38. Hotaru
“Run,” someone yells ahead of us.
The guy who Phillip tried to screw with at the bonfire before he’d turned his attention to me rounds the building and sprints past us. Another guy follows close behind him.
Both left the field with Arlo.
“What the fuck?” Miles calls out to the guy.
“Fight,” the guy hisses as he runs. Unlike almost any other school, where kids run toward a fight hyped to see a little violence, at Willoughby Ridge, kids get the hell out of sight.
If caught fighting here, your parents are charged a shit ton of money, if the student isn’t expelled altogether. Just for fucking witnessing it, you get fined.
My heart stops. Luckily, I’m used to functioning without it. I break into a sprint, headed in the direction they came from.
No one wants to be associated with a fight. No one wants to get in trouble.
Right now, I could not possibly care less. I need to see Arlo. I need to…
I clear the edge of the building. My gut bottoms out.
Phillip stands over Arlo. His hands are high in the air. A fucking stone the size of my face is clenched between them. His regal mug is drawn into a hideous scowl as though every rage-filled thought he’s ever had funnels through his features.
Blood coats the rock. It’s spattered over the footpath, gleaming murkily in the lamppost light.
“Oh shit,” Miles huffs.
I’m already running. My feet pound against the concrete as instinct takes over.
Protect what’s mine.
The sound I make is wholly animalistic.
It draws Phillip’s narrowed gaze up. His chin jerks. The rage flickers, fear revealing itself in the widening of his eyes.
He snarls. His gaze swings to Arlo, and then to me, desperate to calculate whether he can execute another blow before I reach him.
I answer the question.
With everything I have, I launch myself.
Phillip is too far away. I’d never make it to him in time, but Arlo…
I throw myself over him, toppling his unsteady weight to the ground. The blow lands on my left shoulder. It steals the air from my lungs. Again, I’m used to functioning breathlessly around the man under me. The person I love.
The most painful thing about this is I don’t get to enjoy his warmth against mine, the feel of his muscled back, or his breath over my skin.
Before Phillip can cock back for another blow, I scramble toward him.
Staying low to the ground, only using my hands and feet, I toss myself once more. This time, I aim for both of Phillip’s legs. His trousers make a great grip. I hold tight, throw my shoulders against his shins, and hope for a snap. Tendon. Ligament. Bone.
His weight gives before anything in his leg, pulling him over backward. He screams like the fucking pussy he is. Other opponents flip midair to keep from being pinned. Not Phillip. The rock thumps onto the grass several feet from his fat melon head. A head that gives a satisfying thud of its own.
He lies dazed and unmoving with his arms out by his sides.
It would be humiliatingly easy to pin him, but I don’t want to hold him down. I want to hurt him. Bloodlust claws at my chest, demanding I mark him, that I make him remember how badly he fucked up tonight.
I jump to my feet, stalk to his head, and lean over him. He blinks at me, but he’s not entirely there. I grip his shoulder and flip him onto his belly. Then I fill both of my hands full of his hair and drag him toward Arlo.
When the grass turns to concrete, I make sure to leave traces of his preppy face between the rock and grit.
He comes to pretty quickly, flailing and screaming. So I turn his face into the pavement until I reach my destination.
Arlo sits on the edge of the grass, closer to the building. He’s listing to the side and cradling his head in his hands. His shoulders, fuck, his entire body shakes with a low-level vibration that speaks to shock.
I lift Phillip’s head and step on his lower back to keep him still.
“Look at Arlo,” I demand.
A whine seeps from Phillip’s bloody lips.
“He is brave and kind, noble and intelligent, loyal and beautiful. He is a person worth everything. He is everything you will never be.” I shake him. “Every time you look at your scarred face, think about how amazing he is and how much you fucked up tonight.”
I turn his bloody and raw meat face toward me. What unmarred skin remains loses color. As though he just realizes he cannot stop the consequences of his actions.
“If you so much as look in his direction ever in your entire life, he will be the last thing you see. I will kill you. I will bathe in your blood. I will welcome the jail time.”
My gaze narrows, and Phillip’s ruined lips quiver. “Do you understand?”
His head shakes, along with the rest of his body.
“Tell me what you understand.”
Tears leak from his blue eyes. “Don’t look at him ever again,” he whines.
“Or what?” I snarl.
“You’ll kill me,” he sobs.
“Killing you will be the relief, Phillip. It’s what comes before that you should worry about.” I pull his head up higher. He struggles to get his feet under him but finally does. I grab his face and hold it within a breath of mine.
He winces. Snot flies out of his nose and onto his mangled lips.
“Remember this promise any time you feel like getting a little revenge. Remember this promise when the headmaster asks what happened here tonight. You’ll want to lie. You’ll want to make me out to be the bad guy. Remember this. Tell the truth and keep your gaze away from Arlo.”
I release him. “You’re welcome to look at me if you dare.”
His wide gaze hits the ground, choosing the right option. The only option.
“Leave now.”
Phillip stumbles over his feet, then stumbles over the bloody rock. He screams at it as though it was used on him.
My hands fist at my sides, wanting to wail on Phillip until he’s nothing but chunks of meat and bone.
“Hota.”
Arlo’s already reedy voice is smaller and thinner than normal.
“I’m right here.” I drop to my knees beside him.
Everyone else is gone, even big fucking Miles. Only the dull light keeps us company. The light and so much blood. His hair is matted and stained. It coats his neck and the sides of his face. The deep red has soaked into his shirt, turning the white thing macabre.
“I can see him.” Arlo quivers with the frail words.
My head jerks around, looking for Phillip. The churn in my veins revs like I injected jet fuel. My nostrils flare, and my teeth show, daring him to return.
There is no one. Anywhere.
“Arlo?” I reach for him but stop short, my fingers aching to comfort him.
“He’s dead, but he’s right there. Over my shoulder. In my brain.” His head shakes. His knuckles go white around clumps of his hair.
I can pummel Phillip, but I don’t know how to fight back his memories or banish his ghost.
“Look at me,” I demand.
Slowly, his head lifts. Lash by lash, his lids part. Enlarged pupils stare up at me behind wet eyelids.
“He isn’t here, but I am.” I swallow, knowing how inadequate I am against his trauma.
Arlo sobs. “I’m sorry.”
My guts twist. I should have told him weeks ago, fifty-something languages ago, that he wasn’t to blame. The truth is I like his groveling, his attention, his unwavering devotion to me. Every note was a sign that he still cared. That he didn’t hate me for what we’d done.
I participated. He didn’t force me.
“No more sorries.” I shake my head. “I don’t blame you.”
“You should,” he says as blood drips down his face.
“Never, Arlo.” I choke, trying my best not to cry. “I’m your guy. I told you that, right? No matter what.”
Arlo’s lips pull into a pitiful smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” I smile back. “I’m going to have to touch you to help you up.”
After a few seconds, he finally nods, then immediately grimaces.
“And you’re going to have to go to hospital.”
“No hospital.”
It’s my turn to grimace. “Yes, hospital. I’ll be there with you every step of the way, but you most certainly have a concussion. You need stitches, and you might have a skull fracture.”
“What the hell did he hit me with?” His eyes close as if remembering the blow.
“A mini boulder, the fuck stick.”
He groans. “The headmaster can’t know about the fight.” His torso tilts to the side like a freshly chopped tree.
I slide close and wrap my arms around him. He’s shivering but hot to the touch. I slide his arm over my shoulders. “Here we go.”
Using every muscle I’ve gained over the past two years, I hoist us up and aim slowly for the main office and the emergency call button.
“It wasn’t a fight, Arlo. That was attempted murder.”