We stare at each other a long moment. “I’m not bound to that,” he grits out. “If something happens…”
“Then you can put on your hero cape and come save the day.”
He scowls at me but holds out a hand. I want to tell him there’s no way in hell I’m holding his hand, but that would defeat the purpose of him walking me in. So I slip my hand into his, remembering when I was the one who wanted this, when I bargained for it with a blowjob. The memory swallows me as his hand swallows mine, and I’m glad his grip is firm, because I think I might buckle if he wasn’t holding onto me, steadying me. The force of the memory hits me right in the chest, like the memories hit me at the bridge.
Despite everything, despite us both playing a game all along, both seeing how far the other could go before we broke, we were happy.
The realization is shocking and absurd and tragically, terribly real. We may have been toxic as fuck together, but for those brief months when we were together, we were happy. I can’t remember ever feeling better than I did when I was in his arms, or on my knees in front of him, or just lying under the bridge with him, my head pillowed on his arm, talking. For a girl like me, that’s as close to happy as I will ever come, and I didn’t even realize it at the time.
Or maybe I did. Maybe that’s why I reveled in it with such abandon, soaking up every drop of bliss I could. Because some part of me always knew that one day, it would be over, and all I’d have left were memories. I just didn’t anticipate how much they’d hurt.
It’s not some bittersweet ache. It’s raw and immediate, a piercing pain that’s worse than I thought possible, drilling right through my sternum. Royal has torn me open, cut away the scar tissue and forced me to feel again, even when I’d rather stay numb and sealed up in the safety of the shelter Preston helped me build around my heart. Royal doesn’t give a fuck what I’d rather do. He forces me to face the harsh reality the way he does, never shying away from the places that hurt the most.
By the time I’ve caught my breath and stopped my head from spinning, we’re at my locker. I pull my hand from his, glad I was too stunned with pain to notice how good his hand felt around mine, how big and warm and protective, like it would never hurt me.
His touch is a lie.
I know that. I remind myself as I put in my combination and open my empty locker.
Royal leans against the locker next to mine, bracing his elbow over my head and leaning down.
“Please don’t,” I say, resting a hand on his chest to maintain distance between us. Maybe it looks like a romantic scene to everyone gawking, but they can’t see my lip trembling, can’t see that I’m not laying a hand on Royal’s heart but stopping him from coming closer. I can’t handle this today. I need to get away from him before I lose my shit completely, but he won’t let me breathe, won’t give me a break. He’s in my face, everywhere I look, never letting me forget.
“Why not?” he asks, using his free hand to wind a strand of hair behind my ear. His dark eyes are drawing me in, warm with… Desire. A shiver runs through me, and I feel the answering pull inside me, and suddenly, I’m looking at his mouth, remembering his warm lips on mine, the way his kiss was a blitzkrieg that I grew to crave.
Fuck my stupid memories.
I swallow hard and force my words out, keeping them low so the crowd watching us won’t hear. “I don’t want to kiss you.”
“I want to kiss you,” he says, resting his forehead to mine. “I want to kiss you until you’re so wet I can smell it. I want to taste your black cherry tongue and hear you moan.”
“Don’t,” I whisper, my eyes dropping closed. I can’t afford to feel that way again, the way he threatens to make me feel. I’m shaking all over, and I don’t know if I want to devour him or destroy him for thinking he can still say those things to me.
“I want to kiss you here.” He brushes his knuckles down the side of my neck. “And here.” His fingertips skim over my collarbone before his hand drops to my hip.
“Stop,” I whisper.
“And here.”
“Royal…”
He runs his thumb along the inside of my hipbone, in my ticklish spot. “I want to kiss you right here until you lose patience like you always do and push my head between your legs like a greedy bitch. I want to lick your cunt until you gush in my mouth the way you used to. I want to lick up every drop and start all over from here.”
He lifts his hand from my hip and runs his thumb across my lower lip, smashing it while he grips my chin between his fingers. His eyes are hot, so hot it makes my thighs quake, but I don’t know if it’s desire or fear or some Molotov cocktail of both. I just know I hate it with every fiber of my being.
“Royal.” I grab his wrist in both my hands, my gaze flying to his. “No.”
He blinks at me a few times, the fog of lust clearing from his eyes. “I think we’ve made our point, don’t you?” he asks, giving the slightest tip of his head toward the hall.
I swallow hard, trying to clear my own careening thoughts, jealous of how quickly he can pull himself together. He’s had years of practice putting on a fake face, though. I’ve always been myself, and fuck everyone who didn’t like it. Now, I’m learning his way.
“Well, look what we have here.” Gloria’s slow, Georgia drawl cuts through the tense silence in the hall. “If it isn’t Faulkner’s favorite couple, together again.”
She stops beside us, and I notice even more people staring. The hallway has fallen dead silent, and no one is even pretending not to stare. There’s a full crowd standing around watching now, leaning on the walls and the lockers, like they’re waiting for a showdown. Suddenly, my heart is pounding. I don’t love attention unless I’m in the pit, and even then, I don’t fight for the audience. I might give them what they want—a long and bloody fight—but it’s only so I can fight again. It was never about them.
And here, where I don’t fit, I’ve always hated attention. Even now, when I look the part, I have zero interest in being in the spotlight. I can’t help but feel, yet again, like I’m the last to know something. What exactly happened after I dropped out of school last year? Are Royal and Gloria official, and they think we’re going to fight for him? Or are they just staring at me because I disappeared and now I’m back, and I’m with Royal?
Except I’m not with Royal, and Gloria deserves to know that. She stands there looking as perfect as ever, but there’s a spark of defiance in her eyes. Is she waiting for us to contradict her?