He can’t possibly care, can he?
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, squeezing my thighs shut, feeling very weirdly bothered. The space between my legs is tingling, and it feels like he can tell, even though that’s impossible. Yet his eyes drag down slowly while the faintest ofsmirks plays at the edge of his lips. But when his eyes flick back up, once more taking in the bruises, any humor disappears, replaced by the same harsh angry glare that I can’t even begin to make sense of.
I stuff my moist, trembling hands between my thighs, wishing he’d just sit down. I can’t handle his intensity. I can’t handle what it does to me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the situation to just… end.
He must stand in front of the class for more than a minute, though it feels much longer. Mrs. Gayle clears her throat a few times, but he doesn’t take the hint, and she doesn’t dare do anything more than that. Everyone at school is scared of him, even his two hanger-on friends, Dane and Liam. At last, I hear him scuffing his boots on the floor as he walks down the aisle right beside me right. He stops again, just inches from me, and even though my eyes are still squeezed shut, I can sense his body heat and the spicy smell of him that makes my stomach clench with something more than just nerves. Though nerves are definitely a part of the equation, as is pure embarrassment when I swallow audibly, a tiny squeak escaping from my throat.
After what feels like another eternity, the sound of his footsteps begins again and I can tell he’s walking toward his seat. A moment later, there’s the creaking of leather and I know he’s sitting down, peeling off his jacket but keeping on the hoodie that never leaves him, not even in the heat of summer.
I exhale a shuddering breath, feeling more dead than alive. I can’t understand it. I’m not a fearful person. So why the hell does Quill Nelson have such an effect on me?
Then my eyes cross paths with two beady black ones belonging to a round face topped with a buzz cut. He’s clenching his jaw at me, his expression equal parts worried and self-satisfied. When Quill goes to sit down, his worry fades, replaced by pure smugness.
Ray Campbell. The asshole who beat me up last night.
I flip him off before turning my full attention back toPride and Prejudice.
Chapter 2
Quill
“Hey!”
Piper turns, and I can tell her face has grown several shades paler, despite the bruises that coat her skin.
But I don’t give her a chance to react beyond that. My hand flies to her neck and I slam her back against the lockers, far harder than I mean to. In fact, I don’t mean to slam her back at all. I don’t mean to do anything, really, but apologize, because the bruises on her face seem to serve as confirmation of the monstrous thing I must have done last night.
I came home with bloodied hands, and I spent the next few hours spiraling, wondering if I had finally followed through on my urge.
It was all I could do to show up at school today, wondering how I was ever going to enter that classroom and allow my eyes to fall on her chair. Would it be empty? Because of me? Because I… killed her?
The thought was unbearable. I didn’t care, Ishouldn’tcare, there was no reason to. And yet, I suddenly realized, when my eyes fell on the very bruised, yet very present, face of Piper Day, how inexplicably entwined our lives are.
Had she been dead, I would have gone straight home and shot myself with the gun Dad gave me for training.
Why the hell would I end my life over a girl whose guts I hate? There’s no explanation for it, and yet, it’s the undeniable truth.
She’s okay, and that means I am too.
Only she’s not. She’s hurt. I must have attacked her last nightwhen I was blacked out. I spend my days at high school making her life hell, because it somehow quiets my dark urge. But I’ve never yet crossed the line to real physical violence.
I should be grovelling at her feet, begging for forgiveness.
But I don’t know how to do that. Instead, I stand stiffly in front of her, pinning her to the lockers, my hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing very lightly.
It’s dangerous. Horribly dangerous. Just a bit more pressure, and I could snap her neck. I grit my teeth with the effort ofnotdoing that.
She stares at me in frozen shock. “Please, Quill… please…” Her voice comes out in a husky whisper, very different from her usual high-pitched squeaky tones.
“Yo.” Liam’s snivelly voice behind me actually makes me apply a tiny bit more pressure, and she opens her mouth a few times, trying and failing to speak. Which at first feels like a miracle. If there’s anything more annoying than her, it’s her voice.
But if she can’t even speak, that means I must be applying too much pressure. I should stop. I really should stop. But how? It’s like my brain is broken, and I can’t figure out a way tonotsqueeze her neck.
“You should probably, like, not kill her, man,” says Liam. “Why don’t you just… undress her or shove her head in the toilet or something? But, uhm, strangling her is like… not cool, man.”
I’m not sure what it says about me that I wouldn’t think twice about killing the guy who’s supposed to be my best friend. But when Liam says even one word about Piper—regardless of the nature of that word—it’s all I can do to not kill him. The only reason I don’t is because I can’t be bothered to deal with the shitshow that would inevitably follow.
So instead of turning around and ending his pathetic life, I apply even more pressure to Piper’s neck.
