Even after four days, it looks just as angry and red as it must have when Ledger laid it on him.
Every time I see it, my heart twists in my chest.
My legs itch to go over to him and touch it. Touch him.
But I can’t.
That’s why I’m running.
The second I see him, I turn around and leave, which I usually did anyway, but these days I’m ruthless. If he comes in my line of vision, I duck my head. The second I start to think about him, I shut it the eff down.
Besides, it’s not as if he is thinking about me.
As I said, looking at him, you wouldn’t even know that Friday night happened.
Not to mention, there are girls taking care of his bruise. In fact, I saw a girl from junior year caressing it out in the courtyard today.
I think she even reached up and kissed it. I’m not sure. I didn’t wait to see what she would do once she’d gone up on her tiptoes.
So yeah, I need to move on and consider Friday night an anomaly and focus on what’s important.
The upcoming dance show in which I’m the lead.
Yes, I am.
I don’t even know how it happened. Because I’m a freshman and they never pick a freshman. They usually go for a junior or senior.
I’m actually very proud.
If only this wasn’t so hard.
I mean, it’s a fairly easy routine. The dance itself is a mix of classical ballet and contemporary choreography. There’s nothing here that I haven’t done before.
But.
I cannot nail down the last part of it. I’m having trouble with holding the positions, with my calves being steady, with my toes bearing my weight.
So I’m basically having trouble with everything and I just want to give up and cry.
I mean, what kind of a ballerina am I if I can’t get my toes to cooperate with me?
A sucky one.
School’s been done for hours but I’m in the auditorium, trying to get it right.
I can’t though.
Because I’m tired now. My limbs are exhausted and I want to go home and just soak in a bathtub for hours, clean up the scrapes on my toes, bandage my ankle and take a bucketful of painkillers.
So I pack up my things, unplug the stereo and bring it to the storage closet located backstage. Opening the door, I switch on the light and set the heavy equipment down on one of the shelves on the far end.
The moment I do though, I hear something, a creak and a footstep, a click, and I spin around already knowing — hoping — who it would be.
And I’m right.
It’s him.
He’s leaning against the now closed door of the storage closet, his gray eyes glued to me. And just at the sight of him, at the fact that my secret, dangerous wish has come true, I stop breathing.
I don’t need to breathe anyway because euphoria is bursting in my veins like firecrackers.
He’s here.
Here. Finally.
My heart races as if it’s been waiting and waiting for him to come find me.
Even though I’ve been making every effort to stay away from him and to run.
Even though the words that come out of my mouth are the exact opposite of what I’m feeling. “Y-you can’t be in here.”
Good.
Good, this is smart.
This is what I should be saying to him.
He’s a bad guy, remember?
It doesn’t matter what I feel.
It doesn’t even make sense that I feel these things.
In response, Reed shifts on his feet and settles even more against the door like he has no plans to go anywhere. “Yeah, why not?”
“Because Ledger is here,” I tell him, my own feet doing what they’ve been doing for the past few days, itching to go to him as soon as I see him.
But I dig my toes into the ground and stop them.
“So?”
God.
Why is this so appealing? His reckless, daredevil, rule-breaking attitude.
Maybe because I’ve never broken a rule myself.
Maybe because I’ve never seen anyone break a rule with so little care where the repercussions are so dire, AKA getting beaten up by my brothers.
I bring my arms back and grab hold of the shelf behind me. Just so I’ll stay put. Even though it’s getting harder and harder to do that.
“He’s at the library, waiting for me to finish up so he can take me home. And I can’t be late. Not after…” I trail off, glancing at the bruise, still so fresh looking and red, sitting on the left side of his jaw.
His jaw that is shadowed with a light stubble that he must hate.
Under my gaze, he thumbs it. “Friday night.”
He remembers…
Like a fool, I think of that first.
It doesn’t matter whether he remembers or not.
What matter is, he needs to leave.
Nodding, I whisper, “Yes.”
“So they’re keeping an eye on you.”
Not them.
As I said, my brothers have given me all the freedom. They’ve always trusted me.