Things I Wanted To Say: Chapter 8

THE STORM DOESN’T last long. It dumps rain for approximately thirty minutes, just enough to stir up the football field and make it nice and muddy for tonight’s game. I sit at my window in my dorm room and watch it fall, homesick.

But I have no home to return to. Not really. Even if I begged my mother to let me come back, I wouldn’t feel comfortable in that apartment. Not with all the memories there. The family photos. The little shrine she made for Jonas and Yates. She sent me a photo of it last week, and I found it so odd that she’d do such a thing. Photos of each of them on a small table. Candles burning, a sign with the Lord’s Prayer on it and hands clasped together. A thick black Bible rested on the table as well.

We don’t go to church. We don’t really pray. I’m not sure why she would make such a religious tribute to them, but maybe she’s dealing with her own guilt.

I understand that. Far more than she even knows.

I watch from my window as droves of students head for the football field for tonight’s game. So many, I feel confident in leaving my dorm in search of food in the dining hall once the game starts. No one is in there, save for a couple of very young-looking students, all of them I assume are freshmen, and they’re clustered together at a table, whispering furiously, watching me with suspicious gazes as I walk by them.

They probably know I’m the enemy too. And they’re freaking freshmen.

With no one else around—such as Whit and his posse of henchmen and herd of sheep—I’m able to grab a fresh salad and soup, and I eat it in peace, my AirPods in, watching a new series on Netflix.

Once I’m finished, I head back to my room and change into leggings and a hoodie, then tie on my favorite running shoes. It’s pitch black out, but the storm is over, and everyone’s at the game.

No one will bother me.

My AirPods still in, I jog my way through the gardens, the lights above the many statues casting them in a golden glow. They’re beautiful. A delicate angel. A weeping woman. An angry young man, his face angled as if looking in the distance, his jaw hard.

He reminds me of Whit.

They all do. Aching beauty etched in stone. Cold and unfeeling. Though every time he touches me, I feel nothing but heat. Fire from his fingertips, incinerating me.

Making me burn.

I jog faster, my heart rate kicking up as I make my way toward the forest. It’s so dark. Darker than usual, thanks to the clouds still lingering in the sky, and I squint into the night, trying to see. My feet pound on the pebbled trail beneath me, and as long as I stay dead center, I won’t lose my way. I can see the white pebbles, even in the darkness.

The path winds through the thicket of trees that lines the campus and separates it from the beach. Even with my AirPods in, I can hear the pounding surf, the waves riotous, the sea angry from the storm. I turn off the music and stop, breathing heavily, absorbing the rhythmic sound.

If I walked into the swirling water right now, no one would miss me if I disappeared. The school would most likely have a party, led by Whit. My mother would be sad, and add my photo to her shrine, but otherwise she’d move on. Everyone would tell her she was so strong.

And she is. But maybe all that strength is a mask for what she really is.

Devoid of emotion. Exhausted.

I don’t know which.

The ocean tempts me, especially after such a harrowing day, but after a few minutes of listening to the waves, even taking a few steps toward them, I turn away from the beach path, and head back toward campus. I tell myself I’m stronger than that. If I walked into that water and let it swallow me, then they would win. And while I told Whit it wasn’t a game, maybe he was right after all.

Life is one big game, and I’m too young to give in. I can’t lose.

Not yet.

Knowing I was tempted yet didn’t succumb, somehow makes me feel stronger. Gives me more power. I keep my pace steady as I head back toward the campus, choosing the trail that jags to the right and doesn’t meander through the gardens. Instead I run through a tunnel made of towering trees and bushes, and they come across at the top, creating a canopy over the trail that I’m sure is refreshing during the summer.

Not that I’ll ever witness it. Summers in Newport. Summers on campus. They offer a program, but I didn’t attend, and soon I’ll graduate. I’ll never have to look at this campus again come the beginning of June. I’ll have my diploma in hand and leave with my head held high.

Hopefully. If they don’t break me first.

They won’t. I won’t let them. I won’t let him.

A crack of thunder sounds overhead, startling me and I make a little noise, picking up my pace. Rain starts to fall in steady sheets, lightning shining in the sky again and again, accompanied by furious rolls of thunder, and I realize I’m putting myself at serious risk out here.

