Trust(60)

All was quiet. I crept through the house on tippy-toes, grabbing his clothes before dashing back to my room. The near-naked boy had started flipping through my current book.

“Be careful,” I said, exchanging his clothes for my book. “I don’t like the pages getting creased.”

“Sorry.” He smiled, amused.

Jerk. “Where’d you park your car?”

“I walked here.”

“You what?” I exclaimed, then slapped a hand over my too-loud mouth. “How long did that take?”

“What?”

I removed the hand and repeated the question.

He just shrugged, dragging his jeans on and doing up the zipper and button. Sweet baby Jesus. Over and over, like some soft-porn GIF, my mind replayed those ten seconds. I couldn’t help it. Or didn’t want to. Honestly, it was hard to tell exactly which. Forget bacon on pancakes covered in maple syrup; he made me drool.

For shame. There had to be a special level of hell for people who coveted their beat-up best friend. Though, how could I not have a crush on him? That was the question. Best for all involved if he hurried up and put his shirt on. Put me out of my misery.

Head cocked, he asked, “What’s that look? What are you thinking about?”

“Canadian bacon.”

He blinked. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“Pancakes at Awful Annie’s?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Okay, give me five to thirty minutes to quickly get ready.”

I got busy rifling through my closet. Clean, neutral, happy thoughts. Not dwelling upon John’s pants or what was in them or anything. Not wondering if besides drinking and getting into fights, he’d also used one of his willing naked-fun-time female acquaintances as a distraction from his brother’s crap.

Actually, I didn’t want to know.

Definitely a ripped black jeans sort of day. Doc sandals, black-and-white-striped tank, underwear, and we were all good. Clothes selected, I turned back to find him checking out my bookshelves.

“I’m not touching anything,” he said, holding up his busted hands. “Promise.”

“You can touch. Just be gentle.”

Another of those secretly amused smiles. Just because he couldn’t comprehend my true and enduring love of books. Douche canoe of a boy.

I rushed through a shower, dry-shampooing the crap out of my hair before chucking it up in a bun. Meh, whatever. Given the time constraints, basic makeup would do.

“You’d better go out the window, meet me down the block,” I said, shoving the last of my necessary things into a bag. “Be careful. Don’t hurt yourself further.”

“I’ll be fine.” He crawled across my bed, careful to keep his still-dirty Converse off the quilt. Once he sat on the windowsill, he stopped, turning back. “Thanks for letting me in last night. For looking after me.”

“Of course.” Compliments always weirded me out. I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I studied my feet. Yep, still ten toes, nails neatly painted black. Amazing. “You’d do it for me.”

Because of the split lip, his grin was limited. “See you down the street.”

The warmth in my heart lingering after he left, it went well beyond friendship. It felt dangerous.





The week progressed smoothly until after lunch on Wednesday. If ever a day had been created full of ill will, it would be Wednesday. It’s like it just sat there in the middle of the week, taunting me with the two days of school yet to go before we’d reach the weekend.

Bastard.

Despite being unable to avoid my incredibly sexually attractive friend John since he and Anders had taken to sitting with us at lunch every day, things were okay. I’d been able to keep a lid on my feelings. Who knows, maybe denial and repression were good for the soul.

The bell for class rang, the hallways crowded with people. Chatter, laughter, all sorts of loud noises. Happily, none of it set off a panic attack. My freak-outs weren’t coming on as often these days. I don’t know if it was due to therapy or what, but I liked it a lot.

I stood at my locker, switching books, when someone touched my butt. Not a passing, possibly accidental sort of thing. No way, this was a full-on grab a handful of my flesh and give it a good, bruisingly hard squeeze. Followed by male laughter.

I spun, face no doubt full of surprise. “What the hell?”

“If it’s good enough for John, hey?” the Neanderthal said. What he lacked in height he made up for in muscles. I think I recognized him from Chemistry. More laughing from his crew of equally athletic-looking idiot friends.

“Go fuck yourself,” I said in my most eloquent voice. My hands balled into fists, I wanted to hit him so badly. It didn’t matter that he was packing serious muscle. It no doubt wouldn’t end well, but whatever. Pain, hospital, detention, suspension. They were all problems for some remote future. What mattered right now was payback, and replacing that smirk on his face with something a lot uglier.

The sudden thought of Mom intruded on my rush of anger. Her picking me up from the hospital. Again. Her disappointment as she related her conversation with the principal. Again.

My fists stayed by my side, knuckles white.

My fury just made them laugh harder. Hell, there were even some chuckles from others strolling past. Rage roared to life inside of me. If ever I’d had the urge to burn things down, it was then. He did not have the right to do that. To touch me however he wanted. Then to treat touching me, and my outrage at his doing so, like a joke.