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ALLURA
14 YEARS OLD…
I’m crying, and I hate that I am. Crying equals weakness. At least, that’s what my mother tells me all the time. If that’s the truth, then she’s the strongest person I know because I’ve never seen her cry. But I don’t believe she is. Still, as I stand in one of the alcoves of the school, silently crying my eyes out, I feel pathetically weak.
“Al.” Blaise steps into the alcove with me.
I hurriedly wipe my eyes. “What are you doing here? You should be in class.”
“I was heading to the restroom and saw you … Why aren’t you in class …?” He trails off as his gaze zeroes in on my face. “You’re crying.” It’s not a question, but an observation.
He quickly stuffs the bathroom pass that he’s holding into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he reduces the space between us and cups my face with his hands. “What’s wrong?” he asks as he wipes my tears away with his fingers.
“It’s nothing.” Sniffling, I divert my gaze from him and stare at the floor. “I’m not even crying.” It’s the stupidest attempt at a lie I’ve ever told since my eyes are swollen from all the tears I’ve been shedding for the last ten minutes.
He’s quiet for a while, and when I finally look at him, his expression is creased with contemplation.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says. “It’s okay if you’re crying—you’ve seen me cry.”
“I know, but …” I release a wavering sigh. “I’m crying over something really stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s upsetting you this much,” he says. “Don’t devalue your feelings, okay?”
The corners of my lips quirk. “You’re the strangest guy I’ve ever met.”
“And you’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever met,” he says, causing me to snort a laugh.
“Blaise, I’m not sweet at all.” I reach up and place my hand against his cheek. “But thank you for saying that.”
He smiles at me. I have no idea how he can be so kind and sweet when he comes from such brutality. Even Ryder and Reece, who are nice to me, don’t possess the same gentleness Blaise does. Honestly, no one I know does. Sometimes, I worry Blaise has been broken so many times that he understands too much about life and that this gentleness and understanding is a result of that.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” he says. “But you know I’m good at listening.”
“I know.” My shoulders slump. “There’s this guy in my science class. His name’s Will.”
“Will Metherly?” he checks, his fingers stiffening on my cheek.
I nod. “Yep, that’d be the one.”
“The one who what?” His tone is overflowing with anger to the point that it startles me.
“Um … It’s not really a big deal. I’m honestly just being a baby.”
“Let me decide that.”
“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I summon a deep breath. “He got partnered up with me today for this dissection lab we’re doing, and he made a joke about how I’m probably an expert on dissecting because my father does it to people for a living. And then everyone laughed like it was funny, but it’s not because it’s fucking true, and …” Tears burn my eyes again. “And I’m so pathetic.”
“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re perfect and untouchable, and Will Metherly will learn that.”
“I’m not perfect,” I argue, but he only leans forward and kisses my cheek right where a tear is falling.
“No more crying over Will Metherly,” he tells me as he slants back.
Nodding, I suck back the tears.
He smiles, but I detect the slightest trace of shadows in his eyes. “Good. Now, how about we ditch for the rest of the day?”
“Sounds great to me.” Because I’m not about to go back into science class after running out, crying.