I could get struck by lightning, electrocuted on sight. Farfetched, but knowing my luck lately, entirely possible.

I break out of the covered path, rounding a giant wall of ivy, when another loud boom sounds, rattling the earth as lightning streaks across the black sky, illuminating the ground below. I see someone. Tall. Dressed in black. He’s there.

And then he’s gone.

Swallowing hard, I slow down and carefully approach the spot where I saw him, my heart racing. I hit my AirPod to stop the music, glancing around as I pull the buds out of my ears and shove them in my hoodie pocket. Wherever he went, he can’t be too far. Probably someone else out for a run.

Right?

Thunder cracks, startling me and then an arm comes around my neck from behind, holding me to a firm, lanky body. A mouth settles at my ear, his voice low as he murmurs, “Gotcha.”

I go cold, recognizing his voice immediately.

Elliot.

Closing my eyes, I remain completely still, telling myself to stay calm. I can figure this out. He’s hellbent on getting revenge, I assume, and I can play along for a little bit. I need to gather my strength and take my chance when the timing is right.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” he says, his tone menacing. “Out here all alone. No one else around. Everyone at the football game.”

“Why aren’t you at the game?” I ask, proud of how calm my voice is.

“I got suspended for one game thanks to what happened earlier,” he says, his grip tightening around my neck. His thick forearm presses against my throat, threatening to cut off my air. “Fucking bitch. You’re not worth the trouble.”

Another boy suddenly appears in front of us, completely unfamiliar. He’s also dressed in black and he approaches us slowly, a disturbing smile on his face.

“Is this her?” he asks Elliot.

“Yeah. What do you think?”

His gaze scans me from the tip of my head down to my soaked Nikes. “I’m not one to hit a woman, but she looks like a royal bitch who deserves a smack or two.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Elliot practically growls with a laugh. “You hold her and I’ll get the first hit?”

“Deal,” the other boy says with a nod.

That’s my cue to act.

I struggle against Elliot’s grip, slipping right out of his hands, but the other boy quickly grabs me around the waist, whirling me around and lifting at the same time, my feet dangling in the air. He drops me to the ground, following after me, pinning me in the center of the graveled path. The little rocks dig into my scalp and my body, making me wince and the boy thrusts his face in mine, the rain dripping off his skin and onto my cheeks.

“Keep going. I like it when they struggle,” he leers, as if he’s done this sort of thing before.

“Get the fuck off her. She’s mine first,” Elliot yells, yanking at the other guy and pulling him off of me. I start to cry when Elliot straddles my hips, looming over me with a fist cocked back. I thought they wanted to rape me, not beat me up.

Anger fills me, drying up my tears and I try to buck him off but it’s no use. He’s got the upper hand and he knows it.

“Little bitch,” he whispers, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “I’m going to fuck you up.”

He sounds pleased, like he’s getting off on this, which only infuriates me further. I put up a huge struggle, lifting my hips with all my might and sending him sideways, tumbling off of me. I kick out at him with one foot, nailing him in the stomach, so he falls back with a loud grunt, his face twisting in fury as he lunges for me once again.

Just as fast, he’s gone. The other boy yells.

“Watch out! What the fu—”

A fist connects with the boy’s mouth, and he crumples to the ground. I watch it all unfold in shock, the rain falling steadily upon us in fat drops, lightning flashing frantically above us.

Illuminating Whit, clad in his white button down and navy trousers, turning at the last second toward Elliot right before he hits him in the face.

“Whit!” I scream his name, just as his head rears back from the force of Elliot’s fist making contact with his pretty face. I leap to my feet, heading straight for Elliot, ready to pull him off Whit.

Whit shoves Elliot off of him and they roll onto the ground, their legs and arms entangled as they each struggle to get the upper hand. I stand over them, feeling completely helpless, not sure what to do next. I pull my phone out, and start to dial 9-1-1 when Whit yells at me.

“Put that fucking phone away now!”

I slide out of the call, glaring at him. Worried for him. The other boy is staggering to his feet, his face already swollen thanks to Whit’s fist, and I scream when Elliot swings for him yet again.

