by C. L. Stone
Mr. McCoy glowered at me, raising a fist. “Think you can hit me?”
What else could I do? Never when Kota or Nathan was showing me how to hit someone else did I imagine I’d ever have to. I never thought he would go this far. They had trained me, but somehow I still never thought he would go this far. How would I ever recover if I hit him? He could charge me with assault and I’d be arrested. Wasn’t I supposed to stay out of trouble?
His hand shot out again, gripping at my shoulder and shoving me hard against the wall of the showers. His voice dropped an octave. “You think you can hit me and get away with it?”
The pain that hit my back as I met with the wall sparked the anger I needed. My hand made a fist and I aimed for his solar plexus.
He jumped back, letting go of me and getting out of the reach of my fists. His face reddened, enraged.
I held up my fists, readying my feet, ready to kick. “Stay away from me,” I said, my voice cracking.
The corner of his mouth lifted. Was he enjoying this? “You’re in trouble, now. Hitting a vice principal. You’ll end up in jail for a long time. You’ll be expelled.”
I gritted my teeth, aimed my knee and kicked out. If I was going to get expelled now, I was at least going to get a good strike in.
He must have been expecting it, because the moment my foot struck out, he lurched away. He caught my ankle and shoved.
I fell sideways against the wall, my leg twisted and he let go. I dropped to the floor, my knee throbbing in pain.
“Do you think you’re the first student to attack me?” Mr. McCoy stepped forward. He crouched and hovered over me. “I’ve had all manner of students, many much bigger than you, trying to get out of trouble by fighting and running away. That never works.”
I moaned, struggling against the pain. I gripped at the tile, trying to crawl. Kota was right. I was too slow. I gave him too much warning.
His fingers wrapped around my ankle, pulling me back toward him. I slid across the tile, scrambling to grip at the floor to get up and away. He held strong, easily pinning my leg to the ground.
“Let me go,” I said, but my voice box wouldn’t let me get out much more than a few cracked syllables.
“You might ask for mercy,” he said, frowning. “And if you cooperate now, you might get some. Maybe. You don’t deserve it, though. I’ve seen your type before. You with your perverted fanfare of boyfriends following behind you. You flaunt yourself at them and they come for you, doing whatever you ask. Getting detentions all at the same time for you.” He glowered. “It’s disgusting.”
I kicked out toward him but his other hand found my second ankle. He wrapped his arms around my feet, holding them down against the floor.
“Don’t fight me,” he said, a warning growl under his voice, his grip on my ankles strengthened.
Fresh waves of pain shifted up my leg. I sat up, blindly striking out at him, wild. When he dodged my flying fists, I tried pulling myself up, reaching along the wall to try to yank myself out of his grasp.
He sighed heavily. “Will you stop? You’ll only wear yourself out.”
My hand clutched something metal and I pulled at it, trying to pick myself up. The handle twisted.
A stream of water shot out from the showerhead above us.
The moment the water streamed down into my face, against my body, I recoiled into myself, covering my head with my arms. My breath escaped me. I bit my tongue to keep myself conscious. If I fainted now, I couldn’t fight off McCoy. Memories and waves of queasiness washed over me, threatening to take me down.
Mr. McCoy let go of my ankles. “Stupid girl,” he snapped at me. He shook his arms over my head, standing away from the stream of water. He reached around the water, grabbing at the collar of my shirt. He used it to pull me out away from the wall and from the falling water.
He gripped at my legs and started to drag me for a distance toward the archway of the shower room. I scratched at his arms, trying to get him to release me. He shook me hard enough that my head was rolling. I struck out blindly, trying to hit anything I could.
Panic seeped into every atom inside me. I called out, with what little voice I had. Where were the coaches? Where was he taking me? I couldn’t let him carry me off. Somehow I knew if I did, that would be the end.
“Let go of her,” thundered a commanding voice. A thud followed and I was dropped.
I crawled away, my skirt and blouse sticking to my body. My trembling and pain made it difficult to stand. I looked up in time to see Mr. Blackbourne standing over the slumped body of Mr. McCoy. I blinked, and blinked again. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I held my breath, assuming Mr. McCoy would get up. He would scream after us. He would come at me again. He would call the police now and have us both arrested.
No. He was down. One hit, and Mr. Blackbourne had knocked him out cold.
Mr. Blackbourne jumped over Mr. McCoy’s body, and raced to me. He hovered over, his steel eyes flashing. “Miss Sorenson,” he said, his voice a thousand times softer than I’d ever heard it before. “What hurts?”
I breathed out a groan, swallowing. In that split moment, I really didn’t know if anything hurt at all. I was in shock. My mouth moved, trying to tell him this, but my voice had disappeared. My eyes wandered to Mr. McCoy, trying to determine if it was safe.
Mr. Blackbourne frowned. He brought his hand to hover in front of my face and snapped sharply. “Don’t worry about him,” he commanded. The cool and collected Mr. Blackbourne I knew was taking over. “Can you get up?”
I gritted my teeth, shifting to get up on my knees. “I don’t know,” I said honestly, my voice small and unusual to me.
