I managed to avoid talking to her at the beginning of class because I came in at the last minute, hair still wet from my shower after the midday workout, but she catches up to me on the way out.
The look she gives me . . . cautious and shy . . . it f**king kills me.
“Hey,” she says.
I return the greeting, but keep right on walking. My next class is in the building next door, so I’m not in any hurry, but I act like I am.
“Silas, wait.” She grabs my elbow and pulls me to a stop in the stairwell. I could refuse. Could pull away and keep right on walking. “Can we talk?”
I don’t want to. I do. I don’t f**king know.
I know she had it rough growing up, too. I get that, but she’s different. She got taken away from that, and her foster homes were at least consistent. She was taken care of, provided for. She’s normal.
I’m not. Never will be.
All I know is I’m f**king exhausted, and I don’t have the energy for this. But even now . . . I don’t know how to tell her no.
“Go ahead.”
“I just . . . I thought we left things bad yesterday. And I wanted to talk.”
“So talk.”
“I’m sorry about the party.” Her eyes drop to my mouth when she apologizes, and I clench my fists against the need to pull her against me. This girl . . . however she may make me feel . . . she’s bad news for me. I’ll never be able to live up to her standards, and I’ll drive myself f**king crazy trying. Because I’ve figured it out . . . The shit with Levi and Keyon and everything else . . . that’s because I was trying to be something I’m not, and if that party with Dylan is any indication, I’ve been wasting my time.
I won’t go back to the Old Silas. I’ve got to keep my head on straight, keep my scholarship, but I’m also not changing or hiding who I am. Not for Rusk. Not for Dylan. No one. I’ve just got to stop being f**king ashamed of where I come from because other people will do that enough for me.
I shrug in answer to her apology. “It’s fine. You did me a favor anyway. Not really my scene.”
“I know it’s not. But that doesn’t mean I should have acted like you didn’t belong. It was wrong, and not true in the slightest.”
“It is true, though, Dylan. And I’m okay with that. I don’t need or want to belong at places like that. With people like that.”
She swallows and her eyes look hurt, and I figure she thinks I mean her. I don’t . . . well, not completely. But I let her think that. It’s easier that way.
“Okay then. Well, I guess that’s all then. That’s all I wanted to say.”
But she doesn’t move. And she’s tangling her fingers together nervously in front of her chest.
“No, it’s not. Come on, Dylan. What else do you want to say? Get it all out and then let’s be done with it.”
She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Your mom?”
I scowl. “What about her?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
I feel sick at the thought of talking to her about this, like my insides are all twisted up. But no more shame. I need to own this. Have to.
“I don’t know. Eight years, give or take.”
I can hear her shock in the silence, and her body is so still, so rigid I can’t read her. “You were thirteen?”
“Yeah. First time I got arrested was about a year after that. Also for fighting.”
I’m trying to scare her off, end this conversation now, and by the alarmed look she tries to hide, I figure it’s working.
“You were arrested before?”
“Twice before you. The second time they were wrong, though. They thought I stole shit, but that was all my brother. My brother who’s still stealing, apparently.” She sighs, and I can’t help running my mouth. “This is what you wanted to know, right? How messed up I am? Go ahead. Ask your questions. I know you’ve got them.”
She slides a little closer to me and lays her hand on my arm. I should shrug her off but I don’t.
“I think you need to talk about it.”
“No. I really don’t. It’s in the back of my mind all the time. Every day. It sticks to me like a shadow that’s right at my heels no matter where I go or what I do. I don’t need to talk about it, too.”
“Maybe talking about it will help. You’re so angry, Silas.”
I do shrug her off then. I drag a hand over my face and laugh darkly. “Yeah. I am. But talking won’t change that.”
“How do you know? It might.”
“Damn it, Dylan. I don’t need you to fix me. I’m dealing with this shit just fine now. But my family . . . my past . . . there’s no fixing that. “
“So you’re just fine now?”
“I had to stop fooling myself. I’ve done that. Now I’m good. I don’t need to be your charity case anymore.”
“Don’t. I care about you. And I’m worried for you and—”
“Don’t be. I said I’m fine. And now I need to get to my next class.”
She takes hold of my arm and tries to tug me toward her, but I don’t budge.
“You asked me to help. You asked me to keep things simple. I don’t know why you’re punishing me now for trying to do just that.”
Because I was stupid enough to think we were on the same page. Stupid enough to think that even though our mouths said simple, she could see that we were anything but that.
“You just wanna f**k? Is that it?”
I give in to the arm trying to tug me toward her and crowd her back against the wall. She swallows hard and her eyes drop to my lips, and f**k it. I push away my thoughts and give in to the dark want in my gut.
I crush our lips together, and this kiss is not soft, not sweet. Our teeth clash, and I grip her to pull her closer to me. I pour all my frustration into her, my desperation, my fear. I want to push all those things out and pull her in instead.
She kisses me for a few long moments, but then she turns her head away, breaking contact. I kiss her cheek, her jaw, drag my teeth down her neck. She plants her hands on my chest and pushes me away a few inches. “No. That doesn’t solve anything.”
“So you don’t want simple?” God, I can hear the cruelty in my voice, and I know I’m being a jackass, but it makes me feel better. Makes everything not hurt so damn much.