26. Win
26
Win
Six Years Ago
My Starlight,
Is it possible to miss someone when they're right in front of you? Because I miss you. I miss your hand in mine. I miss the freedom to run my fingers through your hair. I miss kissing your sweet mouth whenever I want. So many times, I catch myself from pulling you against me. It takes everything in me not to hold you. Touch you. Devour you. Every day, I count down the hours until I can have you all to myself. You're all I think about. All I dream about. The last month has been torture, but I wouldn't trade our moments for anything. Even if we're not out in the open, you're mine and I'm yours.
XX Your Sunshine
A bittersweet ache settles in the back of my throat as I carefully refold the note and close my locker. Remy’s track practice takes up a good portion of our after-school time together, leaving both of us desperate for a moment alone. In Chem, his fingers find mine beneath the table. During lunch, he presses his thigh against me like the physical contact grounds him. The other day, he dragged me into an empty classroom, pinned me against the door and kissed me until I saw stars.
I adore his affection but he’s getting too bold.
It’s a fucking problem.
I’ve noticed a few confused looks already. Next will be whispers. Then outright jeers. Half of me wants to say, “Fuck it,” and ask him to go public. The other half screams bloody murder at the idea of dragging him down to my circle of hell.
Ultimately, fear rules me.
Slinging on my backpack, I escape out the side entrance, making it a few yards before popping a cigarette in the corner of my mouth. Riding to school with Remy in the morning means I'm stuck walking home alone. Sure, I could drive myself separately now that I have my license, but it’s worth the rushed make out session in the back of the parking lot before the bell.
I cup a hand around my cigarette and light up. If my parents find out, I’m sure I’ll be grounded, but they’re too busy to notice. Mom has been consumed with planning an event at the gallery and Richard has been working tirelessly on a case. I haven’t seen either of them for more than ten minutes at a time over the last two weeks.
Not that I mind. I’m content to hide away in Remy’s room or truck, chasing his tongue. Though, ever since winter break, his mood has been unpredictable at best. Sometimes he stares into space, lost in the black hole of his mind. Sometimes he rants for hours, pacing ceaselessly. Sometimes he giggles at everything, gifting me his beautiful smile. But most times, he’s sullen. Crying. Scared of sleep and the horrors waiting behind his eyes.
I’ve begged him to tell his parents, but his excuses are miles long. He doesn’t want to scare them. It’ll pass. They’ve got a lot on their plate right now. He’s fine. He’ll say something if it gets worse .
On and on and on.
As frustrated as I am, I can’t blame him. Am I any better? I harm myself to release the pain inside me. I lie again and again because it’s easier than admitting I’m sick.
That’s what we are. Sick. Fucked up and stranded in the middle of a stormy sea. How long can we tread water while holding the weight of the other? How long until the ocean fills our mouths and sucks us into dark, icy depths?
I take a drag, exhaling smoke through my nose.
“Oh look, it’s Kingsbury’s token faggot!”
My sneaker catches on a crack in the sidewalk. I’m seconds from face-planting the concrete when a hand clamps on my bicep, whirling me around. The sadistic smile of Grant “The Devil” Larson greets me.
But he’s not alone.
His minions— Marcus Shultz and Jessica Aldrich— mirror his menacing grin. Jessica’s overfilled lips, courtesy of her plastic surgeon father, smack a piece of bubblegum as she approaches, hips swinging. She cocks her head, her sleek high ponytail swishing between her shoulder blades.
“He doesn’t look gay,” she muses as if I’m nothing more than a mannequin in a store window. “Pretty cute, actually, in a sad, goth kind of way. Maybe he hasn’t found a pussy worth fucking yet. ”
The sandwich Remy made me for lunch climbs back up my esophagus. I try to shake off Grant’s hand but it’s the equivalent of a steel cuff.
Marcus chuckles, cutting left as Jessica goes right. Circling me. I’m a mouse who's had the misfortune of catching three hungry lions’ eyes.
“Is he mute?” Marcus asks, digging a finger into my cheek. I flinch away but don’t make it far. Grant yanks me forward, sneering down his nose.
“Nah, he can talk,” the bastard says, lowering his voice, “Speak, puppy.”
My lip lifts in a snarl. “I’m not a fucking dog.”
His evil grin widens. “I knew there was some fight in you… but how much?”
Fuck .
Lightning fast, his hand moves from my arm to my throat. I gasp, barely getting a sliver of oxygen through my windpipe. His thumb presses into my pulse.
“What’s this?” Marcus asks, hoisting up my fist where Remy’s letter is clutched. Immediately, my heart rate skyrockets. He pries my fingers apart to free the paper while Grant’s vicious eyes light with excitement.
I’m shaking.
I can’t help it.
