by J. L. Beck
Shaking the thoughts away, I somehow manage to get dressed and slip into the hallway. I need to eat something before I barf. Fuck me, I’m never letting Clark pour me shots again.
Even though I tell myself no, my mind reflects back to the way she felt beneath me last night. I wanted to stay in bed with her, hold her in my arms, piece us both back together, but I also wanted to hurt her. Slice her with my words, feel her pain as it poured out of her.
Her tears had surprised me. I didn’t expect her to start crying, and when she did, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to stay, just for a while longer.
When my feet hit the bottom stair, the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickles my nose. I enter the kitchen to find Ava dancing around in a pair of cute little sleep shorts and cami, headphones in her ears as she pours what looks like pancake batter into a pan. I didn’t even know we had pancake batter.
She shakes her cute ass and rolls her hips to the beat of the music that’s blasting in her ears. Fuck, I can imagine my hands gripping onto those hips as I rail into her, over and over… Turning around, she gasps, her eyes raking up and down my body at a snail’s pace.
She might not like me very much, but she definitely likes what she sees. Pulling out the earbuds, she tosses them onto the counter along with her phone that she has shoved into her bra.
“I…I didn’t know you were there.”
I roll my eyes. “Obviously.” There’s a coolness to my voice that doesn’t quite match the heat radiating throughout me. Every time I’m in her presence, I feel like I’m one volcanic eruption away from wiping out the human race forever.
She nibbles on that plump bottom lip nervously and my cock hardens. He needs to stay the fuck out of this. My feelings for her are nothing but hate and revenge. I don’t need to add fucking her to the list.
“I made you breakfast, I mean… if you want some…”
A long stretch of silence settles over us. Her doe eyes stare up at me. Why the fuck is she looking at me like that? Like she can see right through me? Suddenly I feel vulnerable and I don’t like it, not one fucking bit.
Smoke billows from the pan behind her and I grin. “You mean the breakfast that you’re currently burning?”
Whirling around with a shocked look on her delicate face, she grabs the pan, a slew of curses fill the air. She tosses the burnt pancake into the trash before setting the pan back on the stove. She pours more batter into the pan, her body fidgety as hell.
“My mother called me this morning,” she says with her back to me. For some stupid reason, I enter the kitchen and take a seat at the island. I haven’t eaten breakfast in here since the house was built.
“Yeah, and why the fuck should I care?”
“Because it has to do with you.” I don’t miss her exhale, or the sadness that seems to coat her words. Minutes ago she seemed at ease, but now she seems, heartbroken, like someone kicked her fucking dog or something.
“Well speak… I don’t have all day, and I don’t particularly care for what you have to say. Liars are and always will be liars.” Even with my nasty remark, she turns and places a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. Her green eyes harden, and I watch her visibly swallow.
“Our parents are extending their trip. Apparently they want to go to the Bahamas next, or something…” Her tone is bitter, a clear indication that her relationship with her mother is just as strained as my own with my father. I slather the pancake in syrup and cut a piece off, shoving it into my mouth before I can say something that would make it sound like I give a fuck, because I don’t. I really don’t give a fuck.
Pushing all the words away, I take a bite, and then another, Ava’s eyes remaining on mine the entire time. I don’t like the way her eyes feel on me, like she’s able to see through the walls I built up around myself. Like she fucking knows me. She doesn’t, no one does.
“You sound bothered by that, any particular reason why?” I ask, grinning. I’m sure I have something to do with her obvious bitterness. Probably because she doesn’t want to be alone with me and I relish in the thought of how uncomfortable I make her.
Get used to it, princess…
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I was hoping to spend some time with her before classes start. I haven’t seen her in three years. It would be nice if she could slow down for five seconds and talk to me like I’m her daughter, or pay me even an ounce of attention.”
I stop mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air.
What did she just say?
Three years? Damn. I almost feel bad for being a dick, almost.
But then that little nagging feeling in the back of my mind reminds me that she brought this on herself. She did this to both of us.
And if there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a liar, and that’s what she is, a liar.
A liar with a pretty fucking face, and a broken heart.
It’s clear her mother has let her down in more ways than one, and stupidly for a fraction of a second, I wonder what happened to her after that night. What happened between her parents that led her to me, that led her down this road?
Her lie destroyed my life, but what did it do to hers? I never really thought about it, to be honest, and I still don’t care enough to ask her. It’s her own fault. If she would’ve only been truthful… I mean, we were just kids, she didn’t have to do it if she didn’t want to. Maybe in her eyes it was just a white lie, something to save her ass, but to me, it was the end. It’s where my life started to spiral out of control.
Everything changed because of her stupid lie.
I lost everything... my father’s love, my mother, my life fell into shambles because of her. I watch her make her own plate out of the corner of my eye. She takes a seat at the kitchen island, but not next to me. She leaves two chairs between us as if she knows better than to try and sit beside me. Thank, fuck.
An uncomfortable silence settles over us and I try to shove the last remaining forkfuls of food into my mouth. I have to get out of here, I have to get away from her. Away from her floral scent, her heart-shaped face, her sad fucking eyes. The blood in my veins is reaching its boiling point. All these unsaid words and questions hang between us.
