Bully (Angel & Demons Trilogy Book 1)

by Ashley Love

  He belatedly realizes that this is the first time it's just been him and Ariel. Usually when he's hurting her, his friends are there hurting her too. This is the first time Zane and Ariel have found themselves alone in the same room together. This is the first time Zane has purposely gone out of his way to beat up Ariel all by himself. And that makes him nervous.

  He briefly considers turning around and fleeing the bathroom before she notices he's there, but then she shuts the sink off and turns around, her eyes falling upon him. And they just stare at each other for a second, Ariel's wet hands dripping crystal drops of water onto the floor.

  She's the first to break the stare, to Zane's surprise. He watches as she silently reaches over and grabs a paper towel out of the dispenser, drying her hands and throwing it in the trash. Zane takes a few steps towards her as she reaches down and scoops up her backpack, just holding it in one hand. She begins to walk towards the door behind him.

  Zane ignores the phantom pains in his side, the nagging wrongwrongwrong screaming in his head, the lingering scent of burning hairspray, and he steps in Ariel's way when she tries to pass.

  "Going somewhere?" he hears himself say.

  Ariel doesn't look at him, at least not yet. She just looks off to the side, and she sighs once through her nose, looking tired and resigned. There are still dark bruises littering her face from the rocks.

  "Don't do this, Zane," she says, and he blinks. Ariel has never called him by his name before. It sounds nice, in her soft voice, and Zane has to suppress the shiver that tries to roll its way up his spine.

  And then he realizes. He and Ariel have never spoken before. In all their encounters, they've never once said a word to each other. But somehow it doesn't feel weird. It just feels natural. He almost wishes they were speaking under different circumstances, but he has to quickly shake those thoughts off. He's not here to get to know Ariel. He's here to beat the shit out of her and remind himself that he and Ariel will never happen. It will never be. So he needs to stop feeling this way.

  He can't think of anything to say, so he reaches down and tears Ariel's backpack out of her hand, tossing it aside, goading her on. Ariel sways a little as the bag is forcibly torn from her grasp, but she otherwise doesn't resist, watching the backpack skid to a halt in the corner of the bathroom near the urinals. Zane stares at her and waits, and Ariel's eyes slowly turn to meet his.

  They look at each other for an unnaturally long moment, and Ariel looks utterly exhausted. To be fair, Zane's pretty sure he doesn't look any better, seeing as he hasn't slept for more than four or so hours a night since Slate lit her on fire and jumpstarted his nightmares again. He has nightmares of The Accident, and flashbacks, and it's all so exhausting, and his fucked up brain has chosen to blame Ariel for it.

  He watches her throat ripple as she swallows, and then she looks away once more, and tries to step around him again. This time when Ariel tries to pass, Zane grabs her, startling a gasp out her, and he slams her back against the wall of the bathroom, hitting her head against the cheap crumbling drywall in the process. His arm automatically presses down across her collarbone to hold her there, like he would with any other student, because any other student would be fighting back at this point. But Ariel once again just stands there, helplessly pinned, staring at him, waiting for something else to happen.

  And before Zane can stop himself, he's snapping. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Because, what the hell is wrong with this girl? Why won't she fight back for fuck's sake? Why won't she cry or yell for help?

  Ariel's eyebrows press together in confusion, and she cocks her head to the side a little. It's actually adorable, but Zane forces himself not to think about that too much.

  "What?" she asks.

  Zane shakes his head. "Why do you let people just walk all over you, huh?" he hears himself asking. "Why the hell don't you fight back?"

  Wait. This isn't how this is supposed to be going. What is he doing? He's supposed to be throwing punches by now. Instead he's standing here having a conversation with the girl. His hands ball into fists as he watches Ariel's forehead smooth out in understanding, oblivious to the turmoil inside his head.

  "You want me to fight back?" Ariel utters skeptically, and Zane supposes it is kind of unusual for a bully to want the victim to stand up to them. But what can he say? He's never been one for an easy fight. And Ariel all but giving up every time he and his friends advance upon her, giving up even before they start swinging, is a constant frustration to him.

