22. Not That Breakable
22
Not That Breakable
The rest of winter break passed in a blur of happiness, and even the beginning of school couldn’t dampen my good spirits. It was the last semester of my final year in high school. I had an amazing boyfriend, actual friends, and my relationship with my dad was better than it had ever been. Life was surprisingly good.
School started, and my life fell into a routine of sorts. Ben had two more months left in the swim season, practicing every day after school, but he came over afterward to eat dinner with me on the nights I didn’t work. Mondays, I hung out with Kim after school, and my weekends were usually spent with Ben.
Once a week, Dad and I skyped Will and Cora. They kept us updated on the baby, and it felt like we were actually a family again. Mom’s abandonment had ripped through us, but the festering wounds were finally starting to heal. We had scars, but I didn’t see them as a weakness. Scars were proof that we’d survived.
Will continued his tenuous relationship with Mom, talking with her on the phone, but he hadn’t met with her yet. I understood his hesitancy. I’d drag my feet too, if I was in his shoes.
The new semester was both better and worse than the last. Better, because I had the best boyfriend in the world—something I didn’t have at the beginning of the school year—and I started my art class.
To be honest, I loved it, and Ben was annoyingly smug about that fact.
But the semester was also worse, because Ben and I had zero classes together. We shared a lunch period, but I hardly saw him between classes.
And it was also worse because of Eric fucking Boyt.
Unlike my boyfriend, I saw Boyt everywhere . Our school wasn’t obnoxiously huge, but Boyt’s constant presence in the corridors I used was uncanny. I could traverse the hallways without catching a glimpse of Ben, but Boyt lurked around every damn corner!
His glares followed me across the cafeteria, and when I was alone at my locker between classes, he would waltz by, as close as possible without actually touching me. He was like a stray dog I couldn’t shake, except this dog didn’t want me to take it home and care for it. No, this canine was rabid and wanted to rip me apart piece by piece.
Whenever possible, I avoided him, but when contact was inevitable, I did my best not to cower. He scared me—he would always scare me—but I was sick and tired of submitting to his intimidation. I would no longer allow my fear to dictate what I did or how I acted.
So I held my head high and glowered right back. By refusing to turn away, I claimed my own type of victory. And, holy hell, if it didn’t irritate the shit out of him.
He got off on the control, on the power trip. It wasn’t about sex; I didn’t think it ever had been. It was about dominance, the high of power. I fought him, disrespected him, and forcing me into submission was his way of teaching me a lesson.
“I’ll teach you respect.”
That revelation had been a chilling one. I didn’t want to understand Boyt. Understanding made him more human, and it was easier believing him to be a monster. But no matter how much I didn’t want him to be human, he was, and on some sick, twisted level, I understood him.
Or parts of him, at least.
So instead of cowering from him, I robbed him of the stolen control. I either stood straight and glared right back at him when he tried to intimidate me in the hallways. Or I ignored him completely, which seemed to infuriate him even more. Fear was foreplay, and fighting him was a challenge. Indifference, though? Oh, my indifference rankled.
Two weeks after school started, I literally ran into Eric during a bathroom break. My second to last class of the day was pre-calculus—which sucked ass in the completely not fun way—and I tended to stow away in the bathroom for five minutes during the lesson to gather my sanity. Whether Boyt knew this or simply had terribly convenient timing, I would never know.
After using the toilet and washing my hands, I ran my wet fingers through my hair to fix the flyaways. Once satisfied, I rounded the corner to leave, and it was déjà vu. The moment my body hooked around the corner, I smashed face-first into a hard chest. The stench of cigarettes and familiar musk assaulted me, and I recoiled on instinct, my heart leaping to my throat.
It had been over a month since I’d been this close to Boyt, and against all odds, he’d gotten bigger. His muscles stretched the seams of his shirt, and he loomed over me like a redwood tree. Maybe I’d simply forgotten his immense size, but he looked like he’d added ten pounds of muscle to his already hulking physique.
With dark hair cut close to his scalp, a strong jaw, and dark eyes, he was attractive in a brooding, dangerous sort of way. Being the popular bad boy drew gaggles of girls waiting for his attention, and I was sure he enjoyed it.
“Brigs,” he greeted with a sardonic smirk.
I swallowed the urge to regurgitate my lunchroom spaghetti with mystery-meatballs all over his sneakers. “Boyt.”
I didn’t have to fear him. This bathroom was located in the center of the school, and it was the middle of the day. He couldn’t hurt me without risking discovery. It would be the most humiliating thing I ever did, but I was more than willing to scream bloody murder to attract attention if the psychopath tried to touch me.
Straightening my posture, I jutted out my chin and held his stare. His amusement darkened to something more sinister, and his lip curled. “Best watch where you’re going, faggot.”
He shouldered past, the hit rattling my bones, but I didn’t miss the pass of his hand over my bare arm. My frozen limbs thawed as I scampered toward the exit, desperate to get out of range of his long arms.
His dark eyes flared in satisfaction, his gaze scanning me perversely. “Wouldn’t want you getting yourself or your pretty boyfriend into trouble, now would we?”
At the threat to Ben, my courage swelled, and I bared my teeth like an animal. “Suck my big, gay cock. Bitch,” I added, and his smug grin dropped from his face.
