which conveniently sits in the umbrella holder by the door, I unlock the handle as quiet as a mouse but leave the chain in place. Just as I’m about to demand who’s there, a winded plea changes the course of everything.
