Page 63 of Knox's Boy

I slammed my fist into it.

The impact jarred my arm all the way to the shoulder. Pain exploded in my knuckles. I pulled my hand back, seeing the skin split, beads of bright red blood welling up to stain the white dust of the brick. It throbbed, bad.

"Fuck!" I screamed, the word ripping out of my throat. "Fuck! Fuck!"

I stood there, panting, cradling my bleeding hand against my chest. The campus security cart had slowed, the officers eyeing me warily from fifty yards away, probably debating if the rich kid having a tantrum was worth the paperwork. I glared at them until they turned the cart around and drove off, deciding it wasn't their problem.

My pocket buzzed.

I fished the phone out with my good hand. A text from Luna.

Where r u? Professor Miller was asking why ur seat was empty. Don't tell me ur playing hooky w/ Daddy again.

I stared at the screen. I couldn't tell her. She would say,Call the police.She would say,Call Knox.She would be logical andprotective, and I couldn't handle logic right now. I was drowning in shame.

I typed back, my fingers shaking from pain:Migraine. Went home early. Cover for me?I shoved the phone back into my pocket before she could reply.

I looked at the Jaguar. The mirror dangled by its wires, looking pathetic. The scratch looked horrible.

Call Daddy.The thought rose up.He will fix it. He fixes everything.

But a darker, louder voice shouted it down.Look what you did to his gift. Look what you allowed to happen. You can't keep running to him. You have to handle this.

If I told him, he would handle Finn. He would involve lawyers and police. But if I fixed it... if I could just make it look okay, maybe I could save us both the trouble. Maybe I could be the adult.

I remembered the roll of black duct tape in my trunk for a school project.

I retrieved the tape. I pushed the mirror housing back into place. It clicked, holding precariously. I began to tape it, winding the gray adhesive around the sleek blue curve.

It looked horrible. A bandage on a supermodel. But it held.

I got in the car. The interior was still perfect, smelling of leather and newness. I started the engine. The purr was the same, but it felt wrong now, as if the car itself was judging me.

I drove. I didn't go home. I drove to an AutoZone three miles away.

I went inside, ignoring the clerk’s stare at my bleeding knuckles. I bought scratch remover, a microfiber cloth, and a polishing compound.

Back in the parking lot, I tried to buff out the scratch. I rubbed at the jagged white line until my arm burned. The compound smeared, turning milky, but when I wiped it away, the gouge remained. It was deep. Through the clear coat, through the paint, down to the primer.

Finn had really wanted to leave his mark.

I stared at it, the bottle of polish heavy in my hand. It was unfixable. Not by me.

Panic began to curdle in my stomach. I couldn't fix it. So I had to hide it.

I checked the time. Dusk had turned to true night. Knox’s garage was massive, cavernous. If I backed in... if I parked in the far corner, away from the overhead lights... maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe I could find a body shop tomorrow, skip class, get it fixed before he ever saw.

It was a stupid plan. A child's plan. But I was desperate to preserve the illusion that I was worthy of this car, that I wasn't just a magnet for destruction.

I got back into the driver's seat. My reflection in the rearview mirror looked wild. I looked like Finn.

I gripped the steering wheel, ignoring the sting in my split knuckles.

I killed the headlights as soon as I cleared the threshold, guiding the Jaguar up the winding drive.

I approached the garage, pulse thrumming in my neck. I pressed the remote, and the heavy door rolled up. Knox’s black Mercedes was parked in its usual spot, the Audi next to it.

I didn't park next to them. Instead, I swung wide, maneuvering the Jaguar into the farthest bay, a spot usually reserved for staff. It was deep in the shadows, away from the harsh overheads. I backed in carefully, positioning the car so the driver's side, the wounded side, was pressed almost against the wall, hidden from casual view.