Five things, p.7
Five Things, page 7
“Seriously, Mais,” I whine, turning on my heel and walking into the kitchenette. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge with shaky hands, I twist off the cap, tipping it back until the cool liquid douses my dry throat.
“Seriously, Bea,” she echoes, following me. “Why won’t you take it off?”
I shrug, not answering.
She steps closer, tugging at the hem of the shirt until I look at her. She sighs softly, raising a brow as she steps back. Closing my eyes, I grip the bottom of the shirt, holding my breath as I pull the top over my head, dropping it onto my counter.
While she may have joked that one day she’d see my tits, it’s not the black lace-covered cleavage her eyes land on now that my skin is bare.
I open my eyes, a vicious chill working over my body. I’m too exposed like this, to the way she stares at me, full of sorrow and her lips turned down.
She spins without a word, walking into my bedroom, and hurt flashes over me. She’s gone for only a minute, but it’s long enough for my eyes to dip to my chest, the five round scars on display as I stand there half naked.
The skin is no longer red and angry like it once was, but pink and raised . . . a permanent reminder of the girl I once was. A tear rolls over my lashes, tracking down my cheek as I pull in a shuddering breath. Shame at the sight of the marks burning through me.
Maisie comes back, swapping the plastic bottle in my hand for a black dress. The material is still skimpy, short, and sultry, but this one has a high halter neck. My heart warms, and my eyes water even more when I glance at her.
Hers swim with unshed tears, but she shakes her head at me, spinning and grabbing the bottle of gin she brought from her dorm. She goes back into my bedroom, hollering for me to follow.
Hours later, we’re dressed to the nines, and not once in that time did Maisie make me recount the night I got the scars, or even utter a single word about them. Instead, she made me laugh as we got ready. She played music and danced wildly around my room, not giving me the chance to dip into my mind to think about the girl I was.
Maisie wears the red dress, rocking it way better than I ever could have, while I wear the black. Instead of heels, I’ve got a pair of platform Chucks, where Maisie wears a pair of platform Docs.
My face is slathered with heavy makeup, and it takes me a good few blinks to get used to the false lashes weighing my lids down. When I get a glimpse in the mirror, the girl staring back at me looks so different from my usual self.
“For what it’s worth,” Maisie says, stepping beside me and tilting her head as she passes me my drink. I tip the glass to my lips, wincing at the burn as the clear liquid works down my throat. “I know Maverick is being a dick, and we kinda hate him right now. But I also wanna hug him and thank him for what he did that night.”
Yeah, me too.
“Right, don’t we have a party to get to?”
Sweat drips down my neck, the dress clinging to my skin. My hair sways side to side, offering a light breeze as the loose curls fan my upper body. Angry drum and bass music filters through the dorms, bouncing off the walls of the hall where we dance, trapped in an endless stream of bodies.
I didn’t go to any parties in high school, mostly because Sebastian wouldn’t let me, and when senior year rolled around and I was finally single again, I dropped out because I couldn’t be around people and finished my high school career online, locked away in the safety of my bedroom.
Alcohol fuels my movements, my hips swinging back and forth in time with the beat. Maisie clings to my side, where she’s been for the last hour. She’s keeping her promise, not leaving me alone for even a second.
Need the toilet? She tags along.
Want a drink? She grabs my hand as I push through the bodies dotted around the space to get one.
Fresh air? She’s got me, leading the way outside.
While I appreciate her loyalty, I can’t help but feel guilty when she turns yet another guy down who asks her to dance. Tonight was about her finding a nice guy, but instead she has said no to all the ones who have tried to talk to her just to stay at my side.
“You should dance with him,” I tell her, grabbing the red cup from her hand and tipping its contents to my lips.
My heart speeds up at the suggestion, knowing if she takes me up on it, I’ll be alone, trapped in a sea of bodies. But I’m safe here. I’m okay.
