“Nope, but they left a huge mess for me to clean. And they ruined my favourite blanket.” My Alice in Wonderland comforter had been shredded beyond repair. Either the robbers thought Alice would be a great keeper of valuables, or they trashed it to be cruel. I almost cried as I packed it into a garbage bag. My dad gave it to me for Christmas right before he died.
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“I liked the blanket,” I answer, glaring at him with as much loathing as I can muster. I know none of this is T.K.’s fault, but he’s as good a punching bag as any. “I’m not in the mood for this today. Can you try bothering me tomorrow instead?”
“No can do. Like I said, I need a hobby.” T.K.’s face glows with his mischievous smile, the one that means he’s either trying to charm me or annoy me. I still can’t figure out which.
After class, he insists upon walking me to English. Apparently, he’s concerned someone is going to mug me if I’m left alone for more than two minutes.
“Will you stop?” I say when I arrive at my locker before lunch to find him resting against it with his arms crossed over his obnoxious, overly large chest.
“Stop what?” He looks down at me through his lashes, the picture of innocence.
Somehow, they’re more golden than his hair.
I curse myself for noticing.
“Can’t a guy accompany a lady to lunch?”
“Not when she doesn’t want him to,” I snap.
T.K. lifts his hands up into the air, palms facing me. “Okay. Look. I’m going to level with you, alright?”
I purse my lips and lift my eyebrows, waiting.
“Lindsay and Marcella mentioned you have a tendency to avoid your emotions, and they thought it might be nice if someone is around should you, you know…”
“Have a breakdown?” I say through my teeth, completely outraged and betrayed Lindsay would say something like that to T.K. of all people. We just met him! And Marcella!
“Not my idea,” he says, hands still in the air. “Honestly, you don’t seem like the breakdown type to me, but the job didn’t seem too taxing, so I figured, why the hell not?”
“Because it’s not needed! But oh, why the hell not!”
I can’t remember the last time I felt this upset. How could Lindsay confide in Marcella about me? I’m suddenly filled with an urge to cut her off completely. I don’t need her. Not if she’s going to go running her mouth to Miss Perfect every chance she gets.
“I don’t believe that,” he says simply, unfazed by my rage.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lindsay rounding the corner, Marcella by her side. “Ugh!” I shout, slamming the locker door and turning on my heel in the opposite direction.
Before I know what is happening, I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, my hands clutching the steering wheel. “Deep breaths,” I murmur to myself, trying to calm down.
I’m not going to become worked up.
I’m not going to lose control.
I’m going to breathe.
Eyes closed, I rest my head on the wheel and try to find my centre, digging my nails into my palm. I’m vaguely aware of the passenger’s door opening and someone sitting down, but I don’t want to look at Lindsay or hear her defend herself, so I continue to focus on breathing.
In and out.
In.
Out.
In–
“Where are we going?” T.K. interrupts. I turn my head and open one eye, glaring at him as best I can under the circumstances. The jerk is smiling.
“Get out of my car,” I reply, pleased with how calm my voice sounds.
Per his usual, he ignores my request. “I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking we should blow off the rest of the day.”
“Why won’t you go away?” I re-close my eye and hold my breath. I squeeze my lips tightly closed to prevent any air from escaping.
“I don’t feel like it right now.” I can practically hear the annoyingly handsome smile plastered on his face. “I think we started off on the wrong foot. I’m thinking we should be friends.”
“I have enough friends.”
“By my last count you have one and you’re angry with her. So you could probably use another. Like a backup friend.”
I chance a look at him. Yup, there is the smile. I groan, smacking my head against the wheel.
“Please go away?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“So, where to?”
Giving up, I put the car in reverse and pull away from the school. Wisely, T.K. keeps silent for most of the drive into town, except for an amused comment about how angry Marcella will be when she realizes her ride home abandoned her.
“You two really don’t get along, do you?”
“We’re different. Getting along was never an option.” I want to ask if they got along when they were children, but I don’t want my curiosity to come off as interest, so I say nothing. Instead, I begin searching for a destination that will get me out of the car as fast as possible. Not knowing where else to go, I pull the car into the parking lot of the movie theatre.
“I’m down for a movie if you are,” he calls, already getting out of the car.
Of course.
I debate driving away, but T.K. seems to sense my plan; he leaves the passenger’s door open, forcing me to get up and close it.
A movie won’t kill me.
In theory.
There aren’t many options to choose from, so we pick some ridiculous comedy featuring a cast of vaguely familiar actors. T.K. leaves me standing by the door while he goes to buy tickets–he insists he owes me after his minor stalking attempt–and returns with two soft drinks and a bag of popcorn. For some reason, I don’t tell him I hate carbonated drinks.
Instead, I give him a tentative smile and follow him into the theatre, not feeling nearly as awkward as the situation calls for. Anyone who sees us will think we’re on a date. I try to figure out if there is a way to ascertain it is not a date without hurting his feelings.
There isn’t, but that has never stopped me before.
By the time I figure out what to say, the movie has started and we’re plunged into silence. It’s nice, which is surprising.