  He grits his teeth. "I want to know why the hell you don't," he responds to her.

  She just stares at him wonderingly, curiously. Zane absently notes how unbelievably blue her eyes look in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, like looking straight into a supernova. His mind begins to wander back to those swimming pools again, and he has to force himself to think of something else.

  "I don't like hurting people," Ariel replies finally, and if Zane doesn't know any better, he'd say she's hiding something. But he doesn't feel it worthwhile to prod.

  He shoves his arm harder against Ariel's collarbone, startling a stuttered gasp out her. "There's a difference between hurting someone and self defense," Zane growls, and he has no idea why he's getting so worked up over this. "So fight back, you coward. Come on."

  Ariel swallows and Zane watches the corners of her jaw bulge a bit as she grits her teeth. "No."

  Zane glares. "You want to have your ass handed to you?"

  Ariel sighs a bit, and Zane feels her sag a little against the wall. "No," she admits truthfully. "But if you and your friends feel the need to do so, because of some issue in your lives that causes you anger, then who am I to stand in your way? I'm here to help, and if that means taking a few punches, I'll accept that."

  Zane just stares at her. Say what? What is this, anger management therapy?

  "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he demands.

  Ariel breathes out a quiet breath and closes her eyes for a second, maybe blinking away the ache in the back of her head where it hit the wall when he shoved her against it. "Zane, are you going to hit me?" she asks.

  Zane glares at her. He feels a constant, pressing anger boiling low in his gut, ready to explode like a volcano at any second. He stares at her closed eyes, the tendons in his fist coiled and ready to strike. And he wants to hit her. God, he wants to hit her. Hit her right in her gorgeous face. But he can't. He freezes, right then and there. He has no idea how long he stands there, his face inches from Ariel's, so close he can feel her every exhale against his lips.

  And when Ariel opens her eyes again and returns the gaze, Zane still can't bring himself to back away. If she didn't have such a staring problem, Zane thinks perhaps she would have looked away by now. But she doesn't. She just stares.

  She looks calm on the outside. Her face is smooth, her eyes are empty, and she stares at him like he's just waiting for him to make the next move. But Zane's arm is pressed over her collarbone, and the palm of his hand is resting over her heart. Ariel is not calm. Her heart is slamming against his palm, faster with every second that they stand here. She's not calm. She's scared.

  And suddenly, Zane has an urge. It's not a new urge. Ever since he first saw Ariel, he's wondered what it would be like to kiss her. And now she's right here, right in front of him, her mouth inches away. And the desire to kiss her is beginning to overpower the desire to hit her.

  But he can't. He can't do that. And he can't hit her either. So what is he still doing here?

  "Zane?" Ariel asks, her voice low and soft, like she's talking to some skittish animal. Her heartbeat is beginning to slow a little under his palm.

  Zane looks up into her eyes when she says his name, and it's only then that he realizes he's been staring at her lips. Everything about this girl is strange. The shape of her face, the hypnotic allure of her eyes, the baby-soft paleness of her skin, even the oddly angular bow of her lips.

  Zane do
esn't respond when Ariel says his name, and she's probably wondering what the hell he's waiting for, why he's just staring. He doesn't know what to say, and he doesn't know what he's doing. His eyes leave hers for just a moment, trailing up to her forehead where one of the rocks had hit her a couple weeks ago before Slate set her on fire. There's still a pretty decent gash there, surrounded by green-yellow bruises.

  Before Zane knows what he's doing, his free hand comes up, and he's trailing the tip of his finger over the gash above her brow. He sees her eyes widen marginally, and she flinches a little as he touches the tender flesh around the healing wound. Beneath his palm, her heart starts jack-hammering again, and there's a subtle intake of breath through those strange lips of hers.

  Zane watches his finger trace the wound on her head, not daring to look back down into her eyes. He doesn't know what he's doing, and he's afraid of what he might do if he looks into those eyes again.