“Seriously.” I laugh when she shakes her head at me, promising she won’t leave me. “I’ve got this. I see an empty spot in the corner just there with my name on. I’m good, Mais. Go enjoy yourself, and maybe you’ll get that lay you’ve been banging on about.”
Her eyes narrow, her lips twisting down. “I made you a promise, and I won’t break my promises.”
“Yeah, well I’m relieving you of your duty,” I tell her, forcing my lips upward into a semblance of a smile. “You can even walk me to the corner if that makes you feel better. But really, I want you to go dance with that guy. You were right earlier. I’m never going to know if I can deal with these situations on my own, if I’m never alone, right?”
“Right,” she echoes, though I’m not sure she believes a word coming out of my mouth. I don’t think I do either, but I roll with it anyway. The alcohol has loosened me up a little, and the usual fog that weighs down my mind is lighter, making me feel comfort I normally wouldn’t. “You sure?”
“Yep,” I tell her, popping the p. “Totally good. Go.”
She chuckles, but her eyes narrow on me for a beat before she links her fingers through mine and pulls me through the crowd.
We make a pit stop at the makeshift bar, grabbing fresh drinks before she delivers me to the corner, where I prop myself up against the wall and sip from my straw.
“You have done your duty, friend.” I nod, winking while I beam at her. “Now, go forth and bang. Or some shit like that.”
She laughs, her head tipping back. Her corkscrew curls fall down her back, swishing as she takes a step backward. She went all out, hoping to find a guy to spend the night with, and I’m so done with holding anyone back because of my issues.
“You don’t party very often, do you? Or drink a lot?” she asks, her voice laced with unspent humor.
“Unless you count Friday wine night with my mom a couple times a month, where I drink one glass and then go to bed?” She shakes her head, her shoulders shaking as she laughs at me. “Then, nope. Never. The first time I’ve ever been tipsy was the other day with you, and as for parties, well I’m a virgin.”
“Oh, this is going to be fun later,” she says, starting to move away. “It seems we have a lot to teach you, young padawan. I’m out, but I’ll be back. So stay right here.”
Placing two fingers to my temple, I salute her. “Yes, boss. This wall is comfy, so I’ll settle in for the remainder.”
“You do that,” she calls over her shoulder, winking at me as she filters into the dancing bodies, her hips rocking side to side when she finds the guy from earlier, and settles her fingers on his shoulder as he leans in, whispering in her ear.
The alcohol lingering in my stomach curdles as I watch them, and my chest starts to ache. I press my palm against the black material, rubbing gentle circles in the hopes to rid the growing heartburn. Stupid alcohol. Because that’s what it is. Heartburn.
It’s definitely not the way she easily slips into position in front of the guy, letting him place his hands on her body. Nor is it the way he whispers in her ear, making her laugh freely as her head lands on his chest.
I tip my head against the wall, closing my eyes against the sudden barrage of emotions. It’s not that I want that, it’s just . . . Oh, who am I kidding?
I want that.
I want the ease of slipping my hand into somebody else’s as they reach for me. I want to stand near a guy without worrying he’ll use his hands against me in anger. And most of all, I want to laugh and dance and be free. Instead of being locked in a cage that my mind built to protect me.
There’s only one person who I haven’t felt that familiar simmer of anxiety with when he leaned into me, somehow knowing instinctively that no matter what his words say, I’m never not safe with him.
But my body lies. Maverick is the most dangerous person to me because while we have a lifetime of memories, he’s the one person who can truly break me. No part of me could be safe with him for that reason.
So why is he the only person I can think of when I let my mind wander, let myself imagine what it could be like had Sebastian never come into my life.
The air changes in the room, pulling me away from my thoughts. My eyes flutter open, heavy as the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed over the last few hours hits me.
I force them over the room, and goose bumps travel over my skin at the feel of someone staring at me. Watching me. A vicious chill settles in my bones as I push off the wall.
Move. Move. Move.
Where the feeling comes from, I don’t know, but it’s been two years since I’ve felt this sting of pressure. Felt the weight of someone’s stare on my shoulders.