Everything blurs.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
A snort from behind me.
“It’s a love letter.”
Jessica gasps. “From who?”
“His Sunshine ,” Marcus sings.
“Let me see!” she shrieks.
“No, no,” Grant purrs. “Read it to us.”
I’m mortified. This is a nightmare. Why haven't I woken up yet?
Marcus clears his throat, putting on a whiney voice as he narrates Remy’s precious words— mutilating them. I blink faster, trying to force the tears back into my eyes.
“Hmm, could be a girl,” Jessica hums, her manicured nails skimming down my bare arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.
I find a palm tree overhead to focus on. The wind lifts the individual fronds. Mocking laughter is swallowed by white noise as I count the leaves to steady my wheezing.
Inhale. One.
Exhale. Two.
Inhale—
Something hard and heavy slams into my stomach. A knee. I bow forward, jaw dropping open in search of oxygen but getting nothing. Again in the same spot. My vision vignettes. A third time. Shock is wearing off as the pain radiates outward.
Instinct finally takes over.
My hands grapple for purchase, nails scratching the football star’s wrist but he won’t let up. I’m suffocating. Maybe I’ll pass out. At least in unconsciousness, I won’t have to listen to their taunts which blend together, fusing with the demonic whispers in my mind.
Pathetic. Loser. Gay. Weak. Pussy.
“What the fuck is going on?”
A gust of air fills my lungs. My legs give out—
The concrete sidewalk bites my palms.
“None of your business, church girl,” Grant snaps.
Blinking through the tears, I make out Andrea’s silhouette. With arms crossed over her chest, she glares at the three monsters surrounding me.
“You know you’re assaulting a student on school property,” she growls, turning first to Marcus. “If I were to report you… you’d be su spended or even expelled,” shifting her glare to Jessica, “Kicked off the squad,” Finally, she pins the devil with her glower, “Or worse… have your college acceptance rescinded.”
Grant advances on her, towering over her tiny frame.
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”
But Andrea doesn’t back down. She lifts her chin. “Why wouldn’t I? No one likes a bully, Grant. Especially not college football teams.”
“Little shit,” he spits, lunging—
Marcus grabs his furious leader’s wrist a second before he touches the petite cheerleader.
“Dude, you can’t hit the principal's daughter,” Marcus hisses. But he has no issue attacking me… Right .
Andrea bats her lashes innocently at Grant.
She’s fucking insane.
Red splotches rise up his neck and color his cheeks. “You’re not gonna say shit, prude.”
With a saccharine smile, Andrea shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to be on your best behavior. Try asking, What would Jesus do? Because if not… I might accidentally slip up in front of my dad.”
“Fucking cunt!” Grant snarls like a wild animal, but Marcus doesn’t let him get closer to her. Andrea’s eyes dart to me, a flicker of concern peeking through before she returns her glare to Grant.
“I suggest you all get going before I have a change of heart,” she taunts.
Grant immediately storms past in a slew of expletives. Marcus hesitates, glancing at the fuming cheer captain next to me before darting past Andrea in pursuit of his buddy, leaving Remy’s letter on the ground. I reach for it—
Jessica snatches it first.
An audible rip.
My.
Heart.
Screams.
Shredded pieces float to the ground.
A shadow covers me. “Until next time, Starlight .”
Her footsteps retreat, but there’s no relief. A strangled sound breaks through my teeth. The imprint of Grant’s hand around my neck is a bruising collar, joining the dull ache spreading through my abdomen. None of it compares to the agony of seeing my sunshine’s words torn to mangled bits.
The shadow returns—
I fall on my ass with a gasp.
“Easy, Pooh Bear, it’s just me,” Andrea murmurs, brown eyes shining as she squats in front of me. Panic swirls back to life in my chest. The reality of who witnessed this mess descends over me in sheets.
“You can’t tell Remy.”
Sorrow etches into her pointed features. She swallows hard, squeezing her eyes shut.
No, no, no . He can’t know. It’ll destroy him. He’ll be inconsolable. Irrational. Angry. He’s already struggling and I refuse to add to his suffering.
“Please,” I whisper, voice cracking.
Confliction wars in her eyes, her small hands fisted on her thighs.
Finally, she nods.
“Our secret,” she agrees. I sag back onto my elbows, rough, hot concrete digging into my skin. The adrenaline wears off, draping a blanket of exhaustion and emptiness over me. She extends a hand. I stare at it for a while before cautiously accepting it.
“On one condition,” she adds. Anxiety creeps up from behind my ribs. Lips quivering, she squeezes my hand gently. “You tell me if they bother you again.”
I nod.
“Swear it, Win,” she begs, a tear sneaking out the corner of her eye.
“I swear,” I lie.