28. Soren
SOREN
Parker is my best friend, and I try to support him as best as I can, but I have to laugh because he’s as superstitious as my brother.
His game day rituals are precise, and I’ve wondered all day how having his little crush with him might be throwing a wrench in his plans.
Part of that ritual is the support of his friends, and I don’t mind that he needs me in the same seat at home games and a new seat each time at the away games.
I dress in black and white to make it clear which side of the field I’m cheering on, and check myself in the mirror before heading down.
Very seldom do my tattoos show at Bellthorn.
The required dress code is meant to alienate us from the world around us, making us feel, act, and breathe differently.
Sporting events are still drab and dreary, but at least I can wear short sleeves and show off the art I’m so proud of.
I like everything about myself, really, except that my younger brother stole my face.
The Offering is still sitting in her bedroom, though I can’t figure out why.
I decide that’s not my business as I head to the football field.
I step out of the college and immediately feel some slight relief.
The entire place tastes sour when you know how much rot there is beneath it, but far too many people are here, and I’d much prefer to be alone.
Streamers fly, white and black mixed with red and gold, the opposing teams' colors. Our rivalry with them is less than friendly. Parker stands on the field, surrounded by the team as they do pregame fanfare nonsense. I smile at him, but he only gives me a tight-lipped nod in return. That’s strange .
I’m not immediately worried, but I am on my guard, as his eyes seem to be pointing at something or someone in the distance.
Too bad that I have no clue what he’s trying to tell me from this far away.
I find my place in the bleachers, which is reserved like usual.
He doesn’t eat or drink certain things on game day.
The pitiful bastard even has a no-pussy-before-games rule.
A familiar smell turns the air next to me, and I find Arabella at my side.
She and I have hooked up sort of regularly since freshman year.
We stop when she has a boyfriend or not, depending on who it is.
She’s dressed for the game, pretty features, brown eyes, and black lipstick.
We’re nearing the end of whatever this is and have been for a while.
Pretty can’t cover a shitty personality forever.
“Baby,” she says as she reaches for me.
“What’s up, Ara?”
“I missed you. It’s been a couple of weeks since we met up.” She bats her eyelashes at me, and I notice she has even less effect on me than the last time I saw her. I’m not even slightly tempted.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I say, trying not to look too closely at her when I’m thinking such unflattering things. We’re not officially dating, so I shouldn’t have to break things off, but it might be headed that way.
“With the Offering?” she asks, that petulant little voice I’m growing to despise filled with jealousy. “Is that where you’ve been? With your dick in Sable Briarwick.” Her lower lip wobbles, but her eyes are dry of tears.
“No, I’ve been busy.” I don’t owe her more of an explanation than that. We have never been anything serious, and she’s most interested in me when she’s trying to make someone else jealous. I guess that counts for when she’s jealous of someone else, too.
“So make time. I want to see you.”
“I’m not going to have more time until the end of the semester.”
“Are you going to walk her around like a pet all day, like the rest of them?”
There it is, what she was actually getting at.
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“The squad is lining up. Go talk to them.”
“This isn’t over, Soren,” she says, as she turns and walks back to the line of waiting girls.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say to her back. I think this thing has run its course. They start to cheer, warming the crowd up for the impending game, but the announcer continues speaking, updating the crowd and talking about key players from both teams.
“Before we kick things off, our Bellthorn cheerleaders have something to share with you.” Whoops fill the air, and the cheer team spreads out, holding a large sign as they come onto the field. It takes a second for me to read it as they find their places and hold it still.
Deep dives take lives!
Arabella steps up to the crowd and grabs the mic.
“This year's Offering is none other than Sable Briarwick.” Gasps and whispers fly through the crowd. Some people know because she's been walking around campus, but she’s not been here long enough for everyone to have found out. “Bellthorn’s favorite whore almost died when her own father drove her off a bridge. We want to remind you how important it is to take bridge safety seriously.”
Arabella steps back, and instead of the football team running through their paper sign, a beat to shit car rolls through. I have no clue what car Sable’s father drove off the bridge, and I know this can’t be the same car, but I wouldn’t put it past Arabella to find out the model and match it.
She stares out at the crowd as they cheer and laugh, searching for her victim, expecting to savor her humiliation.
But Ara doesn’t know that Sable isn’t here.
She’s still back in our room. If Arabella was hoping to drive a wedge between Sable and me, she really didn’t need to.
I was never planning on giving in to her.
But she did shove an immovable one between her and me because I don’t like bullies.
“Come on down, Sable! Show the people what the Bellthorn founders get for their prize this year.” People look all around, shouting her name.
Parker steps out onto the field. The explosive rage in his expression may not be obvious to everyone, but I know him well, and he’s barely containing it.
He walks up to the car first, rips the driver's door open, and pulls the kid out. I can’t hear him, but I can imagine how deeply he’s threatening him as the guy literally dangles with his toes just scraping the ground.
The dangling guy nods, and Parker drops him to the ground at his feet. He scurries off his ass and back into the car as quickly as possible. He drives off the field as fast as he can, leaving trenches in the perfectly manicured grass.
He approaches Arabella next, and she has the good sense to look scared, but she doesn’t cower. He covers the microphone as he speaks, and finally, she nods. She keeps her head down as she goes back to the line of cheerleaders, and the band starts playing for the official start of the game.
Who the fuck does Arabella think she is, and why would something so mean impress me?
I try like hell to catch Parker’s attention, but he won’t look at me.
Guilt fills my stomach, and the irresponsible part of me that keeps being interested in Sable worries how she’ll feel if this news travels back to her.
I don’t want a whore. I don’t want anyone, really, and worrying about Sable is downright stupid.
As I’m telling myself that everything is fine and I need to move on, I feel a set of eyes sticking to me.
I look up and standing on the ground, talking to a group of people is a face I never expected to see again.
Hadrian Vale, my old best friend, the one who abandoned me before Parker took his place.
He’s talking with a bunch of people, an easy smile on his face, but I can tell from here he still thinks he’s cooler than everyone he meets.
Being a fucking protégé goes to your head, I guess.
While he pretends to be interested in their conversation, his eyes keep settling on me.
When we make eye contact, he nods. I don’t return the gesture, but I don’t look down either.
He’s the one who’s going to have to deal with me after all this time.
He didn’t need to come here, and given neither of us ever wanted to, I’m more than pissed off he’s decided to sentence himself here with me.
I’m done with him, moved on a long time ago, and I don’t care that we’re not friends anymore.
So why the fuck does it hurt like I’m eleven years old, finding out my best friend has blocked my number?