When I go to the movies with Lindsay there is non-stop chatter, even while the film is playing. When I used to go to the movies with Mitch, it was uncomfortable. I never knew where to put my hand, if I should have been speaking, or if kissing was expected.
With T.K., it’s simple. We both sit in silence, our hands resting in our laps, laughing at the occasionally funny jokes. By the end of the movie, I actually feel relaxed. As the credits begin to play, we are harassed by the lyrics of a catchy pop song I’m ashamed to know all the words of. I chance a look in his direction and find him watching me with darkened eyes.
“What?” I narrow my eyes at him. I do not trust that look.
He shakes his head a little before answering, and when he does, it’s in a whisper I’m not entirely sure I’m meant to hear. “I’ve never heard you laugh.”
“I laugh,” I say, unable to look away from his eyes. There are definitely some flexes of gold mixed in with the green. “You’ve only known me for a week,” I add, trying to defend myself.
I need to stop looking at his eyes.
“True. It’s nice, though. You should try it more often.”
“Maybe more funny things should happen.” I cross my arms and pull my stare away from his. “You could fall into a vat of cement like the guy in the movie. I’d probably enjoy that.”
T.K. sighs, giving me a small smile. “It might be worth it.”
My heart starts to beat faster, my cue to leave. “We should go back. I have to meet Lindsay. Dress shopping.”
“You’re done being angry with her?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise.
It’s my turn to sigh. “No, but it’s hard to be angry with someone from afar, so I may as well get it over with.”
We drive back to school in silence as I think abo
ut the implications of our little hangout session. I don’t like T.K. Not as a friend, not as a human, and definitely not as anything more. It’s important he know that, I decide as he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car.
“I had fun.” He winks at me before he turns to leave.
“T.K.?” I call, causing him to turn back around and stick his head through the open window. “This wasn’t a date. Just so you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he says easily, unfazed. That’s a good sign. Maybe I misread his interest. “But just so you know, I don’t scare easily.”
“I’m not trying to scare you,” I reply, keeping my voice even.
It’s true. I don’t usually have to try.
“Good, because it’s not working.” He taps the car door with his hand before turning and walking away. I watch him go with a mixture of heat and disbelief churning in my stomach.
Lindsay shows up not ten seconds later, sliding into T.K.’s spot as I wipe the stunned look off my face. “Where have you been, missy?” she says, fake-scolding. She must have seen T.K. darting away.
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Lindsay. I know what you said to Marcella, and I know all about T.K.’s position on breakdown patrol.” I fix my glare upon her, but she doesn’t flinch.
I hold my ground as Lindsay takes a breath in and folds her hands in her lap.
“Raye, I was worried about you. I didn’t hear from you all weekend. I didn’t know what I was going to find this morning.” I have to give her points for looking me in the eyes. Most people cower when they’re on the receiving end of my temper. “I haven’t forgotten, you know. What you were like, I mean. Sometimes I wonder what it will take to send you back there.”
“Have you seen me so much as touch an illegal substance in the last year and a half?” I shoot back. What’s the point of keeping yourself together if people are waiting for you to break apart again?
“No…” She hesitates. “But Raye–”
“I’m fine, Lindsay. I’ve been great. I’m goddamn perfect, okay? I’m not going to fall apart because some asshole trashed my house.” I toss my bag at her. “Search it, if you want. You won’t find anything.”
“I’m not worried about the drugs, Raye,” she says, wringing her hands. Not once does she break eye contact. “I’m worried about your head. I don’t know what goes on in there. Sometimes I look at you and I can tell you are so, so angry.” She takes a breath and continues. “I’m worried one day you’ll snap, and no one will be there to bring you back. Can you blame me for that?”
I can’t. Sometimes I wonder about that, too.
“I’m not pissed because you care, Lindsay. I’m pissed because you told her.”
Lindsay looks down at her hands. I have a feeling I know what she wants to say, but I hold my tongue.
“I care about her, Raye. She’s different, you know? I feel like I can trust her. I was alone last time.” She doesn’t need to say what time she is referring to. “It was a lot. I needed someone to talk to, and she was there. I really like her.” Lindsay slowly brings her eyes back up to mine. She doesn’t need to tell me what she means. I can tell. I could tell from the minute I walked up to my locker that first day and saw the two of them talking. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, it’s part of the reason I don’t like Marcella.
Lindsay has been interested in girls for as long as I can remember. She’s never come right out and said it, but I know her so well she doesn’t have to. She’s always had a healthy appreciation for boys too, but I can tell girls are the ones to leave her breathless.
I haven’t seen her look at anyone since Grace. But the way she looks at Marcella? It knocks Grace out of the park. I can’t tell if Marcella feels the same way. A part of me hopes she doesn’t, but a larger part wants Lindsay to be happy.
But I can’t lose her.
“I need you to give her a chance, Raye. I also need you to understand I need someone I can talk to aside from you.” Lindsay looks like she wants to cry and it breaks my heart. No matter how upset she makes me, or how worried I am she’ll abandon me one day, I can never stay angry with her.
“You’ve always been there for me, Linds. I hate thinking I can’t be there for you,” I say, grabbing her hand.
