All I know is they can cut me with their eyes, and kill me with their hatefulness but I will still rise the next day, like the sun hanging high in the sky I won’t let them stop me from shining.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I wake up with swollen eyes and a crust sticking to my eyelashes from crying all night. Rubbing the gunk out of my eyes I sit up in bed, for a moment I think my vision is fudged up but then I see that the twin size bed across the room from me is vacant.
I’m alone, Shelby’s bed still made, letting me know she never came home last night. Did I lose my best friend? I grab my phone from the nightstand and check to see if she called, or even texted? When I see that she did neither, my heart sinks a little deeper into my stomach.
What is happening to me, to my life? Moving here was supposed to help things, but it seems like it only isolated me, made me weaker, sadder, which is hard to believe since I was sure nothing could destroy me like my father’s lies had.
Wrapping my arms around myself I cuddle deeper into Sullivan’s sweatshirt, which I’m still shamelessly wearing almost every night. It has long lost the smell of his laundry detergent, but in a weird way it makes me feel closer to him. I should probably burn the damn thing after all he’s put me through, but I can’t.
It’s like a bandage for my heart, a security blanket, because even though I know he’s not here and probably never will be again having an article of his clothing makes it seem like he is.
With a heavy heart, I peel the sweatshirt off my body and pull on the last clean pair of jeans I have. I pair it with an old sweater from the bottom drawer of my dresser, while making a mental note to go shopping later and replace everything that was destroyed yesterday.
Going through the motions of my morning routine, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. I don’t bother putting on any makeup, since I’m not trying to impress anyone. My eyes catch on the reflection of the person in the mirror. I don’t recognize her, the bags under her eyes, and the sadness in her dark gaze. My life wasn’t perfect before I came here, but it wasn’t this crazy, not this sad. Pulling up my mop of blonde hair into a messy bun, I take one last look in the mirror.
I can do this.
Who cares that someone’s after me, or that half the school looks at me like I’m a sasquatch and the other half like they want to hurt me? Or that the three guys I had to fall for are the biggest bullies of them all.
I put my books and notepads into my bag and grab a granola bar to eat on the way to Social Psychology. It’s the one class I share with Sullivan and I’ve been dreading going all week. Of the three brothers, Sullivan has avoided me the most.
Dragging my feet to the class, I make it there just in time. Sullivan is already sitting in his seat, his eyes trained on the professor, as if he can’t wait for him to start the class. His arms are folded across his chest, the fabric of his shirt straining, making his arms look even more muscular. Internally I curse myself for even noticing, for thinking about how strong his arms felt when they were wrapped around me, making me feel safe, secure.
There is seriously something wrong with me.
I should not be lusting after one of the men that have made my life hell, after the enemy, the bully. But like a bad habit I just can’t kick my addiction to the Bishops. The entire walk to my table I watch him out of the corner of my eye. Sullivan’s eyes never move away from the board. He doesn’t even glance up at me as I pass him, but I know he can tell I’m there. I don’t need him to look at me to know my presence affects him.
I know he can sense when I’m near just like I can do with him and his brothers. I can tell by the way his jaw flexes and his back oh so slightly straightens out, as if he is on edge. If he was a dog, his ears would be perked up right now, listening, and watching for danger.
When I reach my seat, I slump down into it, trying my best to pretend like I’m not affected by him being here. Placing my books, and notebook down on the desk I busy myself, making it look like I’m doing something. The professor starts his lecture, but no matter how much I try and pay attention, I can’t.