Whit’s prepared this time. He stops the swing of Elliot’s arm, thrusting his fist into Elliot’s stomach with all his might. They keep hitting each other, the sickening thud of hands connecting with flesh sounding again and again as they try to destroy each other. Until Whit is the one left standing over Elliot, who’s lying on the ground clutching his stomach, his body curled inward as he tries to protect himself.

“Fucking cocksucker,” Whit says, breathing hard, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “You were going to beat the shit out of her.”

“Bitch fucking deserves it—” Elliot starts but Whit kicks him in the stomach, making him groan.

“Asshole. You’re finished. Through.” Whit spits on him, right in his face. “Rot in hell, Elliot. You’re done here.”

“Come on, man. She’s just some little bitch you wanna fuck. What does it matter what happens to her?” Elliot whines.

“More like she’s a little bitch you want to fuck.” Whit kicks him again, the rain picking up speed and becoming so loud I can barely hear him. I hit a button on my phone and somehow, I accidentally turn the music back on. The song “Streets” by Doja Cat starts playing on low from my Airpods still in my pocket, but I can hear Whit yelling at Elliot. “You have twenty-four hours. I never want to see your face again.”

Whit turns on the other guy, who’s watching all of this with a scared look on his face. “Never want to see your fucking face again either. Get the fuck out of here. Both of you!”

Elliot stands, rubbing his hand against his jaw with a wince. “You’re making a mistake.”

“My only mistake is that I trusted you in the first place,” Whit says with a faint sneer. “Fuck off, asshole. I’ll take my chances.”

I watch, breathless as they stare each other down. Scared they’ll start fighting all over again. Hurriedly I put my AirPods back in my ears so I won’t lose them, watching the boys stare each other down.

But eventually, Elliot slowly walks away, the other guy following him, until they disappear into the darkness. Once they’re gone, I turn to study Whit carefully, noting the way he cradles his front, his arm curved around his ribs.

He’s hurt.

The prodigal son. The posh prince, still standing after he fought not just one, but two boys off of me.

I suppose I should be grateful. I probably should thank him.

His back is to me as he watches Elliot and his buddy run away, the pounding rain drenching his clothes, making his white shirt completely see-through. The fabric clings to his torso, emphasizing the lean muscle just beneath and I stare, unable to look away. I lift my gaze to his profile, sucking in a breath when I see the bruise forming on his cheek. The scrape on his jaw.

I go completely still, contemplating my next move. I should run. I can pretend I never saw him or Elliot tonight, and I never witnessed this fight. We can continue on and act like this never happened. I’m poised and ready to make my escape when he lifts his head, his nose in the air as if he scents me, like a wild animal.

I’m frozen. Like the nearby statues. Immobilized, quaking with fear inside. Today has already been too much. So much for me to deal with, and to end it with another horrible encounter with Whit Lancaster…

I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it.

His startling blue gaze meets mine. Our gazes lock, and I can’t look away. Neither can he. The song keeps playing, the words filling my head, so apt in this moment.

Like you, like you

Like you, ooh

I found it hard to find someone like you

There’s a cut on the side of his mouth. I can see blood dripping down his chin. He turns his head to face me fully, and I gasp, covering my mouth with my fingers.

Whit always reminds me of the statues in the campus gardens. Beautiful. Perfect. Cold.

Heartless.

Seeing him now, the untouchable god among us peons, broken…bleeding.

Human.

Staggering on his feet, he walks toward me, larger than life. Powerful despite the damage that’s been done to him. His right eye is starting to swell shut. There’s a red, bruising scratch on one sharp cheekbone. His lips are moving, as if he’s speaking to me, so I rip one of my AirPods out of my ear only to catch the last few words he says to me.

“…you shouldn’t have been out here alone. Are you okay? Fucking Elliot.” He spits, the color of his saliva solid red.

I’m immediately furious. Who is he to tell me what to do? To act like he cares? So he ran to my defense and got his face battered in thanks to me. Really?

He could give a shit about me.

Whit has admitted he’s the leader of my schoolwide torment. They’re all bullies, but he’s the biggest one of them all.

“At least I’m not the one who’s bleeding all over the trail,” I retort, waving a hand at him.

He grins. There’s blood staining his teeth, reminding me of a beautiful devil. A fallen angel. As if he can read my mind, he spreads his arms out, looking like he might take flight. His position only emphasizes how soaked through his white shirt is, and I can see his flesh beneath. The dark shadow of his nipples. The muscle and sinew, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes raggedly.

