The universe must hate me
Chapter 38
LORENZO
What the hell have I done to deserve this?
I mean besides the shit from the past or the illegal things.
The parties, the street races, all of that.
But those are entirely different. Those are my way out.
My only chance to escape my father, the crushing pressure, and the suffocating weight of a legacy I never asked to carry and was never given the option to refuse.
So back to my question. Why do I deserve this?
Nickson. That absolute, brainless idiot.
Too stupid to throw a fucking ball. He should have...
no. I'm not going to finish that thought.
I'm really not. Because finishing that thought means thinking about what could have happened to her.
And thinking about what could have happened means admitting that when I heard that raw shout, turned, and saw her collapse onto the turf, I felt something specific, terrifying, and immediate.
Something I have absolutely no intention of examining.
And imagining Nickson carrying her? Or that other guy ...James? Jason? I don't care.
The mere thought of his hands on her makes a toxic wave of possessiveness claw at my throat.
"It's closed."
Maria's sharp voice pulls me violently back to reality. I feel Sophia's head droop heavier against my chest, her soft hair brushing my neck. I adjust my grip on her thighs and back without thinking about it.
"What do you mean, closed?" I growl.
"I mean the door is locked, Sherlock," Maria snaps in that specific, irritating tone that usually makes me want to roll my eyes. "The medical wing is closed."
Unbelievable.
Where the hell is the school doctor when someone actually needs one?
It's not that she's heavy. She's quite the opposite, actually,which is another dangerous thought I am strictly choosing to ignore.
It's the fact that we are too close. Her warm, fragile body is doing something to my heart rate that I don't like, that I am not going to name, and that I will apparently be dealing with for the foreseeable future.
"Wait here, I'll go to the principal's office and find a key," Maria says, already turning on her heel. "And make sure she stays awake."
"What...no, wait..."
Don't fucking leave me alone with her.
The second half of the sentence never makes it out of my mouth. She is already gone, moving fast down the corridor with the determined stride of someone on a mission.
So here I am. Alone in a deserted hallway. With Sophia Miller dead-weight in my arms.
She looks surprisingly calm like this. Almost peaceful. Almost like a nice person instead of a relentless headache.
I adjust my hold, pulling her slightly higher against my chest, and look down at her pale face.
"Sophia," I say.
Nothing.
"Hey. Stalker. Wake up." Louder this time.
The only response I get is a small, fractured sound from somewhere deep in her throat. This is absolute hell.
"You have to wake up, Sophia."
"I am idiot," she mutters finally, her lips barely moving.
I let out a long, ragged exhale. The intense relief that moves through me is something I categorize as purely practical, she is conscious, which means I am not responsible for a medical emergency, which is objectively good for everyone involved.
The small, involuntary smile that finds the corner of my mouth has absolutely nothing to do with how cute her slurred words are.
Nothing at all.
"Then open your eyes," I murmur.
"Why?"
"Because you have to stay awake."
"No," she cries out suddenly.
The sound is a sharp, desperate sob that makes me go completely rigid. "No... why did you do that..."
Is she crying?
I stare at her face, my heart stopping. She is crying.
Why the fuck is she crying?
Her eyes are still closed, but hot tears are streaming down her cheeks, tracing wet paths through the dust from the field.
I feel something icy and terrifying slash through my chest.
I just did exactly what Maria told me to do, and somehow it has produced tears.
I have absolutely no idea what to do with a crying girl.
"It wasn't me, stalker , it was Nickson, that fucking idiot," I say, my voice dropping, trying desperately to keep it level so she doesn't hear the sudden panic in my chest.
I look frantically down the empty corridor.
Where the hell is Maria? What is taking so long?
I spot a wooden bench against the brick wall and lower us both onto it carefully. I keep her upright, her small frame pressed securely against my shoulder so she doesn't slump over.
"Why does everyone hate me," she whimpers, more tears spilling over her lashes, her voice cracking with a pain that sounds entirely too old for her.
Fuck.
What is this? What am I supposed to do with this?
Why does it bother me that she is crying? I have absolutely no framework for this. I look at her face, I look at the tears, and something in my chest twists in a way I cannot account for. I open my mouth to say something useful, but I find absolutely nothing there.
"I... it's not that..." I search for words and come up empty for the first time in my life.
And for the first time since I met her, a realization hits me like a slap.
I don't actually know anything about this girl.
Not really.
The first time we met, she walked into the boys' locker room completely soaked, and I thought she looked familiar. I told myself she was just another person who had found their way into my orbit for all the wrong reasons.
But looking at her now, completely unguarded, completely vulnerable in a way she would never allow if she were fully conscious I realize I made her my target without knowing a single thing about her.
Without asking a single question.
I decided she was a problem to be solved, and I made it my personal mission to make her life at this school as difficult as possible.
The fact that she is so different from everyone else here made it easier. It made it easier to push her, to provoke her, to keep a distance that felt like control.
But no matter how hard I tried... here I am. Holding her in a deserted corridor, her head resting heavy against my shoulder while her tears dry on her face.
And I would be lying if I said I don't care.
That is the problem.
That has always been the problem.
She doesn't belong here. I have told myself that since the beginning, building my entire hatred on that foundation. But how exactly am I supposed to maintain that argument when she keeps ending up everywhere I am? When she storms into every single space?
I look down at her face. The tears have finally slowed. Her breathing is evening out against my shoulder , slow, tired, the breathing of someone whose body has simply decided it has had enough for one afternoon.
I don't move. I don't dare move her.
Have I pushed her too far?
Before the thought can swallow me whole, I hear talking at the end of the hallway. I look up to see Maria, the principal, and the school doctor hurrying toward us.
About fucking time.