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We spend the rest of the class practicing different hold techniques and takedowns, our bodies constantly pressed together in varying positions that only drive me mad.
It doesn’t help that Zeke is acting more like himself — at least the one I knew before classes started. The playfulness is back, and I can’t help but feel like maybe things will turn around. Maybe we can finally get to a place of friendship. My core flutters as he holds me to the mat once more, our faces mere inches apart and the thickness of his erection pressing deliciously against me. Alright, so my vagina clearly wants more than friendship.
“Zeke,” I whisper, unable to keep the yearning from my voice. I’m surrounded by him. The scent of jasmine and leather fills my nose and clouds my mind with images of another night when we were this close.
He doesn’t move, keeping me trapped beneath him, our breath mingling as we stare into each other’s eyes. I wish I could read his mind, learn the thoughts hiding behind his green eyes. Is he thinking of our night together? The way our painted bodies fit so perfectly, just like they are now.
Class is done, yet still we don’t move. I can’t stand it, being in limbo with no idea of what we are to each other, or what he even wants.
“What is this between us?”
Whatever spell held us captive dissolves at my words. I watch as his eyes shift, morphing into something cruel and unrecognizable.
He stands abruptly, like he’d strayed too close to a fire and felt the scorching heat of the flames against his skin.
“Nothing. You made sure of that.”
His words cut me open, just like I’m sure he intended they would. But more than that, they confuse me. What the fuck had I done to make him so angry?
“What the hell is your problem?”
He ignores my question entirely, and just when I think he’ll leave without another word, he turns back. “Run along, little Hayliel. I’m sure the perfect little Pure boys you have wrapped around your finger are waiting to take you on another picnic.”
He can’t be fucking serious. He’s pissed at me because I’ve made friends outside of the Fallen? As if I even have enough friends to be fucking choosy. My pulse beats wildly, the rush of blood drowning out everything else.
“You can pretend you’re different, Zeke, but you’re just like the fucking Pures. They treat us like shit, and it’s exactly what you’re doing. To them and to me. If you want to hate on everyone who doesn’t look the same as you, that’s not my problem. And I’ll take their fucking friendship over the conditions of yours any damn day.”
I stalk past him, my anger propelling me forward until it feels like I might explode. Who the fuck is he to judge me, anyway? Without Theo, Raphael, and Dina, I’d be alone. An outcast. I won’t let him make me feel like shit for letting someone else care for me, regardless of which social class they fall into.
But as I change out of my combat gear, a little voice inside my head whimpers.
I wanted him to care for me too.
15
Thecoolnightairthreatens shivers down my spine, but the warmth of the blazing bonfire chases it away.
To the left of us, the arena sits empty and dark. To our right, the weaponry training building has one lone light shining from what I can only assume is Professor Malik’s office. Sitting next to the fire with Hayliel and Raph, I can almost believe we’re the only three on campus.
We’d originally come here to burn as many of those fucking SCU newsletters as we could. Harold the Herald was at it again, this time speaking with other students who all said terrible things about the angel I now call a friend. We’d considered paying him a little visit, but Hayliel stopped us. “They just want a reaction. Drama. I’m inclined not to give it to them,” she’d said. I can’t argue with that.
Despite there being several empty benches around the fire, the three of us sit huddled on the same one. Raphael and I perch on either end with Hayliel in the middle, each of us roasting a marshmallow now that the burned newsletters have floated away on the breeze. Something about the moment just feels soright.Her sage-and-honey scent fills my senses, mixing with the smoke and sweets until I’m breathing in one addicting combination.
None of us care that the other students avoid us. Hell, I say it’s a gift from the Archangels. More s’mores for us.
I don’t really like other people, anyway. They’re too talkative and nosey, like they deserve every ounce of my past just for existing. I never had an issue with Hayliel, though. I wonder why.
She laughs at something Raphael says, playfully swatting his arm while trying to keep her marshmallow from falling into the flames, and I can’t look away. Her brown hair appears red against the glow of the fire, and when she smiles, it’s like watching a meteor shower. Rare and beautiful.
If it were up to Raphael, he’d don a jester costume and be her own personal joker if it meant we’d see her happiness more. I’m starting to see his point.
“Oh, no! Rest in peace, Marshmallow King.”
I shake my head, realizing now that Hayliel’s grin is gone, replaced with a pout. She’s looking at me like maybe I should be sad too, but I don’t …
Then I see it. The flaming ball of goo at the end of my stick. I jerk it back and watch as the oozing fireball seems to hover in midair before falling to the embers with a plop.
“Here. You can have mine.” Hayliel brings her own stick forward, revealing the perfectly toasted marshmallow. It’s golden brown around the edges, creating a crunchy shell around the soft, gooey inside. But I can’t eat her food. I let myself get distracted and burned my treat. It’s no one’s fault but my own.