My skin prickles with awareness, and I mentally tell myself to stop.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day, Savage,” he says, the maniacal grin still on his face. “Can’t even say thank you for saving your ass. Those two were going to beat you into a bloody pulp, I hope you know.”

“You probably called them on me and then ran in to break it up, hoping I’d believe you were my savior,” I throw at him. “I don’t trust you.”

“I should’ve let them have you,” he says, the smile slowly fading.

“Asshole,” I mutter as I start to move past him, eager to jog by and forget this entire interaction ever happened.

But we both know I can’t ignore him, and he can’t ignore me. I can’t leave him out here alone, even if he is the one who organized this in the first place. We have too much history between us.

Whit grabs my arm as I try to walk past him, stopping me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“As far away from you as possible.” I try to shake him off, but his fingers tighten around my upper arm. “Let go of me.”

“Gimme a minute,” he says with a grimace, stumbling on his feet, and I reach out to clasp his other arm, steadying him in place. He’s still cradling his stomach with one arm, his expression grim. “Fuck, I think that dick cracked my rib.”

Shock washes over me, along with the rain. His injuries are worse than I thought. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” he asks, his expression incredulous. “Save you from two assholes who were going to tear you apart in the middle of a rainstorm? Oh I don’t know. I thought you’d be glad I showed up.”

“What were you doing out here?”

“I should ask you the same question,” he retorts.

“You never answered my first question,” I remind him, my voice calm, my thoughts chaotic.

We stare at each other, the rain falling. Falling. I blink the drops out of my eyelashes, watching him carefully as he shifts. Winces. I reach for him, my fingers brushing against his mouth and he jerks his face away from my touch.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t answer me, and having him so close, dependent on me, needing me, fills me with panic. He doesn’t need anyone. He’s above this.

Above me.

But even the god of this school bleeds, and I’m witnessing it now. The rain washes the blood away, but I can tell he’s hurting. That black eye is going to be a doozy. How will he explain that?

“You don’t look fine,” I tell him. “Maybe you should try and see the nurse—”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice firm, his eyes cold. “And don’t you fucking dare tell anyone what you just witnessed. Got it? This stays here. Between us.”

Who the hell does he think he is? God, he’s infuriating. “You’re such an asshole,” I scream at him.

“Don’t ever forget it, Savage.” He jerks away from me, stumbling backward, landing onto the trail on his ass with a loud thump. “Fuck,” he groans, lying flat on his back in the middle of the path, his arms spread wide.

He doesn’t move. Just lies there on the pebble path amongst the puddles which are slowly turning into mud, with the rain coming down on him, his eyes closed. I study him for a moment, a war waging within me. I could offer him a hand and help him up. Walk him back to his fancy suite that isn’t even a part of the dorms, and forget this encounter ever happened.

Or I could leave him out here and let him figure out how he’s going to get back to his room. Not like he’d tell anyone I left him. He doesn’t even want anyone to know any of this happened.

Making my decision, I turn on my heel and head toward my dorm hall.

“Where the hell are you going?” he yells over the rain.

I glance over my shoulder to see he’s sitting up once again, his knees bent. His feet in puddles. “Why do you care?”

“Get back here!” he demands.

“Go to hell.” I start walking, but guilt eats at me. Gnaws at my stomach. At my heart.

At my soul.

He’s the worst human being on this planet. He’s made my life a living hell since I first started at this stupid school. He got the entire school to torment me every single day, and he’s not going to stop. Not until he gets what he wants.

And what he wants is…

Me.

On my knees, submitting to him. Letting him humiliate me. Making me do dirty, sexual things that I’ll no doubt enjoy, and then feel swamped with guilt when it’s over. He’s a sick, twisted fuck. Damaged. Broken.

But he pulls at something that’s deep within me. Something I don’t understand. He makes me feel. Our one moment together when we were fourteen probably only lasted fifteen minutes tops, but it’s burned into my brain forever. I want to know what it’s like to kiss him now. Touch him now.

To have him touch me.

I should hate him for what he’s done. The names he’s called me. The things he’s put me through.

