OCTAVIA
Iswear I ache worse today than I have all weekend. It could be a delayed reaction from Friday, or it could be that I beat myself stupid in the gym yesterday as penance for succumbing to Finley’s pretty words.
I should know better by now that actions speak louder than words. And his actions are hot and cold as fuck. I’m not beating myself up about messing around with him—a girl has needs—and he is a talented motherfucker with his hands and tongue. Even if I did fuck around with Mav a few weeks ago. No one is about to shame me for what I do with my body. I am not about that life.
Am I more fucked up about the fact that I did that with Finley so soon after what happened with Raleigh? Yes, that bit I’m a little conflicted over, but we all deal with trauma in our own way, so I’m not about to beat myself up over that either.
What I am going to beat myself up over is believing his words to me and then saying nothing when he disappeared. I haven’t heard a peep from him since either.
Like I said, actions over words.
I flop down onto the couch, having resigned myself to taking a few days from school. While I might be able to compartmentalize my trauma pretty well, the thought of facing Raleigh today while dealing with Blair and her bitch squad too, just no. I might be strong, but I know when to give myself a minute.
So I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and turn on the TV. A couch day is exactly what I need in my life. A couch day alone. That is the key part here. A day alone, dealing with my thoughts so I can steel myself and prepare to face the masses. It might be worse because I skipped a few days, but fuck it. I’m not letting the opinions of a bunch of virtual strangers rule my life. I never have before, I’m not about to start today.
It’s only a few weeks until break. I’m sure I can survive till then. I just don’t really want to see Raleigh if I can help it. I hate what he did to me, and I need enough space to build some emotional walls before I can handle seeing him again. Plus I need to deal with the anger I have building toward him, otherwise I’m going to land my ass back in jail on assault charges again.
I flick through the channels on the TV and settle on some mindless comedy show to pass the time. Something I can get lost in and not have to think too hard about . Usually I’d use the day to watch my true crime documentaries, but I’m not sure watching about how to get away with murder would be great for my mental health at present.
I snuggle beneath the blankets, preparing for a long day of absolutely nothing, when the buzzer on my gate sounds. Picking up my phone, I check the camera and see Maverick sitting on his bike. He pushes the buzzer again and doesn’t let up.
God, he knows how to literally push my buttons.
“I know you’re in there, V. Let me in.” His voice comes through the speaker and I groan, hitting the button on my app to respond to him.
“No.”
“Come on, V. I just want to talk.”
“Are you going to answer some of my questions about shit that’s going on?” I ask and am met with silence. “Exactly. So no.”
“Don’t make me come in the side gate. We both know I can.”
I hit the button to speak, my rage flooding back. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”
“I’ll tell you if you open the gate.”
I scream into a cushion, relenting because he’s going to get in here one way or another. As much as I don’t want to deal with him right now, at least this is kind of on my terms. Plus it’s easier to hear him out and get him to leave than to try and ignore him. Maverick is the kind of guy who will sit there all day with his finger on that goddamn buzzer just to piss me off.
I hear the roar of his bike as he pulls up in front of the house, and laugh when he tries to walk in and I hear the bang as he walks into the door with the full force of his body weight behind him.
Smooth. So smooth.
I cackle to myself as I walk across the room and unlock the door, opening it a fraction before moving back to my spot on the couch. I don’t know why he’s here, but if he thinks I’m giving up my spot he has another thing coming.
He closes the front door before kicking off his boots. He puts his helmet on the table by the door and hangs his jacket up, like he’s almost a civilized human. He wags his brows at me, smiling as he asks, “Want company under that blanket?”
I roll my eyes as I snuggle down. “Get your own damn blanket.”
He takes me literally and jumps the back of the couch, grabbing the blanket draped there as he does, and settles in opposite me.
“What are you doing here?” I stare over at him and wait for his response. Sometimes I wish I could fight him and the others as hard as they’ve fought me since I got back here, but a piece of me still belongs to them, even though I’ve denied it since my return.
The bond between us might be frazzled and frayed, but it’s still very much there. No matter how much I might not want it to be.
I don’t think I’m alone in feeling it though. Not if I look at their actions over the last few weeks. Even with them being assholes, there have been small glimpses of the boys I used to know.
“You weren’t at school,” he says, finally answering my question.