Not waiting for him to retaliate, I turned and ran. I sprinted back to class like the devil was on my heels, simultaneously terrified and exhilarated. It felt good to stand up for myself, but my mouth had a knack for getting me into trouble.
Ben knew nothing of the encounter, and I kept it that way. If I told him, Crazy Ben would come out to play. No matter how much I loved the image of Boyt beaten to a bloody pulp at the hands of my sexy boyfriend, it wasn’t worth the risk of Ben being expelled or, worse, arrested.
Maybe I wasn’t strong enough to protect Ben in a physical sense, but if my silence kept him safe and happy, I would glue my lips shut. He’d been through enough, hadn’t he? His dad was a monster, and the loss of his mom remained an open wound. The foster system sounded like a nightmare, and he’d been expelled once already. If he got expelled again, he’d lose his scholarships and his entrance to MIT.
He might consider the losses a logical price to pay for Eric getting what he deserved, but to me, it wasn’t worth it. So I buried the truth deep in my gut, covering it with layers of more harmless insecurities for Ben to discover.
Some things were better left in the ground.
“You know,” Ben said, eyes on his bedroom ceiling as I lounged between his open legs, my chin on his stomach, “the meet with Central is this Thursday.”
“Oh, it is?” I circled his navel with my index finger, and his belly trembled from the ticklish sensation. “At home or away?”
“It’s at Central.”
His fingers drifted through my hair as I pressed my lips to his happy trail. “That’s okay. I’ll sit with Esther.”
“You’ll come?”
“Only if you do.” I waggled my eyebrows, cringing when he flicked my nose. “Damn, I was just teasing. But yes, I’ll come.”
“Cool.” He squirmed when I lifted the hem of his shirt to continue my ministrations, snickering. “Stop, I’m ticklish.”
“And?”
Apparently, I had a death wish because I snaked my hands under his shirt and attacked his sides. He squealed like a kid, convulsing under me, and my tickling quickly turned into an all-out wrestling match. With a growl, he pounced on me, and we rolled around on his bed like little boys, tickling, hitting, and kicking at each other as we play-fought.
He was stronger, so I had to fight dirty. I yanked his leg hair, twisted his nipples, and even utilized my teeth. The bite I left on his bicep was the last straw, and he overpowered me, pinning me to the mattress. With his weight settled on my hips, he cinched my hands above my head as we laughed.
Tears stung my eyes, and my stomach ached. I swore Ben was having a giggle fit, like, straight-up giggling like a four-year-old. Our chests heaved from exertion, and when I went limp in surrender, he threw his fists in the air, pumping like he’d just won a boxing match.
“Ben is the winner!” he chanted his name like he was his own cheer-leading squad, the mantra broken by stray giggles. “Say I’m the winner.”
Grasping his hips to keep him balanced on my lap, I sat up with a naughty smile. “Well, I have my sexy boyfriend on my lap, so who’s the real winner here?”
He glared through his blush. “I’m the winner. Say it.”
“Never!”
“I could make you say it,” he threatened, and I yelped as he flipped me over and captured my wrists, pinning them to my lower back.
My amusement fled, and I froze, a wounded noise scraping my throat as the faucet dripped. Ben’s fingers around my wrists twitched, then he let me go, rushing to help me sit up.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry! Are you okay?” He cupped my face, worried gaze raking over me. “I’m so stupid.”
“I’m good,” I croaked, attempting to laugh it off as my heart galloped a mile a minute. “Just took me off guard. Seriously, I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he pulled me into a hug and kissed my neck. “I’m sorry. Sometimes, I just don’t think.”
I patted his side, breathing in his spring soap and chlorine. “It’s fine, Ben. We were horsing around. It happens.”
“No, I should use my brain, especially when I know what triggers you. I’m so sorry.”
Knowing he’d never stop with the self-flagellation, I pressed a firm kiss to his cheek and said, “I forgive you. I’m not mad, okay? And I’m fine. See?” I forced him to look at me, so he could see with his own eyes that I wasn’t lying. “I’m okay, Ben. I’m not that breakable.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I know that.”
“Okay, so kiss me.”
When he hesitated, I glared.
“Kiss me,” I ordered firmly, and he did.
It was hesitant and cautious, and I grunted in irritation, pushing against him until he fell back on the bed. I ignored his half-hearted protests as I kissed my way down his chest, shoving his shirt aside so I could rub my nose against his happy trail.
“Si, you don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said gently, fingers working through my hair.
“I know,” I said, even though a part of me was trying to prove something. Maybe not to him. Maybe I was simply proving something to myself. “Now just lie back and relax, love.”
Ben’s breathy laugh choked off as I freed him from his pants and lowered my head. “Oh, fuck.”
I chuckled, loving the way he sounded when I made him feel good. I took my time, wanting him absolutely desperate before I drove him over the edge. Eventually, his fingers tightened in my hair as he gasped out a warning. I hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t stop.
As he trembled with aftershocks, I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth and sat up, thoroughly pleased with myself. He blinked up at the ceiling, a goofy grin on his face. I tucked him away, then crawled up his body to kiss him.
He groaned as he tasted himself on my tongue. “I think you broke my brain.”
I smiled against his lips. “Goddamn right.”