The Way It Is
She makes me want tohurt
Everyone who’s ever touched her soft skin.
She makes me want tofall
Apart into all the ugly-broken-bad pieces left.
She makes me want toleave
My throne for a life in the gutter with her.
She makes me want tolose
Control and smash into her like a wrecking ball.
She makes me want tobreak
The rules that hold my precarious life together.
But I can’t
Hurt fall leave lose break,
So she will have to.
twenty-four
Harper Apple
The atmosphere on Monday is subdued, as if everyone is stumbling around trying to shake off the Bye Week stupor. Maybe they’re just hungover from the weekend, but more likely, they’re waiting for the Dolces to give them a clue, to point them in a direction. These boys are gods here—revered, feared, and worshipped in equal measure. The Dolces haven’t said jump, so everyone is waiting to ask how high.
It creates a restless, irritable tension in the air.
And even though Dixie said what happens in Bye Week stays in Bye Week, she also said new couples emerge. Everyone seems to be waiting to see who paired up. I’m not immune. I wonder if Dixie’s posted her blog yet, if she’s finally ready to claim her bad boy. I’m also not immune from being the subject of gossip and speculation. I hear my name more than once, see people whispering and casting curious glances in my direction.
Guess that happens when you hop in the king’s chariot and disappear with him for a few hours.
I run into Colt coming out of breakfast, but he just gives me his usual nod and keeps going. Bye Week is over, after all, and we’re not in the same circles. Actually, we’re both outliers, circle-less loners. And I’m tired of living by the Dolce rules, ones that change every day, with no warning. I can walk past Colt every day without saying a word to him, but he’s still my friend. They can’t change that.
I eye the pancakes with longing but grab a ham and cheese pocket instead, taking off after Colt with breakfast still clutched in one hand.
“Hey,” I say, catching up with him in the hall.
“I thought your boyfriend didn’t allow you to talk to me,” he says.
“Don’t have a boyfriend,” I say with a shrug, biting into my breakfast. “And don’t take it personally. Royal doesn’t want me talking to any guys, not just you.”
“Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth right now?”
“I know,” I say. “It’s fucked up. But he’s not my boyfriend. He made that very clear the other night.”
“Really?” Colt says. “Because I seem to recallyouleavinghisass in the dust at the end of the night.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What’s it like, then?” he asks, his eyes skating over the clusters in the hallway, on alert. Shit. I’m putting him in danger. I only wish I knew how to fix it.