Mr. Blackbourne’s face steeled over. “Let me help,” he said. He wrapped his hands around my arms, pulling me up along with him.
My foot hurt, probably the old bone bruise had been aggravated. I was able to stand next to him. My knee felt like it had been twisted.
Mr. Blackbourne’s spring scent filled my nose as I breathed in deeply. It helped me find my strength and I forced myself to put pressure on my foot, despite the pain, just to show I could walk on it if I had to. Every other part of me felt numb. My clothes dripped, sticking to my skin.
Squeaking from running shoes against tile closed in on us. Mr. Blackbourne planted himself in front of me, blocking my view and presenting himself as a shield.
“Where are you?” North’s voice called from deeper within the locker room.
Mr. Blackbourne’s shoulders lowered. “Over here.”
From around the bend came Kota and North. Their eyes landed on me. They stopped dead.
“Sang,” Kota breathed out.
“We don’t have time to talk,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “She can’t be here when he comes out of this.”
“What did he do?” North asked, his fists clenched, drifting forward, his fierce dark eyes landing on McCoy’s still body.
“No time,” Mr. Blackbourne replied. “Get her out of here. Kota, help me with McCoy.”
Kota moved quickly, stepping up next to McCoy and shoving his arms around his shoulders. With Mr. Blackbourne assisting, they managed to flip Mr. McCoy onto his back.
North zoomed forward. His fists moving toward my face. At the last split second, they opened up, as if wanting to pull me toward him.
Only what I saw first were fists coming at me. I cowered, raising my arms instinctively. I shook so hard, my body visibly trembling before him.
He stopped, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening. He took a step back, dropping his hands to his sides. The wave of pain over his face told me I did something I could possibly never take back. “I can’t take her,” he said.
I started shaking my head. No! You can take me. Let’s go. I willed the words to escape my mouth, but my voice box wasn’t working. I was too stunned from what had just happened and what he was saying now. What did I do?
“Get her out of here,” barked Mr. Blackbourne.
“She doesn’t trust me,�
� North yelled at him. He turned from me until I couldn’t see his face. “Did you see her flinch?”
“She’s in shock,” Kota said.
“She hates me.” North’s shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breathing. “This will never work. She’ll never join us. Did you see her back away from me?”
“We don’t have time for this,” Mr. Blackbourne said.
“I’ll take her,” Kota said, dropping Mr. McCoy’s body to the ground. His arms opened up and he reached out for me. “Come on, Sang.”
His approach was slower than North’s. I reached back for him and he grasped me around the waist. His arm hooked under my thighs and he picked me up, pulling me against him. My head found the corner between his neck and shoulder. My hands moved to his chest as he carried me. I trembled against him, but felt the soothing relief. Kota. It was over. McCoy was down.
“See?” North said somewhere I couldn’t see. A growl emanated from him. “She doesn’t trust me. She hates me. She’ll never ...”
“Get her out of here, Kota,” Mr. Blackbourne snapped. “North, focus.”
Kota held me to his body and dashed away from the locker room. North’s voice traveled with me.
She hates me.
It wasn’t true. He didn’t know. I wanted to stop Kota but I was too scared in the moment do anything.
I knew with every step he took away from North, I was making my mistake worse.
I should get Kota to turn around. I needed to tell North I didn’t hate him. I didn’t mean to recoil from him. He surprised me.
“Kota,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t hate him.”
He turned, pressing his back against the door that led out to the parking lot. “Hang on, Sang,” he said. “We need to get out of here.” He twisted himself, taking me along with him, until we were out under the rain.
Droplets fell against my face. At first, I dismissed it, my body shivering, but with Kota there, I didn’t think of it.
As the rain struck at my skin, images started pouring behind my eyes. McCoy’s hands reaching to carry me off. North’s angry face as I pulled away.
My mother locking me up in the shower, tying me to the stool.
It was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.
FORGIVENESS
Rain tapped the window of my bedroom, waking me from a heavy sleep filled with dark dreams. I sat up quickly, gasping, and clutched at my chest. I felt like I hadn’t breathed in hours and suddenly discovered the pain of my lungs on fire.
The last thing I remembered was Mr. Blackbourne’s strained face as he was hauling an unconscious Mr. McCoy.
The rain against the window caused my stomach to twist, bringing back more memories. I’d passed out in the rain. I couldn’t get through a rainstorm without fainting from sheer terror. I trembled at hearing the splattering.
North’s words clattered through me again.
She hates me. She’ll never join us.
I glanced around in the dark, recognizing my bed and the familiar surroundings. I traced my hand along the sheets next to me. The coolness confirmed no one was with me tonight.
I found my phone next to the pillow. I curled up against the bed on my side, holding the phone. My fingers found the cracks in the glass. I pressed a button, hoping it would work.
The light from the phone glowed in my face. The phone seemed fine, but the cracks in the glass were unsightly. I groaned softly. Victor would be upset. He’d want to get me another one.
My fingers hovered over the guys’ apps. It was one in the morning. If they weren’t sleeping right now, they were probably working. I imagined that was why no one was there right now.
Not that I deserved it. I’d failed terribly. I wasn’t fast enough with McCoy.