  And then he gives in to the anger that's been boiling in his stomach from the very beginning. Abruptly, he yanks his finger away from her wounded forehead, balling his hand into a fist. Ariel squeezes her eyes shut and turns her head away a little as Zane reels back and throws the first punch.

  He feels his knuckles connect with the drywall next to her head, feels the plaster cutting into his skin. Ariel blinks her eyes open when she realizes that Zane didn't hit her, missed her face by mere inches.

  Zane isn't going to hit Ariel. He can't. Goddammit.

  "Fuck," he curses under his breath, tearing himself away from her and yanking his fist out of the wall, turning and scrambling for the door. He forgets that he locked it when he first came in here, and fumbles a couple times before he gets it unlocked, throwing it open and leaving Ariel there stunned in the bathroom. He nearly collides with a group of girls sauntering down the hallway of The Dungeon, but he swiftly dodges them and makes for the exit, his hand beading with blood.

  He can't stay here.

  17

  I'm dreaming. I must be. Things like that don't happen in real life, do they?

  I have no idea how long I stand there staring at the bathroom door, my heart throbbing in my chest, the sound of Zane's fist crunching through the wall beside my head ringing in my ears.

  It takes me a few minutes to remember how to breathe. And when I do, I suck in a wild gasp, clutching my chest, bending over a bit and holding myself up by my knees.

  Of all the things that have happened to me this semester so far at the Cancers' hands, of all the things I've been through—from the fire, to the rocks, to being harassed outside of work—this right here, with Zane in the bathroom, has been the most bizarre.

  I've never had a bully just stop mid-attack. Not without reason.

  I work to slow my breathing. The whole time Zane was there, I had been trying to keep my face neutral, calm, keep my breathing even, my voice from quavering. Because, truly, being cornered in an isolated place by one guy is actually vastly more terrifying than being publicly harassed in the hallways or outside. And being cornered in the bathroom by him had been scary.

  That is, until I'd seen the look in Zane's eyes. Frankly, the second I had seen the way he was looking at me, I knew that he wasn't going to hit me...

  Well, I was ninety-five percent sure he wasn't going to hit me, anyway.

  That look in his eyes...

  Damn it, I have a serious problem.

  Sucking in a final breath, getting my wits back about me, I force my Jell-O like legs to move. I cross the bathroom and retrieve my backpack from under the urinals, hooking it onto my back and making for the door. I glance back once at the wall, eyeing the fist-sized hole Zane had just made. I hesitate at the door, because I'm halfway certain I'm going to open it and find Zane on the other side with his friends.

  But when I finally muster the nerve to open the door, there's no one there besides Victor sauntering down the hall with his keys jingling and his thumbs hooked in his belt loops like a regular prison guard. He looks up as I come out of the bathroom, and he surprises me by laughing a little.

  "I'm surprised you use that bathroom," he chuckles.

  I glance up and down the hall briefly, checking to make sure none of the Cancers are there. "Why?"

  Victor stops walking. "I don't even think the janitors clean down here," he says. "No one uses that bathroom. It's like an unwritten rule of this school."

  I adjust my backpack on my shoulders, eyeing Victor. "How do you know that?"

  "I may not be a student, but I know what goes on here, kid," Victor says, and then he glances at his watch. "Shouldn't you be at lunch? It's senior lunch period right now."

  I give him a half-smile, but my heart really isn't in it. "Headed there now," I reply. "See you later."

  Victor gives me a nod and watches me as I turn and head for the stairwell. A few seconds later, I hear his keys jingling as he starts walking again.

  When I reach the cafeteria, Charlie and Mason are already there, as well as Olivia. She's been joining us for lunch lately, and I think she and Charlie are probably going to end up dating soon. Charlie deserves it; I'm happy for her. But right now, I can't focus on that. I can't focus on much of anything.

  When I sit down after buying the first thing I grabbed—which happens to be a bag of hot Cheetos that I don't even like—my eyes immediately drift towards the window. Outside, the Cancers are all sitting at The Docks smoking and carrying on. But Zane isn't with them. I force myself to ignore the small stab of disappointment I feel when I don't see Zane there, because I've come to really enjoy watching him during lunch. Maybe that's creepy, but I don't really care. This probably means he won't be in math class later either, which is also disappointing.

