Nine
My eyes flutter shut and my head lolls forward, hanging between my shoulders. The promise of sleep starts to pull me under, but I quickly jerk myself awake, catching myself just in time before I go crashing to the floor.
Blinking rapidly, I readjust my aim, thankful I wasn’t out of it long enough to end up pissing all over my sneakers. Falling asleep at the urinal… huh, that’s a new one. Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess.
While I’m used to surviving on little to no sleep, last night was different. There was no rush of adrenaline keeping me awake. April was safe, sound asleep in her bed, our uncle out doing an all-night shift, thanks to the storm. I wasn’t primed and ready to fight off an attack at any second. It was just me and my overthinking brain, staring up at the ceiling, watching the minutes tick by until darkness slowly gave way to light and before I knew it, it was morning.
Asher kissed me last night. He kissed me. And not just once, either. Three times.
Three fucking times, his lips landed on mine and I have no idea what to make of it. I was convinced that it was all a trick, another one of his games. And part of me does still believe that, that even though his friends didn’t actually show, that doesn’t mean they weren’t coming. Maybe I left sooner than they anticipated, maybe they got held up by the storm. I don’t know.
Or maybe it’s the actual kissing part that was set out to ruin me. In which case, he succeeded.
Because another part of me, a part that I desperately wish I could ignore and despise more and more with every passing second, actually… believes him. Or wants to believe him, I guess.
I can’t make sense of it. Was it real? Or was it a lie? I’m warring with myself, changing my mind so much that even I can’t keep up. One minute, I’m certain it was a cruel trick, that he was just playing me, and I feel the anger all over again, the burning rage that floods my entire system as, not for the first time, I wonder how the hell he thinks it’s okay to treat somebody like that. But then, in the next breath, it’s like a switch has been flipped inside my brain and I’m arguing with myself, remembering the fervor with which he kissed me, like he was starving and my mouth was the only form of sustenance he’d had in years.
And the look on his face… shit, I can’t get it out of my head.
The desire, the lust, the agony. The hunger. Even sketching it out in my secret journal hasn’t helped. Five whole pages worth, might I add.
The words he said last night rush through my mind, the rawness with which he said them, making my head spin.
It’s because I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you, okay? Anyone but me.
In some fucked up way, just that alone is almost enough to convince me that it was real. I know he’s manipulative, that he probably mastered the art of lying before he could even walk, but he can’t be that good of a liar. Right?
Fuck, I don’t know.
And besides, even if it was all real, if he really did want me, what the hell am I supposed to do with that? Yes, I might have felt something for Asher since the day we met, some sort of… crush or whatever, despite how much I’ve tried to make it go away. Believe me, I’ve tried. And yes, the possibility of him feeling the same way might make my heart race a little more than it should. But, what, I’m supposed to just jump into this… thing with him, and forget all about the way he’s treated me for the last year? Just put aside all the taunts, the jeers and the pranks? Not to mention the injuries.
Can I really do that? Do I want to do that?
Heaving a sigh, I finish up and tuck myself away, pivoting toward the sink to wash my hands. My eyes catch on the mirror in front of me, the reflection staring back. I’m paler than usual, my hair’s a disaster, the strands sticking up this way and that, and the shadows beneath my eyes are darker than they normally are. Don’t even get me started on the haunted look in my eyes. Jesus. After everything I’ve been through this past year - all the grief, the heartache, the pain, the abuse - this is the moment that I no longer recognize myself? Seriously? God, he’s really messed me up.
The bathroom door swings open and I dart my gaze away, avoiding the eyes of whoever’s just entered, busying myself with drying my hands. I’m so lost inside my head that it takes me a solid five seconds to register that I’ve frozen, all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rising.
My heart pounds out an irregular rhythm and I know, I just know. It’s Asher. I don’t even have to look. The sound of the lock engaging on the door, echoing off of the walls, only confirms my suspicions.
My hands grip the edge of the counter in front of me, knuckles turning white. Which side of him am I gonna get today? The usual asshole side or… the other one?
“What are you doing?” I ask, hating how unsteady my voice sounds.
He doesn’t say anything. He’s completely, frustratingly silent as he takes unhurried steps across the room, coming to a stop behind me. Slowly, I lift my head, our eyes clashing in the mirror.
Jaw clenched tight, nostrils flared and hands curled into fists, he stares at me, his harsh glare burning through my skin, and I think I’ve finally got my answer.
I’m stupid, so fucking stupid for thinking for even a second that he could really feel anything for me other than hatred.
Sighing, I look away, breaking our connection. “I didn’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Good,” he says after a beat. “Because you know what’ll happen if you do.”
I swallow hard, the threat in his words clear. If I let it slip what happened last night, he’ll make me regret it. He’ll convince everyone that I’m lying, spread another rumor about me, one that’s even worse than the others he’s already shared around. Maybe even give me a matching set of bruises on the other side of my ribs. Nowhere will be safe, not the school, not the town. Nowhere.