But I can’t just…leave him out here. He saved me. Despite everything he’s put me through, in the end, he helped me. And the weather is terrible. What if he’s seriously hurt? Internally bleeding?

Like an idiot, I turn and head back toward him. He watches me approach, shock registering on his handsome features as I draw closer and closer.

“Give me your hand.” I hold mine out.

He stares at it with a grimace before lifting his gaze to mine. “You came back.”

“I shouldn’t. You’re a complete dick.”

He laughs. “My charm won you over.”

“That and you coming to my rescue.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “Give me your hand or I’m leaving. And I’m never coming back.”

Whit isn’t stupid. He takes my hand and I brace my feet in the mud, trying to haul him up. But he weighs more than I do and the ground is slippery. Of course, my hand slips out of his grip and I’m the one who goes stumbling backward, my ass landing in the mud with a loud plop.

Despite his pain and the wounds on his face, despite the rain beating down upon us, he starts to laugh.

“Should’ve seen your face,” he says, shaking his head.

God, he’s the worst.

I’m sure I look completely undignified as I push myself out of the mud and rise to my feet once again. He does the same, struggling and groaning in what I can only imagine is tremendous pain as he eventually staggers to his feet.

Good. I hope he hurts so bad he can’t sleep tonight. It’s the least he deserves for what he’s put me through. I don’t care if he did save me from that asshole Elliot and his little friend.

“You gonna make it?” I ask him once he’s taken a few careful steps in my direction.

“Will you ah…” His voice drifts and he glances down for a moment before he looks back up, rain droplets clinging to his thick eyelashes. Of course, I would notice this. Despite the beating he took and the fact that he’s covered in mud, he’s still gorgeous. The fallen angel determined to lure me into darkness.

“Will I what?” I toss back at him, crossing my arms. I realize the rain has become lighter. And the thunder and lightning have completely disappeared.

“Walk me back to my room?” He takes another step toward me, his arm brushing mine and I grab hold of him, realizing that he’s actually pretty unsteady. “I know I weigh more than you and I don’t expect you to carry me, but it would help if you could maybe guide me there?”

I do not want a glimpse into the inner sanctum that is Whit’s exclusive dorm. I’m guessing Sylvie must live in one of the private dorm suites as well.

“I shouldn’t help you,” I tell him warily, keeping my distance. Watching him as if he’s a snake prepared to strike. I don’t trust him. He’ll turn this around on me somehow. Make it look like I snuck into his room and then I’ll become the campus whore.

Though I wouldn’t doubt I already hold that title.

“You shouldn’t,” he agrees.

We stare at each other, rain dripping off of us. He still cradles his arm against his stomach, and I wonder how bad his ribs are. Bruised? Broken? He’ll be in really bad shape if they’re broken, and what if moving him makes everything worse?

I glance over my shoulder, my dorm hall looming in the near distance. A thought forms in my mind, one that is absolutely ridiculous, but now would be the time to make it happen. No one’s around. They’re all at the game. We have plenty of time.

“Can you walk?” I ask as I go to him. I slip my arm around his waist and hold him steady, trying to ignore the heat of his skin that burns through his saturated shirt.

We start to move, his steps halting, his face wracked with pain. He leans into me, almost too heavily, and I brace my feet, trying to remain stable. “Feels like I can’t breathe,” he mutters.

That’s his ribs. Has to be.

My mind made up, I steer him gently toward my building. “We’re going to my room,” I tell him.

“What the hell? No way.” He laughs, immediately clamping his lips shut. I’m sure that hurt. “They catch me in your room, you’ll be expelled.”

“No, I won’t. And you’ll make sure of that.” We walk side by side, his heavy arm slung across my shoulders, my arm still around his waist.

“What do you mean?” There’s a pause between each word, as if it took a lot out of him to say that, and I try not to let that little detail worry me.

But it does.

“You’re a Lancaster. Untouchable. We’ll tell the truth, and nothing will happen to me,” I say simply as we approach the double doors of my building.

“Don’t you have an advisor watching the front desk?” he asks.

“They’re all at the game.” When I left for my jog, the front desk was empty.

I’m hoping it still is.

“You’re taking a chance, Savage,” he says admirably. “I don’t know if that’s brave or fucking stupid.”

Probably both, is what I want to tell him.

But I keep my mouth shut.