Put Me Back Together(45)

My hood fell off my head and I felt Lucas’s hands leave my face, his arms encircling my body as the snow kissed our cheeks and melted instantly.

Is this what I want? I asked myself, though my body seemed to have no reservations, my mouth opening to his and letting his tongue slide against my own. I heard myself moan, which only seemed to embolden him, his lips becoming more insistent, his kisses delving deeper. My knees went weak and I nearly sagged against him.

Are you what I want? I asked myself, and though I was still kissing Lucas, suddenly I was imagining a different place and a different boy who I’d wanted to kiss just like this and who had made me melt just like this, whose words had been sweet and looks tender right up until his eyes turned black and the heart that had beat only for me turned hard, and the boy who had made me feel so whole turned into a monster.

I pulled out of Lucas’s arms, breaking the kiss, my heart pounding for a new reason now. We stood facing each other, breathless, and I could feel him trying to lean toward me, to press his forehead against mine, to block out the world, but there was no blocking this out. This was inside of me.

“So, Hero, now do you understand why…” Lucas began, but right away his words began to falter as though he knew what I was going to say before I even said it. As though he could see the fear in my eyes.

“Stay away from me, Lucas,” I said, backing away. “I’m no good for you.”

“No good for me?” he said, uncomprehending, reaching for me, but this time I didn’t fall into his arms. This time I leaped away from his touch and he stared at me in disbelief.

Good, I thought to myself as I turned and walked carefully away through the snow.

I was glad he couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Lucas Matthews wanted me and I was walking away from him. It was probably the first time in history that such a thing had ever happened.

My cell phone buzzed before I reached the corner and I hesitated before taking it out. If it was a text from Lucas, I wasn’t sure I’d be strong enough not to turn around and run back to him. When I glanced down at the screen, I was almost relieved.

Brandon had found my new number.



Unknown: Get ready, you little bitch. It won’t be long now.



It was the message I needed to hear, a reminder not to make the same mistake again.

That was when I knew I’d done the right thing.





12





“What did he do?” Em asked for the tenth time, giving me her most intense you-will-spill-all-your-secrets stare.

I gripped the straps of my backpack as a crowd of students passed us in the hall, my eyes frantically darting from one face to the next to see if Lucas was among them. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I saw that he wasn’t.

Turning back to my sister, I saw that she was still staring me down, her eyes open so wide I could see the white all around her irises.

“I hate it when you do that,” I said. “It makes you look creepy.”

“Whatever! It always works on Sally,” she said. “I’m the only one she told that she actually did make out with Alex’s brother while they were still together, and that she thinks he’s the love of her life.”

“Who’s the love of her life, Alex?” I said as we reached the door to the studio. “I thought Sally didn’t believe in soul mates and lifelong love. I thought she was after the sugar daddies of the world.”

“She’s had a change of heart. Love has changed her,” Em said. “And it’s not Alex that made her change her ways. It’s his brother.”

“Brother doesn’t have a name?” I said, discreetly glancing down the hallway. No Lucas in sight.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Em said flippantly. “I just can’t be bothered to keep track of Sally’s guys. Hell, I can hardly keep track of my own.”

Sadly, this wasn’t true about my love life, on which she was keeping vigilant tabs at the moment.

“So just tell me what Lucas did to make you hate him,” she said, circling back, as I knew she would. She’d been on this track for a few days now. I was getting to know all the stops. “Seriously, I need to know if I have to cut off his balls or just maim him. Poking out one of his eyes is also a possibility.”

“Don’t poke out Lucas’s eyes,” I said, mildly alarmed. My sister had once shaved a guy’s head in his sleep. I knew what she was capable of when enraged. And it wasn’t pretty.

“Not both eyes, just one. He’ll still have the other one. He can wear a patch.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I replied.

I watched as the last of the students from the previous class trickled out of the studio, more evidence that I was ridiculously early. Today was critique day, the day we had to display the painting we’d been working on for the last few weeks and have it assessed by the other students and the professor—otherwise known as Katie’s monthly breakdown day—although this month had been so fraught with breakdowns I was thinking I’d have to change the name to something else.


I hated letting anyone see my work, let alone give me their opinion on it. Letting the professor see it was bad enough. I’d already been through a few critiques during the sculpture module earlier in the semester and knew that most of the students were nice enough—nobody wanted to be too harsh, knowing their head would soon be on the chopping block—but that was sculpture. I knew from catching glimpses in the studio that almost all the students in the class had gone for photorealism for their paintings. Our assignment didn’t require any particular style of painting; the idea was to learn how to paint distance and incorporate two figures from one photo into the landscape of another, keeping the light source and palate of hues consistent. I’d done that; I knew I had. I’d just taken a more impressionistic approach, which would make my painting stand out from the others.