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Her brows draw together as she inspects my face, as if I’m a crossword puzzle she is trying to solve.
“Why? I know you didn’t just come and find me and do what you just did because you were feeling kind. You wanted Vito to see what we were doing.”
“One, because I want to, and two, of course, I wanted Vito to see what we were doing. I want him to know that the kiss you shared means shit, and that you’re mine.” I’m sounding like a damn caveman. Next thing I know, I’ll be pissing in a circle around her.
I don’t really know why I care to accompany her to lunch, other than I want to make sure she eats, and more importantly, that no one touches her. I want to make certain that every single person in this fucking school knows who she belongs to and that if they fuck with her, they’ll face me.
She chews on her bottom lip, a look of apprehension in her eyes.
“I already got what I wanted, Aspen. Let me take you to lunch and make sure you eat.”
A moment passes, and then she finally answers, “Um, okay. I guess I could eat.”
I shake my head. I’ll never understand her. She let me finger fuck her against a tree, where anyone could’ve come walking in and seen us, but needs to be convinced to let me take her to lunch.
29
ASPEN
I’m afraid that I’ll wake up and these last two weeks will have been a dream. It’s odd how bearable things have been, almost to where I’m hating this place a little less.
It helps when the person who makes your life a true living nightmare most days has made a change for the better and decides not to terrorize you for a little while.
It’s a nice change of pace, but I suspect soon enough, Quinton will be back to his vicious ways. His anger comes with a warning, but his niceness makes me wary. There is always a reason behind it, even if I’m not aware of the reasoning right at this second.
I lie in bed for a while with the covers pulled up and over my head and try not to pout. It’s Thanksgiving Day, but that doesn’t mean shit.
Not here. It’s stupid to wish because I doubt it would be any different there than here, but part of me wishes I was at home. Just the comfort of being in your own bed. Spending time with your loved ones. My father wouldn’t be there, but my mother would. Maybe? I shouldn’t put as much faith in her as I do. She doesn’t care about me like she should, but she’s my mother.
What the hell else am I going to do? I roll over in bed and grab my phone from the nightstand. I’ve contemplated calling for the last twenty minutes. Every time I do, and she doesn’t answer, my heart breaks a little bit more.
Hesitantly, I navigate to my mother’s number and hit the green call button. I hold my breath and listen as the line rings, and rings, leaving me a little more disappointed with every second that passes.
I end the call, squeezing the device in my hand. I don’t know why I try. Really, I don’t. She doesn’t care about me, not enough to check up on me, and certainly not enough to return my phone calls. I drop the phone onto the mattress beside me.
The screen lights up with a text, and my stomach twists into a knot. Maybe my mom texted me instead of calling? Maybe she’s busy after all. It’s hopeful thinking that evaporates into thin air when I see the text is from Quinton and not my mother.
Worst Nightmare: Come to my room. I’ve got a surprise.
I exhale and run a hand through my blonde hair. His idea of a surprise isn’t the same as mine. Still, if I don’t go, it’ll only make him come for me, ending with me in his room anyway. There is no winning with him. It’s Quinton’s way or no way at all.
Tossing back the covers, I contemplate telling him no but instead text back a single letter.
Me: K.
I take my time in the shower, and since I’m not sure what kind of surprise it is, I choose to dress casual, mainly because I have nothing dressy to wear. My eyes catch on my reflection in the mirror. The hazel orbs looking back at me seem dull, and my heart-shaped face appears thinner, my cheeks hollow. I toss some water on them and give them a gentle slap to add some color.
I look like a goddamn ghost. My blonde hair falls in gentle waves down my back. Overall, I still look like the Aspen I’ve always been minus a beaming smile. I used to be happy, smiling, and excited for the next day. Now, I hide my teeth behind my lips more often than not. I can’t remember the last time my smile was genuine. I can’t remember the last time I was happy—no, not happy, but truly happy.