I want to hurt her with my lips, break her with my touch… I want to tell her she’s not truly that unlovable, but that would go against everything inside of me. That would be like betraying myself, and I have to remember why we’re enemies, why her being here is a fucking problem. I can feel her green orbs on my skin… Why isn’t she eating, why is she staring at me like I can provide her with all the answers in the world.
“About last night…” She starts and I tighten my hold on the fork, the metal digging into my palm. Does she really want to see me lose my shit? Obviously so, because she continues the words pouring out of her mouth like acid.
“What did you mean last night? You keep saying I lied, but I don’t know what you mean. If I knew, maybe I could understand, maybe I could make this...” She moves a hand between us. “Make this hate go away.”
I think maybe she has a death wish… bluntly attempting to act innocent right to my face.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” I can feel my skin heating, the zing of anger pulsing through me. For so long, I’ve held that pain inside, I’ve let it eat away at my soul, my spirit and now she’s here, the cause of it, right in front of me and all I want to do is make her own it. Make her take it from me.
Dropping the fork to the marble, I curl my hand into a fist and slam it down on the counter, making her jump in her seat and my head throb at the clatter. Pain radiates through my hand and up my arm, but I love it. I fucking love it. It reminds me that I’m still alive and that the pain is real. There’s a tiny tremble to her body, her chest rises and falls and a pink flush creeps onto her cheeks. She looks scared, but she also looks…I don’t let myself finish that sentence. Instead, I bask in the glory of hate.
How dare she sit here and pretend she doesn’t know what I’m talking about? Liar, a
ll the fucking lies. Every word off her tongue is a lie.
I can’t stand to be in this room with her a moment longer. Shoving my seat backward, I let it topple over, slamming into the hard floor. The sound makes me wince, the throbbing behind my eyes becoming more and more annoying. That coupled with her presence and I’m a second away from losing my shit.
Grabbing my plate, I stomp to the trashcan and dump the rest of my food into the garbage before throwing my plate in the sink. It lands with a loud clack, most likely breaking. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I broke something in this house in a fit of rage.
“Your pancakes taste like shit, just like the fucking lies that you spew,” I yell, turning around to face her, to drive the knife a little deeper. Her shocked face peers up at me, and my fingers curl into the countertop. It’s either I grab this, or her, and I don’t want to touch her, not right now. Not with this much anger, this much madness spiraling out of control inside of me.
I lean into her, ignoring her scent and the fear that circulates through her eyes. She needs to know that I fucking mean what I say, she needs to know that I’ll only ever hate her. Always.
“Just tell me, Vance.” Her bottom lip juts out and it looks like she’s about to cry. She’s begging me to tell her what happened, but she already knows. She’s the one that did this, not me. The sound of my name falling from her lips sends me over the edge and I release my hold on the countertop and instead grip her by the chin, pulling her forcefully into my face.
“Oh, how the mighty fall. One day you had it all and now you have nothing… it’s strange how the tables turn, how one lie can make an entire world crumble overnight.” My lip curls with hate, her tiny hand clasping onto my wrist in an effort to get me to release my hold. But I’m not done yet, not by a long fucking shot.
“You might be able to shed some tears and get other people to feel sorry for you with that look, but believe me when I say this, you’ll never get an ounce of pity from me. You deserve everything you’ve got and everything that’s coming to you!” I release her like she truly has the power to destroy me and stomp out of the room before I do something I can’t take back.
My intentions have always been to hurt her, to break her down, to show her that she’s nothing, but having her here, smelling her sweet scent all around me, feeling her skin, it’s almost like she’s hurting me instead of me hurting her. And I can’t let that happen. She’s already owned too much of me, of my thoughts, of my past. I’m Vance Preston. I lost my heart years ago, because of a lie that destroyed my family, because of a threat that wasn’t true.
Had she told the truth...had she never made me out to be the criminal then maybe I wouldn’t be the man I am today. Maybe there wouldn’t be a gaping wound inside my chest, maybe I wouldn’t need to taste her fear, to feel her pain.
Maybe we would be more than enemies.
Or maybe we wouldn’t.
Chapter Seven
Ava
It’s the dreaded first day of school and I try not to dwell on the fact that my mom still hasn’t returned from her honeymoon. Or that my dad still hasn’t called me, or that Vance still seems to hate my entire existence.
At least he’s ignored me for the last few days, sticking mainly to his bedroom. It’s much nicer than him actively trying to hurt me and make me uncomfortable. Living with him is like living with a ticking time bomb. There’s a constant ball of anxious anxiety inside of me and I hate it. I never know what to expect with him… is he going to hurl an insult at me, or is he going to hug me like he did the night he got drunk?
I wear the least eye-catching attire I have. A pair of skinny jeans and free-flowing blouse that hangs off one shoulder. It’s cute, but it’s not going to draw every single eye to me. I hope. I leave an hour before my first class is scheduled to start, and chew on a granola bar on the way there. I didn’t dare to ask Vance if we could ride together so I’m taking the Honda that was parked in the garage to class.