Lindsay gives me a small smile. “Promise me you’re not going to lose it again, okay? Or, no, that’s too big,” she corrects herself. “Promise me if you do lose it, you won’t lose it alone. Don’t shut me out like last time.”
Thinking about all the horrible things I said and did to Lindsay after my dad died makes me cringe.
“That’s the easiest promise I’ve ever had to make.”
CHAPTER 6
Lindsay and I spend three hours trying on dresses in the town’s only dress shop.
Correction: Lindsay spends three hours trying on dresses. It takes me about twenty minutes–dress number three is an easy winner. To be fair, there’s no one I’m trying to impress.
Marcella isn’t mentioned again after our conversation, but her name lingers in the air with each dress Lindsay tries on. I know what she’s hoping for, as is evident by the royal blue dress with side-slit she finally purchases. It makes her legs look extra tanned and ten miles long; if anything is going to attract Miss Perfect’s attention, the dress should do the trick.
“Remember we have practice tomorrow!” Lindsay calls to me as she walks up the steps to her house. She fumbles with the dress, trying to hide it from view. She spent nearly her entire savings on it, which her parents will definitely not approve of.
Shawn is sitting on the front porch smoking a cigarette–content unknown. He doesn’t say a word to Lindsay as she slinks around him, semi-hidden garment bag in hand. Running a hand through his thick dark hair, a chill goes down my spine as I think about the last time I was there, on those steps next to him.
“You’re going to like this one, princess,” Shawn says, slipping a bright yellow pill into my hand along with a bottle that smells too strong to hold water. I take the pill and the liquid, no questions asked. Shawn runs a hand down my bare arm, dancing along my fingers before landing on my knee. “Good, right?”
“I don’t feel anything,” I mumble, standing and toppling over into the shrub next to the front porch. Shawn laughs, not bothering to help me up. Lindsay is still in class–where both Shawn and I should be–so we have the house to ourselves. Never a good thing.
“Give it time. It’ll kick in soon,” he says, finally grabbing my hand and tugging me out of the shrub. I have a rip down the side of my leggings, the skin underneath torn, but not bleeding.
While I’m still dusting myself off, Shawn starts kissing down my neck. I shove him hard, watching him slip down one of the steps. “Always so feisty,” he laughs. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but it hasn’t since we were children.
“Shut up, Shawn,” I mumble, trying to stand and finally succeeding. Whatever was in the pill takes effect suddenly, and it packs the kick Shawn promised.
“You’ll give it up one day, princess, and I’ll be here waiting.” He reaches for my arm, trying to tug me toward his body.
“Let go,” I slur, stumbling even though I hadn’t intended to move.
“Whatever. Find your own way home,” he tells me, walking up the steps and shutting the door in my face.
I still don’t remember getting home, although I did, eventually.
As I shake the memory off, I see Shawn watching me with dark, calculating eyes.
I hurry to put my car in drive and make my way home, trying to forget his knowing stare and the memories flooding in with it. I think of Shawn as little as possible, but every once in a while I see a glimpse of him and am transported back to two years ago, surround by all the secrets I hope Lindsay will never learn. All she has ever tried to do is protect me, and I’ve never once made her job easy. I hate myself for what I’ve done and for who I was, especially where she is concerned. She deserves far better than me.
The rest of my drive is spent in a
self-loathing spiral. I notice too late that I’ve gripped the steering wheel too tightly, my nails leaving small cuts in the rubber. I make a mental note to buy a wheel cover.
Mom is nowhere to be found when I get home, not that that’s unusual. I’m able to lose myself in macaroni and cheese and leftover brownies while I power through my homework, trying hard not to think about T.K., Marcella, Shawn, and all the other things my mind wants to focus on.
I go to bed early, waking up in the morning feeling more rested than I have in weeks. Even the bags under my eyes are a lighter shade of purple. I make it all the way to first period without a single negative thought creeping into my mind.
“So, there’s a dance this Friday,” T.K. says, watching me slide into my seat beside him. He’s wearing a button-up shirt with images of fire creeping up the left side. It would look ridiculous on anyone other than him, but his overconfidence makes it look sexy and dangerous. The shirt also draws my attention to his chest, which is never a good thing.
“Observant,” I reply, praying to any deity who will listen to make him stop talking.
I force my eyes up and away from his chest. The smirk on his face tells me he notices.
“I’d ask if you have a date, but that seems like a stupid question.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” His comment bothers me for no reason at all. I don’t want to go with him anyway, but still, he’s supposed to think I’m unattainable, not unwanted.
“Well, I haven’t heard of any guys leaving school in tears, so I’m assuming you’ve already managed to scare off any and all potential suitors.”
“And why would I do that?” I can’t help but smile, even though I hate myself for it.
What is wrong with me?
“Wouldn’t want anyone getting too close, now would we?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say through tight lips. Has he really been watching me so closely? I don’t like that he thinks he knows me, especially after such a short time. One movie doesn’t make him an expert on all things Raye McKenna.
“So, when can I pick you up?” He flashes me his horrible smile. Either he predicts my answer and finds it funny, or he’s actually hopeful I’m going to say yes.
BONDED Page 6