The thought of that should probably make me scared. And don’t get me wrong, it does. For about two seconds. After that, I’m just pissed. Angry that he continues to act as if I’m just a speck of shit on his shoe, angry that he took it as far as he did last night. But, most of all? I’m angry at myself, for just letting him do it.
And as much as I want to spin around and let him have it, let him know exactly what I think of him, I know it won’t get me anywhere. So, I do the only thing I can do. I walk away.
Tossing the paper towels in my hand in the trash, I grab my backpack off the floor and move toward the door. Of course, he doesn’t let me get far. His hand darts out, grabbing my arm and throwing me up against the nearest wall. My ribs scream in protest, but I hold back my wince, glaring daggers up at Asher instead. Because that rage I was just holding back?
He’s just ratcheted it up to boiling-point. It’s bubbling over the edge, practically seeping through my pores, and there’s nothing I can do to contain it, to stop it. I’m a bomb waiting to go off and Asher just pressed the fucking detonator.
I lunge forward, shoving him backward with all of my strength, an animalistic growl tearing out of my throat. The force sends him hurtling into the wall behind him, surprising me. Surprising him too, judging by his wide eyes and slack jaw. There’s a brief moment of shocked silence, save for the sound of our heavy breathing. Then, I speak.
“You’re a goddamn asshole,” I spit, pinning him with a murderous glare.
He smirks, looking like I’ve just paid him a compliment, and it only fuels the fire burning inside of me. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” I snarl, stepping toward him. “That’s right. What the hell do you get out of this, huh? Messing with me like this. Stealing my shit, knocking me around, hurting me.” My gaze falters, my voice dropping down an octave. “Screwing with my head.”
“I’m sensing a lot of hostility here, Farrow,” he taunts. “Did I do something to upset you?”
Ignoring him, I carry on. “What do you get out of it? Some sick sense of satisfaction? Does it fulfill some insecurity you have? Make you feel like a big, strong football player?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grits out, all signs of smugness gone.
“Don’t I? Because I think I do. You might be able to fool everyone in this town, but you can’t fool me. I know exactly who you are.”
“Oh, yeah? And who am I?”
“You’re spoiled. Entitled. You’ve had everything handed to you your entire life and don’t know a thing about what it means to really struggle. You’re gonna get a full-ride to college, then go on and have a long career in the NFL. Not because of your talent, though, but because of your name and your daddy’s connections. But that’s not enough for you, is it?”
I’m playing with fire here, talking to him like this. I know I am, yet I can’t seem to stop. I’ve waited so long to clap back at him. Clap back at anyone, really. I’m tired of being stepped on, being treated like dirt. And after last night, Asher’s taken it too far. I’ve had enough.
“You use people, either as a way to get ahead or a punching bag, like me. And you always get away with it simply because you’re the untouchable Asher Brooks and your family has no issue throwing money around to make your problems disappear.”
“Stop,” he bites out.
“What? Am I getting to you?” I taunt, taking a step closer to him. “Getting too close to the truth? That underneath all that smug confidence and asshole bravado you’re just a scared little boy who’s consumed with loneliness and crying out for attention from his workaholic daddy and pill-popping mommy?”
He flinches so hard, it’s like I’ve physically struck him. And for the first time in… ever, it’s like I’m truly seeing Asher without his mask. He looks, to put it simply, miserable. Defeated. It’s an expression I’m all too familiar with myself. It gives me pause, makes my mind race with a hundred more questions, the biggest one being: did I get him all wrong?
I shake away the thought, determination thrumming through me. Right now might be my only chance to say what I need to, to finally let it all out. I’m not going to waste it.
“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” I ask, voice cracking, eyes burning with tears that I refuse to let fall. “What did I do to make you treat me like this? You don’t even know me.”
He doesn’t respond, not that I ever really expected him to. He just stares down at the ground, eyes glazed over almost like he’s in a trance. The pulse point in his neck flutters wildly, the beat of it seeming to match the rhythm of my erratic heart. Blood whooshes in my ears as I watch him, waiting with bated breath for him to snap, to finally shut me up like I know he’s been wanting to all along.
But… that’s not what happens.
“It’s alcohol,” he murmurs, his voice small. “Not pills. But, you got the rest pretty much spot-on.”
Hello, guilt. My stomach drops, blood turning cold inside my veins. I was angry, sure. And maybe I wanted to hurt him a little, tell a few home truths along the way. But, I never expected to be a hundred percent right. I also never expected to feel this awful about it, either.
“Asher, I’m—” I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “Whatever. At least now I know what you really think of me.”
With that, he sidesteps me and makes for the exit, the door falling shut behind him, but not before I catch the flash of hurt lingering in his eyes.
And me? I’m just left here, staring unseeingly into the spot he just vacated.
Feeling like a piece of shit.