Bitter Lies
Page 32
“What do you say, Princess, you up for a little ass play? We can even do it all together, make sure all your holes get attention?” Colt purrs.
I’m smarting, but I’ll be damned if I let him know. For some reason, it annoys me that he’s willing to share me, which makes me all kinds of stupid.
Fine, you wanna be an asshat, I can play the game.
Stepping forward as much as I can, smushed between their two bodies as I am, I run my fingers down Dirk’s chest, noticing he’s pretty well built himself. Not to mention he has smoldering dark eyes and an adorable dimple in his cheek.
“I’m willing to play,” I purr, “as long as Dirk here gets to be first.”
Dirk’s eyes widen, his pupils expanding under my touch. Colt stiffens behind me, his whole body going rigid, but you wouldn’t notice it when he speaks. Only I know, and it’s with a little thrill, I smile triumphantly.
“I think we can work something out Princess, that is, if you’re willing to share too,” Colt says, gruffly.
Stepping away, he pulls the chick from before into his arms. My back feels cold without his weight against it and I ignore the surge of disappointment. With a vague hurt pulsing in my chest, I step away and say, “Too bad, I don’t share. It would have been epic too.”
Walking away without a backward glance, I grimace and shake my head infinitesimally. So that sort of backfired on me. Gah.
With grim acceptance, I slouch in my seat and wait for the first period to start. I’m still reeling from the feel of Colt’s distinctly well-built and hard body against mine. In any other place and time - you know - if he didn’t hate me, I’d have climbed him like a tree.
Colt saunters in just before the bell with a weird look on his face, his eyes lidded, his mouth relaxed. It’s only after staring at his mouth in consternation I realize, he’s satiated. What did he do with that girl after I left?
A sharp pain jackknifes through my chest and my eyes narrow on him when he gives me a smirk and sits down, spreading his legs wide and leaning back casually.
Is this for my benefit?
Studiously ignoring him for the remainder of class, I glare holes through the board and steam in my seat. I’m up and out of my chair as soon as the bell rings. I’m not sure if it's a construct of my paranoid mind, but I think I hear Colt chuckling as I do.
Biology brings with it a new fresh hell, lying on my desk is a Barbie doll with its head shaved in choppy chunks and a noose hanging loosely around the neck. Most disturbingly, the doll is naked. Either Melissa and her minions didn’t care to worry about the doll's clothes or someone else who’s far more insidious left me a gift.
Either way, it leaves me disturbed and itching to heed Ramie’s advice. I’m in no position to square off against Melissa. I’m not sure ten rounds with a boxer would get me there.
During study hall, I keep my head down and brood lost to my thoughts. The guy in the wheelchair slides past and gives me a friendly smile, to which I return a weak version.
I’ve lost my appetite by lunch and having brought my own, I content myself with sitting outside and forcing myself to eat tiny bites of the sandwich I made. The peaceful moment allows me to think about things better left alone, but inevitably my thoughts circle to Dad.
Dirk’s unkind words from earlier dance in my head. He was being an asshat, he couldn’t know the truth, at least I hope not, but the words had an impact anyway.
When I was a girl, young enough not to know better, he was my hero as all daddies should be. The man who snuck me cookies when Mom wasn’t looking, convinced her to let me do things she heartily disapproved of, and my confidante when I needed to talk through my pre-adolescent issues. He was everything to me. Until one horrible day when my reality came crashing down around me, and a new one formed with cracks and fissures.
I was ten years old, it was football season, super bowl Sunday and we gathered around the television to watch Dad’s team play. This was what I lived for, bonding with my dad over football, or anything really. By this age, I was desperately trying to hang onto that closeness not understanding with my body changing and priorities shifting I would lose it anyway.
I wore my dad’s lucky jersey and painted my face with black marks, imitating his beloved team, all the while I stood beside him through the whole game, cheering them on. When they started to lose, I kept up my cheer, even when my voice grew hoarse, sensing my dad's escalating bad mood with each opposing team's touchdowns.
By the end, he was silent, and tense and I felt bad. But what could I do?
When he stormed from the room angrily, I was determined to bring his spirits up, I knew how much the game meant to him. Searching him out, room by room, I found him in the kitchen with my mom.
All thoughts of solidarity, of offering comfort fled in the face of what I saw when I rounded the corner. Standing with his back to me, was Dad and he had his large hand wrapped around Mom’s throat, easily twice the size of her slim neck. He was pushing her against the wall with that meaty hand. I’ll never forget the look on her face, her eyes dark with terror, helplessness, and a kernel of outrage as she stared into his.
He squeezed and she winced, gasping as much as she could with his hand tight around her throat.
“Did I tell you I wanted my beer in the outdoor refrigerator? Hm?” he growled, his voice so low, so cruel I shivered, icy fear trickling down my spine.
As much as she could under his tight hold, she whimpered and shook her head, no.
“Then why the fuck did your dumb ass decide to think for yourself?” he snarled.
She just stood there with tears building behind her eyes, silently begging him. I wanted her to fight back, stand up for herself, naive at that moment to the consequences if she had.
When he backed away and she dropped forward gasping, I turned away, the sound of him unzipping his pants following me down the hall.
That was the moment I realized my dad wasn’t the hero I had painted him to be, and after, the things I had ignored, perhaps in a bid to hold onto my innocence a little longer, became crystal clear. Until even I wasn’t immune to his rage, although Mom always took the brunt of it.
We existed in a suspended bubble of fear for years, until the fateful night that everything changed. I think we all knew it was inevitable, but I still wish someone would’ve stepped in to stop it.
With a sigh, I throw the remainder of my sandwich in the can and head to my next class, grief hanging over my head like a Charlie Brown cloud.
I take Ramie’s advice and hightail it home before the last period, paranoia riding me all the way to my car, but no one stops me, and I make it home unscathed.
This is only to buy me time, I can’t avoid Melissa forever.
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Other books by Nina Lincoln:
High School Bully Romance(s):
The Hate Series:
Hate So Bad – Book One
Hate So Good - Book Two
Hate So Sweet - Book Three
Broken Revenge
Supernatural Romance:
The Holloway Witch Series:
Witch Unknown - Book One