15
ST. ANNABEL
In the weeks that have gone by since Harley and I had called our truce, I spend half my days still trying to gauge her attention long enough to hold a conversation or invite her to hang out with my friends and I.
She has declined many times and there have been times I’ve had to take matters into my own hands.
Honestly, I shouldn’t have thought it would be so easy to fully win her over and for everything to fix itself.
Recently, she has also been coming home late some days and at times if she gets a phone call in my presence she’ll walk away speaking in hush tones. Whatever she was up to, I’m making it my mission to find out.
I know what I’m doing. I am focusing all my energy on Harley because it distracts me from what I spend every waking moment thinking about: the guy I have been in love with my whole life choosing to kiss me.
The fullness of his pink lips, his scent and closeness has been a fixture plaguing my mind since it happened.
Repeating like the frames on a strip of film, over and over again, I can’t escape it.
Everything makes me think of him. However, the guilt is starting to affect my sleeping patterns.
I need sleep. I am a nightmare to deal without any, and it just reminds me of secondary school at my worst. I never slept, I spent Monday to Sunday only getting a total of ten hours every week. I can’t go back to that.
Snapping back to the scene in front of me, Gigi is currently yelling at one of the first years for missing the beat. The poor girl is on the road to tears, if she isn’t already, judging by the way she’s discreetly dabbing at the corner of her eyes.
Nobody intervenes, this is normal. We have all at some point felt the power of her rage for falling short according to her standards, any other day I would have waited it out but right now I seem to be itching for something. A fight perhaps.
“Please stop yelling,” I interrupt, before another string of insults runs out of her mouth. “We get it Gillian, she can do better. Maybe we should wrap it up for the day, we’ve been at it for hours. It’s no wonder they were fucking up.”
She turns her sharp gaze my way, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you telling me how to run my class, St. Annabel?”
Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have called her Gillian.
“No, but I am telling you I want to go home,” I retort. Hushed gasps ring out across the room.
“Then leave,” she says, plainly.
“Don’t worry, I was planning on doing so anyway.”
“Let me warn you, Miss Bass,” she starts, her voice eerie and levelled.
Gigi is known for her sternness, from the way she carries herself; dark brown hair as usual in a tight bun without a strand out of place, to the way she speaks and behaves, so I know my disobedience would come with a price.
“If you leave right now, you are done with the Showcase.”
My eyes widened slightly. A pin drop could echo in the room right now, no one jumps to my defence, not even Devon, whose arms are crossed watching how it will play out. Everyone knows Gigi means what she says and will enforce it.
However, just as she is stern, I am stubborn.
My father often mentions it is one of the many traits I inherit from him, my pride being another.
I should have been more worried about what losing the Showcase would mean but backing out now, after I picked the fight, would be embarrassing. I simply can’t have it.
Therefore, all I can do is ceremoniously pack my bags. Leaving without so much as a goodbye to anyone else in the room, slamming the auditorium door on my way out.
I have lost my mind. I have lost my mind. I have lost my mind.
That is the only reasonable conclusion I can come up with as I free my disgruntled bun and march my way outside.
It is entirely out of order for me to talk back to faculty, especially Gigi who holds the fate of my pride and joy in her hands.
I am the proper one. The one who always does as she is told.
Who smiles upon request. Who moves when required.
I lay a hand on my chest and rub it. It is knocking again like a ticking timebomb and the hollowness feels more prominent than usual.
The late September air cuts through me as soon as I step outside, making me fish for my pink gloves in my bags as a result.
A chill runs down my spine as a familiar dark red car rolls to a stop beside me.
My instincts kick in at once as I pick up my pace, hoping (a foolish thing to cling onto) I can make it to my car without having to say a word.
The passenger window slides down with a soft hum, revealing Arden's face, equal parts arrogant and beautiful.
Focus, St. Annabel.
“The car moves faster than you do,” he says, smugness rolling off his tongue, I can practically hear the laughter tugging at his lips.
“Never say never,” I shoot back without glancing over my shoulder, speeding up as much as I can. Suddenly grateful I had put on my Uggs before stepping outside, clutching my bag tight against my side.