I’m avoiding my tormentor at all cost. The last thing I want is for us to have another duel. I’m hoping if I stay out of his way, he’ll stay out of mine and that when our parents get back, we can forget about the verbal sparring we did while they were gone.
When I get to campus, I park in one of the student parking areas and get out my class schedule and the map I printed out. Then I’m off with my Converse-covered feet beating across the pavement. It doesn’t take me long to find the building I need to be in, and once I do, I find a small bench just outside the building and get out my biology book, flipping through the first few pages.
My eyes skim over the material, and I suck in as much knowledge as I can so I’m prepared for what’s to come. To most kids, college is a drunken sex fest, where you grow, and make friends, but not to me. To me, college is my way out… my key to getting the fuck away from all the people that don’t care about me.
After a few minutes of studying, other college students start to appear, walking past me, they’re lost in conversation, laughing and smiling. Someone opens the door to the building a moment later and I get up from the bench, walk down the sidewalk and inside. I take a seat in the back, spreading my stuff out on the table. A second later, a girl comes walking in and takes a seat to my left, situating her books in a similar fashion.
The air in my chest halts. I notice right away that her book looks different from mine.
My gaze narrows in on the book.
The cover reads Abnormal Psychology. Quickly, while trying not to draw any attention to myself, I look around the classroom and realize that all the students, at least the ones in this classroom, have that same psychology book.
I swallow down the panic that’s creeping in on me and turn to the girl beside me.
“Hey, can you tell me what class this is?”
“Psych 301,” she says and graces me with a soft smile.
“Thanks,” I mumble before grabbing all my things and speed walking out of the room. I look at the building number on my way out to make sure it is building nine and it is. I double check my class schedule and the map again.
According to it, I’m at the right building, and in the right class, but the book I have doesn’t match the class I was just in.
What the actual hell? Panic turns into confusion as I look up and when I spot two guys walking toward me, I know I need to ask for help.
“Hey, can I ask a question?” I fiddle with the strap of my backpack nervously. I’m not this open with people, but I’m beyond confused and don’t want to risk missing all my classes for the day because I can’t figure out where the hell I’m going.
“Most definitely,” one of the guys answers in a flirty tone. He’s cute, in an all-American boy way.
“Do either of you happen to know where the nine AM biology class is?”
One of the guys rubs at his scruffy chin as if he’s thinking, while his friend elbows him in the side and answers me.
“Biology is usually in building two.” He hooks a thumb pointing in the direction behind him. Motherfucking shit.
“Okay, thanks,” I mumble, returning my attention back down to the map. My gaze roams over the map key and all the buildings. When my eyes lock on the number two, I curse.
“Shit!” I tilt my head back and look up at the blue sky. Why, why does the world have to shit on me? Building two is all the way across campus. It’s going to take me forever to get there, but since I had to park pretty far away, I think I’m still better off on foot than driving and trying to find a spot to park again.
Exhaling a frustrated sigh, I swing my bag over my shoulder and start running down the sidewalk to the other buildings, my feet slapping against the concrete. I probably look like a crazy lunatic, as I hurry past everyone in my way. By the time I get to the building, I’m ten minutes late, sweating like a whore in church and completely out of breath.
Just how I wanted to start my morning, stinky and late.
The room is packed, but somehow, I manage to find a seat. Whispers meet
my ears, some quiet, some loud, but I don’t pay anyone an ounce of attention.
The rest of the class I spend frazzled and feel as if I’m trying to play catch up. I hate being late. Hate it. It ruins my day and gets me off schedule. Maybe it’s a form of OCD, but when it comes to being somewhere, I’m always on time. Always. I end up dropping my pencil twice, and misspelling words left and right. My notes end up in the wrong notebook, and now I’ll have to copy them into the right one.
Something is wrong with me.
After what seems like an eternity, the professor releases us. I gather up my things and walk out looking for my next class, which luckily doesn’t start for another half an hour. Hopefully this time I can be on time, and in the right room.
My class schedule says it’s in building five, but when I walk over to the sign, it says Administration Building. I clench my jaw, a low simmering anger rippling through me. Why would my English literature class be in the admin building?
Vance. It hits me then. He must’ve done this, done something with my classes. There’s no other explanation for it. When I got my class schedule, all my classes matched up with the books that I bought, but the classes on my schedule now, don’t.
Stupid, Vance. He thinks he can mess with me. I kick at the pavement out of anger and stub my toe. Jesus. I’ll find a way to get him back, but for now, I need to fix the problem that he’s caused. Walking inside the building, I peer around, trying to find someone who can help me. It’s the first day of school you would think this building would be the busiest of all, but it seems it’s the most vacant.
There’s no one sitting at the front office, instead there’s a sign that says OUT in big bold letters. Who works in an admin building at a college and just doesn’t show up for their job? It’s not lunch time, so what does the out mean? Shaking my head in frustration because today has already been a clusterfuck, I walk down the long hallway looking for someone, anyone.
