Choosing Us (Pierced Hearts Duet #1)(24)

“Enough said.”

“Camila, mamita, first lesson of thinkin’ like a punk ass kid is that boy be tryin’ to hold one over you. So, beat him at his own game.”

“You mean…”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Come on, honey, lets show him who he’s workin’ wit’.”

Waking up bright and early the next morning, I made it to his bus stop with plenty of time to spare, so I could chat with my new pain in the ass.

“Jackson!” I hollered, dragging his attention from his friends.

“Ooooohhhh weeee!” they chanted and cheered, noticing immediately who I was.

Boys.

Jackson was the only one who seemed genuinely caught off guard by me standing several feet away from them. Putting enough distance between us to confront him in private. They were all proudly wearing football jerseys, thinking they were the shit.

Ah, so Jackson was a football star…

The little shit smirked as if he could read my mind while eyeing a girl around his age who was standing with her own friends, further away from him. He arrogantly winked at her before making his way over to me with the same swagger of a man.

Was he trying to make her jealous?

With me?

What the hell was that?

When he greeted me a little too loudly with, “Hey, baby, you here to dance for me and my friends?” I knew exactly what he was trying to pull.

“Why don’t you show them the moves you’ve been perfecting with Dance Revolution on your Xbox.”

His eyes widened, and his face turned a bright shade of red.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was that a secret? Jackson if you needed dance lessons you could have just asked me. No need to film me to learn a few moves.”

“Shut up,” he warned under his breath.

“But, Jackson? What am I going to do with this new dance footage I have for you?” I didn’t have any new footage for him, but he didn’t have to know that. “I’m only trying to help you find the rhythm you’re obviously lacking based on the level your game is at. Beginners 101—”

He stepped toward me. “I mean it, shut your mouth, Camila.”

“Oh, so you do know my name?” I replied in a much softer tone. “I couldn’t tell with how many times you called me Mary Poppins in the comments section.”

“What do you want?”

“Take the video down or I’ll out you to your friends with how many dancing games you really do have.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Hey, guys—”

“They were my mom’s,” he interrupted, rendering me speechless. “I’ll take it down, alright? Now leave.”

“Jackson, did you just say they were your mom’s?”

“I said, leave. You don’t know shit.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Then why don’t you go shake your ass on a pole where you belong, instead of at my house where nobody wants you.”

I frowned, unable to form words. Swallowing hard, I watched him walk away. Feeling at a loss.

Jackson: 1

Me: 0

I spent the rest of the day feeling like the piece of shit he wanted me to feel like. Focusing only on what he said to me.



“They were my mom’s.”





Chapter 9


<>Aiden<>

Then: Almost twelve-years-old



__________




“Get out of here, you little shit!” Mr. Byron shouted, slamming his fists down on the dining room table near five-year-old Nathan, making Bailey jump out of her skin.

I tried not to let it get to me, needing to stay strong for her. It was the only thing I had to offer. It was always the only thing I had to give her.

No one wanted us.

No one loved us.

No one protected us.

All we had was each other.

I hugged her, bringing her closer to my body.

Harder.

Tighter.

Firmer.

Needing to have her heartbeat next time to mine. It was the only time I knew we were alive.

She struggled to breathe.

To see.

To feel me against her.

“Bailey, please … it’s going to be alright.”

She cried, breaking apart in my arms.

“Boy, don’t make me tell you again! Get the fuck out of my sight, before I show you who’s boss around here!”

“Byron! Just leave—”

“You stupid bitch! Did I tell you to move? Did I give you permission to say a damn thing?”

“Byron, please calm down,” his wife, Carly, whimpered.

I knew he wouldn’t grant her any mercy, he never granted anyone mercy. Not even innocent kids.

We sank back further into the closet we were hiding in together. All the way back in the darkness shielded by stale-smelling clothes and coats, where no one could find us. It had become our favorite hiding spot, pretending we were the kids in the wardrobe from the book The Chronicles of Narnia, we read in Mrs. Jenner’s fifth grade class. Praying to be transported anywhere but here when Mr. Byron drank too much. The second he started yelling and hitting anyone in his sight.

We hated him.

The man was an asshole who was never nice to any of us. All he did was sit on his lazy ass, day in and day out, barking orders at his wife with a twelve pack of beer always close by his side.