Punk 57(73)

I don’t. Not really. I can understand people at school. I got what I deserved. I chose shallow, I acted shallow, and I got nothing that would last.

I don’t know if Ten will stick with me, and now Misha is gone, too. I don’t know what I did, but it had to be something, because when you find that everyone hates you, it’s not them. It’s you.

“You have a friend,” Masen tells me, his tone hard and sure. “The rest of those f*cking losers are deadweight. Do you hear me?” He runs his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you have this fire in you that I’m addicted to.”

Warmth fills my chest, and I raise my eyes to his.

He leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.

“It,” he finishes. “I love it. I can’t get enough. I think about you all the time.”

I sniffle, taking some deep breaths and wiping my tears. My heart skipped a beat there. It almost sounded like he was going to say something else.

“Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I pull away, replacing the board in the drawer and closing it. I know he hasn’t found what he needs, but I have to get out of here. I need a shower after those pictures, or I want to do something with Masen and forget coming here.

Gathering up the pictures, I head out of the room and take a left to head down the stairs. But Masen grabs my arm, stopping me.

“What are you going to do with those pictures?”

“Burn them,” I answer. “He probably printed them, because he didn’t want his parents finding them in his phone, so he won’t have copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to be showing these to his friends.”

But Masen shakes his head. Taking them out of my hand, he makes a U-turn and opens the parents’ bedroom door.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.

But then I see him throw out his hand, sending the pictures flying all over the room, falling to the floor and even the bed.

“Oh, my God.” I choke out a laugh and cover my mouth.

“Let the parents sort him out,” Masen says, taking my hand and closing the door behind us.

I laugh quietly, but I still laugh. I can’t stop. The Burrowes will definitely know someone was in their house tonight, but judging from the photos, they’ll probably just assume it’s a disgruntled girl pissed at Trey.

We leave the house, going out the same way we came in, and hurriedly hop into his truck, looking around to make sure there’s no one around.

The street is dark and quiet, and Masen starts the engine, getting us out of there.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted.”

He gives me a weak smile. “I got what I want.”

Flutters hit my stomach, and I bring up my hand, running my fingertips over the top of his hand that’s resting on the console.

After a couple minutes, he pulls up in front of my house and puts the truck in Park, leaving the engine running.

I sit up and lean over to him, not wanting to say goodnight.

Never wanting him to leave, actually.

“There’s a tree house in the back yard,” I look up at him teasingly. “You game?”

He smiles. “I would love to. But I have something to do right now,” he tells me, whispering in my ear.

I feel disappointment, but I brave it and plaster on a flat expression like I always do.

“Do me a favor, though?” he asks, kissing my cheek slow and soft. “Make sure the key’s under the pot. And don’t touch yourself tonight. Save it for the morning when I can watch.”

My body warms with excitement, and I smile. If it weren’t so dark in the truck, I’m sure he’d be able to see me blush.

“Be early,” I beg. “I might not be able to wait.”

He kisses me, and I linger for a moment before pulling away. Climbing out of the truck, I look back at him once and then unlock my door, entering the house.

As soon as the door’s closed, I hear him pull away.

How easy it is to get lost with him. A few minutes ago I was crying, and now none of that seems to matter. I want friends, of course. I want to know Ten will stay by my side, and I want Misha back, but…

Masen just makes everything seem smaller. Like I have a new perspective. He’s becoming a part of my heart, and I feel good when he’s around.

Almost like none of my fears matter as long he’s there.

Tomorrow he said he would tell me everything, but honestly, part of me isn’t sure I want to know anymore. Of course the more I know about him the more I’ll feel like he’s real and the more I’ll be a part of his life instead of him just being a part of mine, but I like him. A lot.

I walk up the steps and down the hall, entering my room. Switching on the lamp, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the bed, hanging my head off the end and staring upside down at all my chalk wall scribbles.

My eyes feel heavy with exhaustion, but I’m not tired.

Misha’s words and my words mix together, running into each other along the wall, and I can’t even remember whose are whose anymore. His thoughts and lyrics, my dreams and musings, his anger, and my confusion about everything in my life… Misha is everywhere, and I miss him. For a long time, he was my savior.