Down and Out(26)

My gaze lifts, meeting his hooded eyes, right as the Ramones’ “Beat on the Brat” blares from his pocket. It startles me so much that I yank my hand away from him.
My heart’s thrumming somewhere deep in the valley of my torso as a sour, almost guilt-like feeling floods me. I can’t explain it, but it almost feels like we were caught doing something wrong. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline coursing through me.
Declan groans and rolls his eyes as he shifts and pulls out his phone. Pressing a button on the side, he turns off the ringing and leans forward to set it on the coffee table.
It’s late. Pair that with his reaction, and I’m thinking the caller is some girl. An ex? Or maybe something more current?
I try to sound indifferent as I ask, “You’re not gonna answer that?”
“Nope.” His answer’s succinct as he suddenly shows interest in the long-forgotten TV show.
“Why not? Don’t want your girlfriend to know you’re shacking up with me?” I grin and playfully nudge his shoulder.
He glances over. “You know I don’t do girlfriends. Jamie’s just . . . filler.”
“Ugh, I hate that name,” I say, grimacing. “There was this girl I went to school with named Jamie who used to pick on me, and well . . . I never really got over it.”
Actually, “picked on” isn’t the right term. This bitch made my life a living hell for years. Her reign of terror lasted from seventh grade up until I dropped out our senior year. So yeah, the name leaves a sour taste in my mouth and I know it’s completely irrational, but I’m kinda mad at Declan for sleeping with one.
“You want me to kick her ass?”
I look over at him, seeing his teasing smile.
“I’d do it myself if I ever saw her again.” If not for fear of our school’s zero tolerance policy when it came to fighting, I’d have kicked her ass a long time ago. But I was worried about what getting expelled would do to my chances at a scholarship.
Fat lot of good those scholarships ended up doing me anyway. . .
“What’d she do that was so bad?”
I laugh and lean my head back on the sofa. “It sounds really stupid now, but in seventh grade, this was like the end of the world. Anyway, I developed really early and certain girls—certain flat-chested girls—thought I was stuffing my bra.
“Jamie was the leader of their little mob, and she spread all kinds of rumors about me. You know—I stuffed my bra, I was a dirty slut, etcetera.
“And Jamie, of course, was rich and popular so everybody believed her. The few friends I had stopped talking to me, because they didn’t want to commit social suicide, and the boys . . . well, I was a ‘slut’ with ‘huge’ boobs.” I laugh humorlessly. “Needless to say, boys were my new best friends.
“So eighth grade rolls around and I’m lucky enough to get stuck with Jamie in my PE class. Two weeks into the school year, her and her little minions corner me in the locker room and pull my gym shirt over my face, temporarily blinding me while they lift up my bra. I guess they expected a bunch of tissues or socks or something to fall out, but all they got was a good look at my huge tits,” I mutter sarcastically, gesturing to my lovely set of B cups.
“After that, the rumors about my bra stuffing stopped, but she’d always find something new to tease me about. How my clothes weren’t name brand, or how I didn’t have any friends. . . Then she found out I was in foster care, and that was enough ammunition to last her until I dropped out.”
I hadn’t meant to go on such a long-winded tirade, but man, I hate that girl.
“What a cunt.”
I glance over at Declan, seeing him with a look so disgusted it makes me laugh. I clutch my sides as tears well and spill down my cheeks. When I can finally speak, I wipe my eyes and say, “Thank you. I needed that. . . So what’s your Jamie like?”
The light in his eyes from watching my reaction dims as a scowl settles over his face. “She’s not my Jamie.”
My eyes narrow as I study his profile. “Does she know that?”
Laughter catches in his throat. “Oh, yeah.” He shrugs and says, “We hooked up occasionally, but it’s over now.”
“Why? Did you get tired of her?”
“Pretty much.”
“And that’s why I’m single,” I mutter, though his honesty is refreshing.
“No, that’s not—” His brows pinch as he tilts his head. “Wait, why are you single? Because you’re afraid he’ll get tired of you?”
Blush spreads to my cheeks, and I immediately regret saying anything. “Quit trying to psychoanalyze me. What were you gonna say?”
He frowns at me for a second longer, his gaze narrowing infinitesimally before he sighs. “I didn’t get bored with her, I just don’t like her. She’s not a nice person, and I guess it just got to the point where the sex wasn’t enough to justify putting up with the rest of her shit.” He winces. “God, that makes me sound even worse, doesn’t it?”
“Eh. At least you knew something about her personality. I’m lucky if I get a first name most of the time.”
“You really have casual sex like that?”
I can hear the judgment in his voice, coloring his tone an ugly shade. I know what I am. Whore, slut—I’ve heard it all before. Don’t mean it doesn’t hurt every time.
And like every time, I smile through the pain so they won’t get the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurts. “Like what? A slut?”
He frowns. “No. Like a man.”