I made North angry.
The memory of North’s pained face had me shuddering where I lay. What could I do? I was tempted to call him to wake him up and apologize, but I was scared, too. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make it worse.
I ached. A tear slid across my cheek and dropped on the bed. I couldn’t believe how badly I had messed up. North. The thought of his warm arms wrapped around me, his lips pressed against my fingers, his nose buried in my hair, how could he not know how I felt? I wasn’t afraid of him.
I couldn’t live like this. I couldn’t let him think I hated him.
I tapped at the black car icon for his app. I hesitated. I still didn’t want to wake him if he was sleeping, so I didn’t want to call.
I opted instead to send a text.
Sang: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I did. I don’t hate you. Please don’t be mad at me.
I couldn’t think of what else to say. I swallowed, hovered my finger over the send button and pushed. When the message went out, I clutched the phone, drawing it to my chest.
When the phone buzzed against my skin, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. He was awake or I had woken him. I didn’t want to look at my screen, scared he was angry and would tell me to back off or worse. I couldn’t stop myself from checking.
North: I wouldn’t blame you if you did.
My eyes flared. I sat up, shoving my blanket away. I faced the wall and sat cross legged on my bed. My fingers flew across the screen’s keyboard display.
Sang: Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault. After McCoy came after me, I was jumpy because he scared me, not you. I didn’t mean to flinch from you. I just didn’t know what you were doing so I backed up a little to figure out what you wanted. I’m sorry. It wasn’t you.
I waited for a reply, staring at the screen, impatient to hear back from him.
North: Are you okay?
Was I okay? What kind of question was that? I flexed my ankle. It was stiff but working. Was he even talking about that?
I hovered over the phone, trying to think of a response. There was only one thing I could think to say. With trembling fingers, I typed in my answer.
Sang: I miss you.
My heart became a tiny pit inside my body as I sent the message. It felt like the completely wrong thing to say. The second I sent it, I wanted to take it back. It felt so forward and was probably way off of what he was talking about.
Only, it was the truth. I meant it. I did miss him. I missed the way I felt about him before I did such a terrible thing. I didn’t want him to hate me and was scared to death he wouldn’t forgive me.
I strained over the phone, gazing down at the glow and waited, holding my breath.
“I miss you, too,” a husky voice uttered from behind me.
I dropped my phone, and it slid down, falling onto the floor. I spun to my knees on the bed, gazing into the darkness behind me.
The outline of North’s figure loomed in the corner. He was sitting on top of my trunk. His back was against the wall. His gruff face was partially illuminated by the cell phone he held in his hands. His eyes met mine, apologies and silent questions penetrating through me.
I should have known. The Academy boys wouldn’t leave me.
“North,” I whispered, afraid what I was seeing was an illusion.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his low voice vibrating through my bones. “Sang Baby, that wasn’t me. I knew better. It was the stupid drugs and then seeing McCoy.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said. “I didn’t want you to think ...”
“I know,” he said. He stood up, crossing the room.
I shifted on the bed, pulling the blanket back, giving him space.
He read my mind. He slipped between the sheets next to me. He rested on his side and opened his arms up.
This time I didn’t hesitate. I fell into him. I pressed my head to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. His nose touched down against my hair.
“Baby,” he whispered softly against my head.
“North,” I said. My hands found his chest and I clutched at him.
“Do you still like me?” he whispered.
“Yes. Do yo
u still like me?”
“Yes.”
I breathed in his soft musk. “What happened?” I asked, breathing against his chest. “What happened to McCoy?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“Am I in trouble?”
He shook his head against me. He pulled back, pushing me slightly until his eyes met mine. The hint of a grin teased the corner of his mouth. “Do you think I’d let you get into trouble? You’d have to take me down first.”
“But he thought I stole from the other girls. I was trying to fight him off. He threatened to call the police. And Mr. Blackbourne ...”
North uttered a guttural moan. He pulled me against his strong chest. His broad arms encircled me, closing me in tightly. “Stop it. Baby, will you just once please trust me? Please?”
I couldn’t find the air to respond. I buried my face into his chest.
His fingers dug into my back, strong, as if trying to draw me closer into him when I couldn’t be pressed any further. “We don’t know who stole everything, but we know it wasn’t you. We’ll figure it out later. And I won’t let him touch you. Not again. Not ever. I’ll kill him myself if I have to.”
I gasped.
“I mean it.” His nose nuzzled against my head. His breath caught up in my hair. “I saw it. I saw what he did to you.”
“How?”
“There’s a recording.”
“There’s cameras in the girl’s shower room?”
“There’s cameras everywhere. Especially in places that are almost abandoned. Your mother did that.” He sighed against my hair. “Your mother proved to us we couldn’t dismiss small spaces.”
The new information struck me. “Did you hear what he said? Was he wired, too?”
He paused. “Sort of.”
His hesitation drew a conclusion that had me pondering something I’d wondered about for a long time. “Am I wired?”
He grunted. “Yes.”
I drew back from him. His hands continued to hold on to me so I couldn’t get far, but I managed to push against his chest so I could lean back and look at him. “Are you serious? Where? When ...”
