these days, keeps getting wound tighter and tighter.
At our lunch table, I know she purposely sits as far away from me as she can. Girls on one side and guys on the other, I’m at least happy to hear her joke with Raff and Heller—it brings a bit of normalcy back to our group. Until Wes Garvin walks right on up and has the balls to ask her out.
Not a chance, buddy.
“Move along, Opie. She’s neither available nor interested,” I all but threaten the guy, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. Stella looks like she could spit nails she’s so pissed, and after letting him down gently, she drives one of those nails right into my heart by reaching out and fucking caressing his arm. After Wes goes on his merry way, she turns to me, a vicious gleam in her eye, and tells me exactly what she thinks of me before storming out of the cafeteria.
I sit and pretend nonchalance for the next five minutes, listening to my friends try to talk about anything except the shitshow that just happened. Finally, I can’t do it anymore, shoving my chair back and standing.
“I’m out.” Is all I say before striding from the room. As luck would have it, there’s a tension breaker waiting for me just outside the door—leaning against the wall, patented loser sneer in place, is Bingham Ramsey.
“Looks like you and I are in the same boat now,” he sniggers. “Both kicked to the curb because that Bradleigh twat is a tease.” Anger burns away every other emotion, and all I want to do is hurt somebody. Pivoting on my heel, I take two strides toward Stella’s would-be rapist and punch him once right in the center of his preppy face. Feeling bone snap under my fist brings a satisfied smirk to my lips, and I turn around and walk right out the front doors, the smarmy fucker behind me whistling blood through his broken nose.
Before I get to my car, Payne, Raff, and Heller are suddenly surrounding me.
“Cut the shit, bro. It’s time to tell us what the hell is going on,” Payne demands. With a tired sigh, I tell them my story.
The guys and I collectively decide to blow off half a day’s worth of classes and go back to Payne’s place after I give them the basic rundown in the school parking lot. Once the whole mess is out in the open, I’m grateful they don’t hold my decision not to tell them right away against me.
That’s one of the things I love about my friendship with Payne, Raff, and Heller—when one of us fucks up, we explain, we apologize, and we move on. We don’t hold grudges between us, and we call each other on our bullshit, even if it takes a few days.
The shitty thing is, punching that douche Ramsey in the face should have made me feel better. Okay, maybe not better, but it should have at least released some of the tension I’ve been carrying around.
It didn’t.
I’m still wound as tight as I was before my fist met his face and I don’t know what to do about it.
Chapter Twenty
Thursday morning I wake up feeling sad and small and alone; tears that fell in my sleep now dry on my cheeks. My dreams from last night haunt me. Not in the traditional scary nightmare kind of way, but in the ‘am doing the right thing’ kind of way. The ‘did I make a big mistake’ kind of way.
The past few days at school have been a special kind of torture. While nothing else has happened, seeing Poe every day and not being with him is taking a toll, and I find my anger at him getting harder to hold on to. Sunday asked me yesterday why it was so easy for me to forgive my aunt but not Poe. I thought about it and explained as best I could. That what he did somehow felt more like a betrayal—more like he’d violated a trust that I have never willingly given another man in my life. I also explained how much holding onto that anger is wearing on me. That underneath it, I miss him.
Lying in my bed, I check the clock on my phone and see I have about fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off. I use that time to do some deep breathing and pep talk the shit out of myself.
Get it together,