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“You’re crazy,” I whisper.
His lips tilt up slightly. That ghost of a smile is dangerously beautiful on his lean face.
“I told you. I’m not your property. You can’t just claim a person.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” My hands grapple the air. I can’t believe I’m even arguing about this right now. It’s basic common sense. Even kids understand the concept of free will. But I guess no one ever explained that to this guy. “Because you can’t.”
“I can.”
Could he get any more obnoxious?
“We’re not together.”
“We are.”
“You’re not my boyfriend.”
“I am.”
My nostrils flare. “This is harassment, you know. I could sue you for stalking or something.”
“Go ahead.” He shrugs one shoulder dismissively.
People shuffle around us.
I feel their stares.
I hear their whispers.
Are they really together?
Why her?
She’s not that pretty.
Look at her.
They don’t suit each other.
I cringe.
Not this.
Not now.
In the movie, Catherine was the one to receive all this hate. She handled it with lots of running away and crying at first but, I mean, I get it. Being constantly bombarded with comparisons and told you’re not good enough isn’t fun.
I should know. I spent all the years after Jenna’s death living like that. My own parents called me crazy when I explained why I hadn’t been paying attention as my sister was drowning.
A boy’s face pops into mind.
I erase it.
Focus, Shanel.
Time for damage control.