I push off the wall, stumbling through the crowd. Maisie is nowhere to be seen, but I think I’m moving in the wrong direction. That thought’s not enough to stop me though.
Finding the stairs, I force my feet to move, taking two at a time before I hit the bottom and jog outside. Warmth simmers in the evening air, though it does nothing to rid the bitter cold eating away at my body. I press my back to the cold brick wall, my hands at my thighs as I hunch over catching my breath.
Little by little, the eeriness drops away, leaving only heavy fog in its place. I pull in heaving breaths, counting in my head. Five things, all the way to one. When my eyes open again, they find a huddle of people walking over the parking lot, heading to the dorm behind me.
My heart constricts at the sight. Maverick with a girl under his arm as he leans down, whispering into her ear. She tilts her head back on a laugh. She’s beautiful. Long toned legs clad in leather pants, a black corset top that clings to her lithe frame showcasing ample cleavage, and a face that could stop traffic.
The sight of them together is hard to miss, the way they walk comfortably side by side as if they’ve done it a thousand times before.
And that same ache from inside hits me again, claiming my mind as I fumble with my bag, finding my phone. Typing out a quick text to Maisie, I amble into the shadows, leaving the party and the sight of Maverick and the beautiful girl behind.
Chapter Nine
Beatrice
“I’m not talking to you,” Maisie grumbles, scraping her chair back as she slides in beside me. The sound hits my temples, and my head rebels, my stomach recoiling. “Seriously, we are not friends today.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cover the fact I called you fifty times last night,” she says, glaring at me, and I instantly feel like shit . . . well, more shit. My first hangover does not disappoint. My head pounds, my mouth is cotton dry, and my stomach is more tender than I ever remember it being. “I got your text, but you were gone by the time I found my way outside. You promised you were staying put.”
“I know and I was, I just got dizzy, so I needed fresh air and then just went home,” I tell her, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes. What I don’t bother telling her is the reason I headed back to my dorm.
“Don’t look at me like that, with them soft, sad eyes,” she whines, dropping her head to the table. “I was worried.”
“I really am sorry, forgive me, pleaseee,” I say, laying my head beside her. She scowls at me, which only makes me laugh. Not ideal in the situation. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m still drunk.”
“Yeah, same. Remind me never to drink again.”
“Did you get laid at least?” I ask, closing my eyes.
“Nah, he was too nice.” She laughs. “Ironic, considering the plan was to find a nice guy.”
“You know,” a familiar voice says behind us. Silently groaning, I keep my eyes closed, banging my head on the table a few times in the hopes of waking up from what must be a nightmare. “I’m a nice guy. Aren’t I, Baby Bea?”
“Not really,” I mumble, pushing off the table and turning to face Nash. Maverick lingers over his shoulder, refusing to look in my direction, which is fine by me, considering I can’t purge the image of the pretty girl hanging off him from my mind.
“You wound me.” He gasps, slapping a hand over his heart before he reaches out, grips my shoulders, and pulls me out of my chair. His arms fold over me, his grip tight as he squeezes, pouring all the words he doesn’t know how to say into this hug. “I missed you, little sis.”
His words hit my chest instantly, and my eyes burn as I blink away the strong emotions. Nash was always like what I thought a brother would be, and he basically adopted me as the sister he never had from that first day we met.
Where Maverick was something else, Nash and I had clear boundaries neither of us even thought of crossing. While I can appreciate that he’s attractive, he does nothing to my heart or body.
Not like his friend, who turns to me now, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he takes in Nash’s hold on me. When he catches my eyes, his narrow before he stomps away.
“You can let go now, Nashville,” I tell him, pinching the skin under his white shirt until he winces and relinquishes his hold on me. Maisie looks on with confusion, glaring at Nash, who hasn’t stepped out of my way yet.
Grabbing her hand, I pull her next to me, making introductions. “Nash, Maisie. Maisie, Nash.”
