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Shallow, boring, tedious, ignorant, and insipid. All the rich kids here were like that.
And suddenly, for a moment, I wished I was them. Anyone other than me. No wonder hardly anyone at this school liked me. I was even tired of myself.
Even if it wasn’t true love, it had to feel good to be wanted.
He didn’t stop kissing her, though, holding my eyes as they moved together. Then . . . he winked at me, and I could see his smile through the kiss.
So much different than how he looked. How they all looked.
One thing I could be grateful to the Horsemen for.
He looked like his name should be Chad.
And I walked past him, ignoring his hand.
Anything to look unapproachable. Please, please, please . . .
I didn’t have to look up to see their dark hair, and I could always tell who was who without checking because Kai smelled like amber musk and the ocean, while Damon smelled like an ashtray.
If I knew we were going to share classes when the administration decided to move me to senior English a few weeks back—a year ahead of schedule—I would’ve said no. No matter what my brother wanted.
“That piece of shit has a hard-on for you or something,” Damon added. “Every time he sees you, he wants to get you alone.”
Assholes. My brother’s phone rang all damn night last night because of that prank. And when he’s aggravated, he shows it.
“So, what do you say, Em?” Will prodded, finally engaging me like he could never stop himself from doing. “Is your brother hot for me? He’s certainly on my ass enough.”
Everyone in this school hated my brother. Their money and connections had no effect on his willingness as a police officer to hand out speeding tickets, parking tickets, investigate noise complaints, or shut down parties and drinking as soon as he got a whiff of anything going down. My brother was a jerk for doing his job, and when they couldn’t come at him, they came at me.
His eyes never left me.
Every muscle in my body tensed, and when I didn’t listen, he tossed his wrapper onto the floor and leaned over, yanking the cord and pulling the earbuds out of my ears.
But I didn’t shrink. Not with him.
But then his hands were on me, pulling me down into his lap.
I gritted my teeth and shoved at him as Kai sighed and Damon snickered, neither one stopping him, though.
I just loved the nicknames the little wannabe gangsters gave themselves in high school, but someone should really tell them it wasn’t scary when you had to tell everyone how scary you were.
What was their fault was that they took full advantage of it. Wouldn’t it be fun if anyone ever said no to them? If one of them ever paid for a mistake? Or ever said no to a drink, a drug, or a girl?
And he hated that.
“You wake every two hours and cry?” I asked.
“Don’t you know that you can have anything you want?” His eyes searched mine. “I’ll hurt anyone for you.”
My eyes burned. Why did he do this? He’d soften and tempt me with the fantasy that I wasn’t alone and maybe—possibly—there was hope.
He almost sounded hurt, and I nearly laughed. Probably disappointed I’m not stupid enough to fall for his shit. What was he planning? Gain my trust, lure me to Homecoming, and watch as they dumped pig’s blood all over me?
“That she’d grow up,” Kai answered. “And no longer be sexually attractive to him because he’s a pedophile.”
“I think he meant that we change, and she would, too. It’s not that she’s growing up. It’s that she’ll outgrow him, and he’s scared.”
“He loves the idea of her,” he finally told Townsend, sounding finite. “When she eventually faded from him, the dream of her would still be there, haunting him. That’s what he meant.”
“She says, ‘He broke my heart. You merely broke my life.’ What is she telling him?”
You broke my life.
“Yeah, it was wrong, but this is an issue today. Women can’t just decide after the fact that they were abused. She was willingly sexual with him.”
“He doesn’t have a thing for Lo,” Kai continued. “He has a thing for young girls. It’s not an isolated incident. She was abused.”
“Abuse can feel like love.” I blinked, the voice so close that my ears tingled. Slowly, I raised my eyes to look at the side of Damon Torrance’s face, his shirt wrinkled, and his tie draped around his neck. The whole class fell silent, and I glanced at Will next to me, seeing his eyebrows pinched together as he looked at the back of his friend’s head. Mr. Townsend approached. “‘Abuse can feel like love . . .’” he repeated. “Why?” Damon remained so still it didn’t look like he was breathing. He looked at the teacher, unwavering. “Starving people will eat anything.”
Don’t you know that you can have anything you want? I’ll hurt anyone for you.
Abuse can feel like love .
Walking out of the room, I couldn’t help but glance back at Will Grayson, seeing him slouched in his seat, chin on his hand, and covering a smile with his fingers. He held my eyes until I left the room.
Hunger pangs rocked my stomach, but it took the edge off the pain everywhere else.
Shit. Sometimes he pulled a double shift or got caught up with a matter or two, and I was blessed with a night without him.
couldn’t stop my stomach from sinking like it did every day, but I plastered a bright smile on my face and peeked my head through the open kitchen doorway and down the hall.
Martin and I were never close. Eight years older than me, he was already used to being an only child by the time I came along, and when our parents passed away about five years ago, he’d had to take care of everything. At least he got the house.
I smiled small, but my hand shook as I picked up a forkful of lettuce. It wouldn’t stop shaking until he left for work in the morning.
If I weren’t speaking, he’d find something to say, and I didn’t want that.
I always tried to hide behind a lie first. Given the choice between fight or flight, I flew.
“Don’t you ever leave this table without my permission.”
I stared at him for a moment, reconciling my head, once again, to the fact that it was going to happen no matter how hard I tried to stop it.
“What is the matter with you, exactly?” he whispered. “Nothing can be done right. Ever. Why?”
“You never surprise me, do you? There’s a right way and wrong way to do things, Emory. Why do you always do it the wrong way?”
“What did I do to deserve this?” he cut me off. “All these anchors pulling me down? Always constant. Always a weight.”
