Chapter fifteen
Riven
Iwas late again, half the day gone by. Not that I gave a fuck, my life won’t miraculously change by getting up early. It was already decided. Born in Stonebridge. Do bad things in Stonebridge. Die in Stonebridge. Whoever wrote my destiny must’ve run out of creativity.
But I think as I walk past the small, run-down cathedral in the center of this hellhole.
They must’ve found their muse. Brown eyes and black hair cross my vision, like they’ve been doing for the past month since the shooting.
Somehow, someway, that LBC brat has crawled her way under my skin, and it doesn’t seem like she wants to leave.
I’ve lost countless hours of sleep over this girl, not that I was getting much to begin with. It exasperates me to no end that I can’t figure her out, and it pisses me off that I can’t explain how I fucking feel.
It’s like I’m dead on the inside and there isn’t anything short of a heart transplant that can fix me.
But us Stonebridge kids don’t have those sorts of luxuries. Life deals us a beyond shitty hand, and we have to somehow find a way to make a life. That’s
why so many of us join the gangs that control this town. Why so many of us die violent deaths becomes another statistic.
What a morose thought for eleven in the morning.
I stop in my tracks. There’s a bush of red roses on either side of the cathedral’s steps. As red as my blood when it painted Nadia’s skin. I hate that everything I see, everything I smell, everything I fucking touch, I connect back to her. She’s a parasite, destroying me from the inside out.
But maybe that’s a good thing.
Pulling out my pocket knife from the back of my jeans, I cut the stem of the biggest rose I can find. It’s in full bloom or some shit; its petals are all open. I don’t notice the thorns on it til one nicks the pad of my thumb.
That just won’t do.
I sever each of the twenty thorns on the stem. Wouldn’t want my gift to hurt her. Tucking the knife and rose into my back pocket, I resume my walk to school.
Greyveil High School was located just off Main Street in the middle of Stonebridge. It was named after Greyveil Summit, the mountain looming in the distance beneath which our town was built. It was the one lone high school in the entire town, which was fucking stupid.
Stonebridge wasn’t a small place. It was big enough to fit three gangs, four back in the day.
Why anyone thought it would be a good idea to have a single school where all the kids who were involved in rival gangs could attend was crazy to me.
There was one combined elementary and middle school on each side of Stonebridge, yet one fucking high school.
I heard rumors that this was a state initiative aimed at reducing gang violence and creating a more unified Stonebridge. They’re more mental than I am if they think the kids of the Phantoms, Kingsmen, and LBC will ever come together and sing kumbaya or some shit.
It was fucking ridiculous.
The hallway was empty when I finally got to school, when I finally got to see her.
Nadia Slade, in the flesh. She’s here every Tuesday and Thursday at 2 o’clock to pick up her friend, Abigail Spencer, from community service.
Her punishment after being arrested for disturbing the peace. I took out the rose I brought.
Maybe the state’s idea wasn’t that crazy.
She’s leaning against the lockers, talking to someone, half-smiling like she doesn’t know what she does to people when she looks like that. My grip tightens slightly around the stem of the rose.
It’s nothing special. I know that. I just… saw it, and something about it felt right.
Choosing not to overthink it, I walk right up to her, one look from me enough to make the guy beside her go quiet without being told to. One glare enough to make him scram.
Then, finally, after an agonizing month, she looks at me. “What?” She pushes off the locker, crossing her arms defensively. Suddenly mute, I hold the rose out to her. No explanation. No buildup.
Just… there.
She blinks at it, like she didn’t expect that at all. Like she doesn’t know what to do with it, which is fair. I didn’t expect to do this.
“Seriously?” She says, a small laugh under it.
Something in my chest shifts. Tightens. “It’s a flower.” She oh-so-helpfully adds, like that explains everything.
Then she takes it from me, our fingers barely grazing, but it’s enough to make my chest ache even more. And proceeds to drop it into the trash beside her without another glance.
I go still. Not angry. Not yet. Just… still.
There’s a buzzing noise that comes rushing in, flooding my senses, too loud, too sharp. My jaw tightens, eyes fixed on the rim of the trash can, waiting for something to reverse.
It doesn’t.
“You don’t like it?” I look at her, fighting to keep my composure. My voice is calm. Flat. Controlled in a way that isn’t natural.
She shrugs. “I’m not really into that kind of stuff.”
That tight feeling in my chest pulls harder. I can’t fucking place it; I don’t even try to. I just know something about this feels off. Wrong. Like something just got rejected that shouldn’t have been. I step forward. She notices, spine stiffening slightly. “What-”
Closing the distance before she can finish, I brace one hand against the locker beside her head. Not touching her. Just there. Caging her without actually doing it. The metal clangs softly under the impact.
There’s no one around us, but even if there were, it wouldn’t change my actions. No one around here is ever looking too closely. They never do. But a showdown between us two? It would be like Christmas came fucking early.
“Just a flower?” I repeat her words, lower this time.
She lifts her chin a little, defiant thing she is, never one to back down from a fight. Especially a fight with me.
“Yeah. Just a flower.”
My eyes flick to the trash again. Then back to her. My fingers flex against the locker.
I don’t know why it matters this much. That’s the problem.
My chest feels tight. Too tight, like something’s pressing inward and it’s quickly turning into irritation because that’s easier. That makes more sense.
“What,” I say slowly, jaw tightening even more, “it’s not good enough for you?”
Her brows pull together defensively. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you did.” The words come out sharper now.
I lean in just slightly, not enough to touch, but enough that she has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact.
“You laugh,” I continue, voice low, controlled but slipping at the edges, “you throw it out-”
My breath cuts off for a second, like the rest of the thought won’t form properly. I exhale through my nose instead, trying to disguise my agitation.
“Don’t do that again.” A single beat passes, our hearts waiting on a bated breath to see who shatters first.
“…Do what?” She asks. My eyes lock on hers, and they don’t leave, content to get lost in them for the rest of time.
“Act like something I give you doesn’t matter.”
Silence stretches between us. Her expression shifts, becoming something softer, more careful now.
It’s a look I would’ve never expected to see, let alone be on the receiving end of.
She’s a notorious ice queen. A cold-hearted bitch, and that’s if she even has a heart to begin with.
But the way she’s looking at me now? Like she’s trying to figure me out? It undoes me.
“You’re getting worked up over a flower.” She observes, quieter this time. My jaw ticks.
“It’s not about the flower,” I argue, not even bothering to explain what it is about. Because I can’t.
That’s the part that makes the frustration spike again, sharp and sudden. I push off the locker abruptly, stepping back like the space between us suddenly matters. For a second, I contemplate just leaving her there like I should’ve done in the first goddamn place.
But I don’t. Instead, I reach past her and pull the rose out from where it was lying on the rim of the trash can, teetering on the edge. Not ready to fall, knowing it will anyway.
A few of the once pristine petals are bent now. I stare at it for a second before fixing one of the crushed edges with my thumb, the same one the rose nicked with the pesky thorn-like that somehow undoes it. When it’s as close as it can be to its former glory, I shove it back into her hand.
“Hold onto it,” I mutter.
“Or don’t. I don’t care.” I turn and walk off before she can say anything else.
A lie. We both know it.
I care more than either of us can handle.