  I have a serious problem.

  My friends chat away lunch, and every couple minutes I'll make some small noise of acknowledgment so they don't ask me why I'm not listening. My eyes keep drifting towards the window, like they always do, and I rub my forehead more than once, trying to rub away the feeling of Zane's fingers tracing my wound.

  I spend the rest of the day like this, in a sort of dazed state. Nobody has ever affected me like this before. Nobody has ever made me literally mentally check out of life. I don't hear or see anything in any of my classes, don't process anything. All I can hear is the sound of a fist smashing through drywall, and the rough growl of Zane's voice. All I can see are confused, angry green eyes, and the way he had stared at my lips this morning like he wanted to devour them.

  Zane hadn't hurt me in the bathroom. He hadn't hurt me. We were right there, and Zane had a perfect shot, and he'd punched the wall instead. He'd barely laid a finger on me apart from shoving me against the wall. And I am not going to admit how hot that was. I shiver just thinking about it.

  I have theater club that afternoon, and Lynn has to snap in my face more than once to get me to pay attention. I barely register her announcing that auditions for Marv's play (which was unanimously agreed upon by the whole company) begin tomorrow. I know I'm auditioning for a leading part as a high school bully who ends up being a good girl, which is just painfully ironic.

  Charlie and Mason begin to notice how distracted I am when Charlie tries to introduce me to a boy named Joey in the theater club as a potential love interest and I can barely hold a conversation with the guy. He's cute in a dorky way, but he's not Zane. Our introduction is awkward and brief and borderline painful. I'm an awkward girl, sure, but I'm not this awkward usually.

  So when theater club ends and I saunter outside and head for the woods to go home, Mason and Charlie corner me near the dumpsters right outside the exit.

  "Alright, spill," Charlie demands, bopping me once on the head. "What happened?"

  I look between the two of them. "What do you mean?"

  Mason scoffs. "Oh I don't know, Frankenstein," he says. "You wanna tell us why you've been basically catatonic all day, or are we gonna have to get the Cancers to beat it out of you?"

  Charlie punches M
ason. "That's so not funny!" she scolds. Mason just snickers.

  I bite my lip and sneak a glance over their shoulders towards The Docks. Zane isn't there, just like he wasn't there at lunch, just like he wasn't in math class. My first instinct is to lie to my friends. I don't want to tell them about this. I don't allow myself to have feelings for anyone, and if it happens (and it rarely does), I keep it to myself and let it go away on its own. Let it run its course. I've never liked anyone this hard. And it scares me so much I don't want to say it out loud. But Mason and Charlie are my friends. Real friends this time.

  So I grow a pair and tear my eyes away from The Docks. "I have a problem," I tell them.

  Mason and Charlie both just stare at me, waiting. But I freeze up.

  "Ariel, you look constipated," Charlie says.

  "She always looks constipated," Mason points out.

  "Is that it?" Charlie asks. "Are you backed up? I have prune juice." She begins to dig through her backpack.

  "Why in God's name do you have prune juice with you?" Mason asks.

  "My mom's a hippie, it's like all she drinks besides—"

  "I have a crush on Zane Peterson," I blurt out quickly, cutting Charlie off, and then I clamp my mouth shut the second I say it.

  Mason and Charlie both stop and look at me, their eyebrows shooting towards the sky. They say nothing for a good ten seconds or so, and I just collapse against the side of the dumpster, breathing out a heavy breath and running my hand through my messy hair. Wow, that actually feels good to say out loud. I should try this whole sharing and caring thing more often.

  When Mason starts laughing, me and Charlie both look at him in confusion.

  "It's about time you admit it!" he giggles. "You've done nothing but stare at him every day at lunch since the first time we met you!"

  I blush in embarrassment. So much for subtlety. I thought I was being a little less obvious about it. "No, no, this is a bad thing," I groan, hiding my face in my hands. "I can't have a crush on Zane."