I jump when Lucas wraps his arm around my shoulder. My insides crawl as his lips graze my cheek.
“I was just a bet to you?” They go silent at the unbridled tone, my voice coarse and severe.
Deny it, I beg in my mind. Be my Lucas. Tell me it’s not real.
“It was just for fun, sweetheart,” Lucas mutters in a soothing tone. For everyone else’s benefit he goes on. “It doesn’t mean anything. Just guys being guys.”
Too little too damn late, Lucas.
The anger and pain morph together to create a horrible torrent inside my chest.
“Guys being guys,” I mutter. “Right.”
Time to tap out. I can’t sit through the rest of the period with him. I don’t want to be near him another second.
As he receives praise for his success, I shove away from him with a grunt. In my scramble to get up from the table I trip, smacking into the linoleum.
A hush falls over the room. The vultures smell fresh meat to feast on. Here comes the lamb for sacrifice, hand delivered by their golden Saint.
My knee throbs as I drag myself up, scrubbing at my burning eyes. The ache runs deeper than a bruised knee.
My pride. My trust. My heart.
All of them bruised by Lucas and the brutal way he toyed with me.
“Gemma?” Lucas holds a hand out to me, hard lines etched on his face. There’s a crack in his mask, but he won’t let it fall. Through the crack, there’s a hint of regret. Guilt, even. It’s not enough. “Are you okay?”
How could I be?
“Yes,” I snarl, turning a glower on him. His jaw tightens. “Leave me alone.”
My feet carry me from the cafeteria. Each painful breath leaves my throat raw, like the scrape of nails slicing me open. I run for the bathroom.
It’s empty. Small mercies.
I run the faucet and hold on to the sink with a white-knuckled grip.
I knew better. I should never have let myself get drawn into Lucas Saint’s world. I can’t fit myself in with the crowd.
It’s better to watch from the outside. It protects me and my heart.
I bend down and splash cool water on my blotchy face. I look like hell in the mirror. The loose strands of my braid are wet, my eyes bloodshot, and my nose running.
Worst of all is the same betrayed look in my eyes from when I was sixteen.
I called it when I wrote those words on Lucas’ windshield to get him back for everything.
Beautiful destroyer. That’s what Lucas is. A plague on the heart, out for destruction for his own sick mind games.
Twenty-Eight
Lucas
Gemma isn’t around the rest of the day.
When I chased her out of the cafeteria, she disappeared too fast for me to follow.
I didn’t think Carter would need to be told not to spread the photo around.