Levi
SEVEN
After hanging up, I slip out of bed and toss my phone onto the mattress. It bounces hard; if only it’d crash to the floor. If my phone is useless, then maybe I’ll stop making such stupid fucking mistakes.
But now, I’ve agreed to maintain this farce because she’s terrified of the actual me judging her in the most fucking ironic twist. I tried to convince her to ask the real me, but once she hesitated, I couldn’t handle her retreating into herself, which left me with no choice but to agree to do it as Hunter.
Even so, admitting I know her—though not the complete truth of how—was meant to scare her away.
Fuck.
The monster within me stretches his claws. He’s been craving her for a long time, and soon, he’ll get to come out and play.
Owning her has been a desire since the second year of high school, one year after I fucked up what could have been. It was the day I learned about her suffering.
The object of my strange obsession rushes by, her head low enough that her chin nearly touches her chest. She’s clutching her wrists, which I caught a brief sight of earlier and haven’t been able to get out of my mind.
She’s evaded me all day, so I’ve never been able to get her alone to quell the concern that what I saw isn’t real.
I’ve been intrigued by Summer Menes since my first day of school last year, when we moved back to town after spending my childhood wherever Dad does business.
As a Westwood, being interested in someone beneath my family’s tax bracket isn’t permitted, so, trained to obey Dad’s beliefs, I ignored her.
My new friends seemed to get off on bullying her, but as the hours turned into days, I found myself shutting them up, ensuring no one would speak another word against her.
I like Summer, regardless of my father’s fucked-up views. She’s good and so fucking smart. And beautiful. She makes breathing easier, all while calming my brain. It cools the rage constantly itching my skin, the monster in my head that Dad’s thrown thousands upon thousands at to fix—unsuccessfully.
Summer speed walks towards the exit, but I catch up to her with large strides.
My hand comes down on her shoulder, drawing her backwards.
Instead of fighting, her shoulders, hidden beneath an oversized hoodie, drop.
It pisses me off—she isn’t standing up for herself, and with none of her usual scorn.
“No cutting remarks? No struggle? I’m ashamed of you, Menes.”
“Join the club.” Eyes lined with black kohl warily flick to my face, then to the minuscule space between us. She acts brave, but that quick action tells me she’s nervous—maybe even scared. The thought triggers a bigger grin at how easy it is to get her heart pounding. “What do you want, Westwood?”
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Her shoulders draw back as a little bit of her fighting spirit emerges. If her dislike strengthens her, I’ll make her despise me. “Home. So if you could move out of my way, that’d be great.”
“Only after you show me something.” My words hit after she releases a giggle that does something to my chest, thawing a bit of the hatred bred into me by my last name. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Good. I was worried that was the magical line that works on other girls.” Her face is half shielded by her hair, but the tiniest smirk peeks out. It’s then I realize how rare an event it is to see Summer smile.
Now, it’s my newest mission.
“The magical line? Nah, we both know nothing like that would work on you.”
“Maybe if I didn’t hate your guts.”
“Then you can hate me for longer.” I grab her wrists before she has a chance to react, and, with a bit of force, I yank her sleeves up while ignoring her whimpered plea.
“Levi, don’t! Let me go.” As the sleeve settles into place around her elbow and the marks become clear, she digs her chin deeper into her chest, attempting to hide, and that fierceness fades. “Please.”
The monster activates at the red gashes on her wrists, ready to drag her behind my body and prevent anything like this from happening again. “What the fuck happened? Who did this?”
“No one.” She attempts to dislodge from my hold again. “Levi, please. If you have any decency, let me go and stop asking questions.”
I release her, but only after cataloguing the red lines. The bruised and broken skin, dried blood that was clearly wiped off, the shattered spirit of the girl in front of me.
“I saw them earlier. I had to know.”
A barrier visibly builds around her as she all but disappears into the wall behind her. “Why? We’re not friends.”
“Maybe I’m trying to change that.”
She snorts and curls her arms around herself. The warmth existing seconds ago cools for her usual disdain. Eventually, she’ll realize no protection will keep her from me—not that she needs any. “This isn’t an invite for pity.”
“I don’t pity you. Not if you tell me who did that.”
Let me hurt them, Summer.
She hesitates, glancing down the hallway, and then the exit nearby. “Look, can we forget about this?”
Not a fuckin’ chance.
“Only if you hang out with me tomorrow.”
“You must be stoned. Levi Westwood doesn’t hang out with someone like little ol’ me. Whatever will your friends think?”
“Fuck them.” For a year, I’ve envisioned making her look at me—really look and see me.
So I push a finger under her chin and do just that.
Her sky-blue eyes threaten a storm if I don’t release her, but it’s a damn good thing I love the rain.
“And fuck my last name. I’ve wanted to be your friend since the beginning. ”
“Right.” The word is drawn-out as she sidesteps me, shaking herself free of my hold with her Summer-certified glares. “I believe you, Levi. Let’s be friends. We’ll hang out never and your conscious will be cleared.”
My arm jerks to the side, blocking her advance. “I’ll bother you every day until you agree to hang out with me for real. Wouldn’t it be better to end the torment now?”
Her near smirk makes my stomach twitch again, confirming she is where I’m meant to be. “Do that, and I’ll get a restraining order. Tell me why I should trust this random change of heart is real.”
“Because it’s not random. You haven’t noticed the others stopped harassing you?
I made them.” Her pink lips part as she ducks her head again, but I’m so fucking sick of her hiding from me.
Before I can stop myself, I cup her face and draw her gaze up.
“Summer, this pain you’re hiding, pushing people away so no one can get close enough—it’s finished.
Let me be your friend. It’s all I want. I promise this isn’t some cruel game. What can I do to prove that?”
Trust. It’s what her expression begs for. The walls—her internalized barriers—shake from a few short words. This girl is seeking connection and barely realizes it. “Don’t tell anyone about what you saw today.”
My hand slides from her face to her wrists, lightly stroking over the gashes. I catalogue every dip of her skin, planning to perform a repeat for whoever did this to her. “Will you tell me in the future?”
“No. We’ll try the friends thing, Westwood, but you’re on a trial period.”
She’ll tell me one day, and then I’ll be able to defend her. Until then, I release her and back up, even opening the door as a sign of good faith. “How about I pick you up for school tomorrow morning?”
“Only if it’s down the road from my house. I'm probably insane for agreeing to this…”
It started with a drive, then hanging out at lunches, eventually in between classes. My friends were kind enough, but she was more comfortable around me, always the duo no one understood.
My obsession grew to unhealthy depths. She slowly began trusting me with glimpses of her life, past and present.
My protectiveness was well known to all except her.
Some douche in twelfth grade pointedly ignored my many threats, took her out one night when Dad dragged me away for some work function.
When she called me crying, in pain from the way he stole her virginity, I tucked her into my bed with all the pain medications imaginable and a hot drink, then went and destroyed him.
He’s alive, only because Dad was with me when she called. He stopped me from taking it further, but the brain damage keeping him hospital-bound means he’ll never remember her.
My psychiatrist upped my medications after that.
Summer was told it was a freak accident. The look in her eyes suggested she guessed it was me, but since she never asked, I never confirmed.
When she finally disclosed her past, her father moved up to number one on my hit list.
For years, she’s been mine.
And she’ll soon learn what being mine truly means.