As much as I’ve enjoyed this little slice of fantasy, I’m going to have to face my new life there sooner or later.
And one of the thoughts that keeps coming back to mind is what I’m supposed to do with The Brotherhood now … and most specifically, Jasper.
How do I feel about Jasper?
That seems the most pressing question of all to deal with, right? He thinks I’m a boy, and he definitely almost kissed me that night we were drunk. There was definitely something with Beck, too, though.
For all I know, Heath got handsy with me too. I never did get all my memories back from that night, and they do seem to do things together, these three.
But there’s no answer to those questions.
I should hate Jasper, Heath, and Beck … but I can’t bring myself to. Not completely, anyway. My time here at home has made me realize why that might be, that I’ve gotten used to being tossed around by boys bigger than me, but part of me knows that’s got to be screwed up.
I’ve got to be screwed up, too. Why otherwise would I keep explaining away how The Brotherhood treats me as anything other than abuse?
I turn on my side; Taco grunts but adjusts, and I reach out to scratch his ears. Maybe things will be fine when I get back. Maybe it’ll be … normal.
Or at least, as normal as a life at Bleakwood can be when you’re as tangled up with The Brotherhood as I am.
Chapter Twenty
New haircut, more oversized hoodies, healed ribs—I’m fresh and almost excited when I arrive back at Bleakwood.
I walk through the courtyard with a bounce in my step. I’m wearing a comfy sports bra beneath my shirt and oversized jacket that still somehow straps everything in place. My hair doesn’t look like I snipped it off with my own dull scissors. Things are gonna be better.
I can just feel it.
That’s not a feeling that lasts long.
As soon as I walk through the double doors, scanning the milling crowd eagerly for Rafael, I feel a hand on my shoulder push me toward the wall. My back slams against it and almost knocks the breath out of me.
My lips part, my breath heavy with the scent of the cigarette I smoked on my way up here, as I lift my eyes to meet those of my attacker.
Heath shoves his finger into my face, and I go cross-eyed trying to focus on it before looking back up into his narrowed eyes. He scans the shape of my body with a half smear painted on his face as he takes me in.
“Looks like you’re finally back in fighting form,” he says, hands groping my upper arms and squeezing too tight, tight enough to leave bruises. Then just as quickly, he lets go of me and takes a half step away. I have to catch myself before I fall forward onto my face from the sudden lack of pressure pinning me back.
“Time for you to play lacrosse,” he snaps as I regain my footing.
I squint up at him. His eyes look … crazed, sort of. He seems jittery and shaky, like he’s had about six cups of triple espresso.
“What?” I ask stupidly.
“Davis got mono,” Heath says, spit flying out of his mouth.
I wince, forcing myself not to wipe my face in front of him. “Who?”
“Davis got mono and can’t play, so you have to start coming to practice again. We have a game coming up.”
I groan inwardly. I thought we were through with that. I guess I’m going to have to go back to bandaging my chest regularly after all.
“I’m just a bench warmer,” I say, staring up at his agitated expression. “Do you really want me out on that field?”
Heath grits his teeth. “Of course not, but we need a certain number of players.”
Someone walks a bit too close in the hall behind him, causing Heath to suddenly spin round and briefly shout at him to watch his step. Behind us, the crowd of returning students—and a couple of girls loitering from the girls’ school, for some reason—stop to look.
Upon seeing it’s just one of The Brotherhood bullying that scholarship kid again, they return to their business.