“Get in the car, St. Annabel,” he calls out, so much gumption and audacity, as though the world itself bent to his every whim. He speaks as if he has the right to dictate what I can and can’t do, like yet again, the rules simply don’t apply to him.
This time I spin around sharply, “No.”
Muttering curses under my breath at the maddening distance between Strand and where I parked my car, each step feeling slower than the last, weighed down by the cold.
I force myself to ignore the car idling behind me, its headlights spilling light over the pavement, clearing the way.
The car comes to a stop, and its door slams shut, I pinch my eyes shut, already bracing myself for what was coming next.
Richard closes the distances between us in a few quick strides, forcing me to face him.
He is clad in a black overcoat and a tailored two piece suit.
I would ask if he’d been anywhere important but this is just an ordinary day for him.
He has always been a snob about clothing, I can almost guarantee he owns more than I do.
And unfortunately, he looks good as fuck in it. I am getting angry just looking at him.
“I’m serious, get in or I’ll carry you kicking and screaming,” he presses. “We both know I'll do it.”
I lock eyes with him, certain he’ll follow through on the threat, and a stubborn part of me still wants to fight it.
“Why are you so fixated on this? What don't you understand about the fact that I don't want to talk to you!” The last bit comes out as a yell, and I look around hoping no one heard me. Quieter, I add, “I could report you for kidnapping,”
He rolls his eyes at that, “Like anyone would believe that.”
“Are you, as a man, implying that the police system doesn't take the safety of women as priority?”
“Yes, now get in the car.”
“Frankly, this is getting a bit bori—” My protest is cut off by a yelp erupting deep from my lungs.
True to his words, Arden scoops me up and stomps towards the car.
I resign myself to the inevitability, but I make a point of kicking him repeatedly.
If anyone could see us now we’d look mad, and I’m relieved no one from uni is roaming about.
This isn’t something that should get back to MJ in any way.
Once he makes a show of theatrically fastening my seatbelt with an exaggerated click, he returns to the driver’s seat, a heavy silence settles between us.
His frustration at me is palpable. Any trace of defiance I might have mustered earlier has left me completely and I found myself gazing wearily out of the window.
Fatigue trickles into my limbs like a slow tide, the kind that comes after an endlessly long day, like the one I had.
I am going to have to shower Gigi with a bribe the next time I see her. I internally flinch remembering our tryst earlier, feeling the urge to slam my head against the windows till it broke.
I must have drifted off as I stir slightly, only half-awake, becoming vaguely aware of being lifted.
My eyelids flutter open for the briefest of moments, just long enough to recall the events before dozing off.
I make the decision then and there to feign sleep, reluctant to shatter whatever fragile peace has descended between Arden and I.
One of his arms is tenderly secured around me, while the other supports the weight of my legs, which are loosely curled around him.
My head rests in the familiar crook of his neck, and for a fleeting instant, I wish I can remain there, untouched by reality.
Unfortunately my brain can’t help but break it, remembering the night at Dan’s party during the first week back, when he’d carried MJ in precisely the same way after she’d had far too much to drink.
The memory struck me like a jolt, snapping me back into awareness with a clarity that is almost cruel.
We are standing in front of my house, the street is quiet, all you can hear is the faint howl of the wind.
“I know you’re awake,” he says, just as he sets me down with that familiar carelessness, almost like I am nothing at all. I recoil slightly, unsettled by how quickly the warmth of being carried has turned cold.
I look up and shoot him a glare, not bothering to hide my annoyance. He only smirks in response. Have I mentioned I hate him?
“What is the point in all this?” I ask instead.
“I want to know the real reason you said no back then and why you did what you did,” he answers, and I startle. He is talking about when he confessed his love for me when we were younger.
“Wha–What are you talking about?” I stutter, looking everywhere but at him.
“Don’t act dumb, St. Annabel. It’s beneath you.”
I start to fumble looking for my keys to get inside my house, hoping desperately to escape dealing with this. “This isn’t something I want to talk about.”