“Now tell her I’m a nice guy so she gives me her number, Baby Bea.”
“Yeah, that would be a hard no,” Maisie retorts, tilting her head as she stares at him. There’s a glimmer of something in her eyes, and I assess him, trying to imagine what she’s seeing.
His dirty-blond hair is a tousled mess that falls over his brow, dipping into his eyes. Dark-blue eyes watch her closely, his full lips spread into a smirk. Like Maverick, he’s tall, but where Maverick is broad and defined, Nash is leaner with more of a runner’s body than someone who spends hours in the gym working with weights. Wearing a pair of black cotton shorts and a white tee, he looks like the boy next door who, while nice enough, would break your heart the moment you give him the chance.
“Looks like you’re on your own with that one, Nashville,” I say when he whispers something to Maisie who stomps on his foot, her eyes hard with annoyance before she storms away.
I start to follow her, but Nash grabs my wrist. My body reacts in an instant, flinching at his firm grip, and he drops his hold, stepping back and putting some distance between us. “Sorry,” he whispers, a sad sort of smile on his face. “It’s really good to see you, Bea. We should catch up.”
“Yeah,” I answer, smiling as I turn to follow Maisie. My eyes catch on Maverick again, and his gaze is locked on where I rub my wrist, the one Nash grabbed.
When he looks up again, there’s something deadly in his expression, but for the first time since I showed up to BU, his anger isn’t directed at me. Yep, Nash is on his own with that one too.
Grabbing my bag, I toss it over my shoulder and make my leave. Maverick steps in front of me the moment I pass his table, though he makes no move to touch me.
“He hurt you?” he asks, tilting his head toward Nash.
“You care?” I quip, raising a brow.
He looks back at me, a smug smirk on his lips but it feels wrong. “Not really.”
“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” I blurt without thinking, the hurt from his words pulsing around me. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? Leave the past in the past, Maverick. Where it belongs.”
“I would love nothing more, but you see, since you showed up, it’s impossible. You’re fucking with my head, and the only thing that is going to stop that is for you to get the fuck out of my school and out of my life.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, that’s not going to happen.” He narrows his eyes, directing that anger back to me, and in a weird way, it feels right. I understand his hatred, understand his rage, and it’s better this way. Otherwise, it’s all too confusing. “This is my life too, Maverick. Don’t you get that? I’ve let others dictate it for too long, not anymore. And not you.”
“We’ll see about that,” he mutters, his fingers closing around a piece of hair that’s fallen free from my bun. He tucks it behind my ear, leaning close enough that his breath fans over my cheeks, and I feel the familiar burn as they flush. “Have a great day, Bumblebee.”
“Whore,” the girl next to me whispers, snickering to herself when I turn to her with a scowl. She smiles, her eyes alight with smug satisfaction as she turns to face the projector at the center of class, but I can barely pay attention.
My phone has been buzzing nonstop for the last hour. The ‘ad’ on Briar bulletin—the college’s own social media—asking for some companionship has been blowing up. While I appreciate the hits, and the ego boost from knowing men find me attractive, and some women, I didn’t put the stupid post up.
Someone must have somehow hacked into my account, and now my phone won’t stop ringing because not only was a doctored photo of me holding up a sign reading, company needed, shared, but my number was plastered all over the post too.
The last message I opened read, desperation isn’t hot, but you sure are. I’ll let you take a ride, baby. After that, I silenced the ringer, shoving it to the bottom of my bag to stop myself from launching it across the room.
Seems Maverick switched paths, and instead of telling everyone to ignore me, he thinks giving me all their attention is enough to get rid of me.
Once again, when I went to the administration office, begging them to somehow put a stop to it and change my account details—since every time I delete the post a fresh one pops up—the lady at reception told me they have no control over the system. I swear, that woman lives just to tell students she can’t help.
Leaning over to the girl next to me, I snag my phone out of my bag and offer it to her. She looks at me with wide eyes, confusion stark in her features. “If you want some numbers, you only have to ask. Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”
