Page 49 of Satan's Spawn
What I don’t need is more laughs on my behalf when I walk into class without any of my books, so I decide to do something I’ve never done before, and forgo this period altogether. Hiking my bag over my shoulder, I take defeated strides down to the nearest back staircase, which, unlike the dormitory hallway, is not being monitored by school security. I intend to remain there for the next thirty-four minutes until the bell rings, or I gain some clarity.
What would dad tell me to do?
Punching a bitch in the jugular would probably be somewhere on the list, that’s for sure.
But before that I know he’d never want me to change to fit in, or to lower myself or my standards.
Dad would want me to continue being who I am but also not a doormat, so he would likely tell me to find a happy medium.
I may miss him now more than ever.
Especially since I know a talk like this would call for a trip to the cove. Or floating atop the waves on our surfboards, dad pretending he knows what he’s doing.
God, I really need him.
His protectiveness, belief in me, ability to put me so high on his pedestal none of these entitled jerkoffs would be able to touch me.
Unlike the nostalgia taking place in my mind, the halls are still and quiet. The only sound coming from classrooms where lectures from teachers are commencing.
When I reach the door I’m looking for, I shove it open with my shoulder, barely looking up as I round the staircase—memories of my dad adding a heaviness to my shoulders I don’t bother trying to shake.
Until the scent of cigarettes wafts in the air, forcing my attention upward. When I find the source of the smell, I stop dead in my tracks, immediately regretting the decision to come back here. What the hell did I do to Karma to make her hate me this much?
Crayton’s leaning with an unlaced combat boot against the wall, tie loose around his neck as he stares out the open window. Smoke expels from those full and stupidly perfect lips, which have been taunting me the majority of the week.
During English.
Lunch.
We even had another scuffle similar to lunch earlier in the week. Except this one involved all the available seats in the dining hall managing to disappear.
The only one left empty was beside him and Alexis at the table, as if he was daring me to sit.
Luckily Archer handled that one, too.
Damn it.
I can not do another standoff with him. Not right now. Not while Dad is lingering in my thoughts and my hand is still bruised from day one.
I’m about to turn on my heels when he speaks, taking another drag. “You stay followin’ me, Little Ghost.”
My blood turns to ice with that comment, and the use of that ridiculous name, because it makes me wonder if he really did see me that night watching him.
I doubt it because he didn’t look back once.
Either way, I’m not about to out myself.
I gather my wits enough to look him in the eye. “Why do you call me that?”
“Because that’s what you are.” Crayton continues smoking out the window, the grit in his voice even deeper from expanded lungs.
“What does it even mean?” I ask, impressed with how easily the words fly out of my mouth.
I’m humbled real fast, though, as his gaze slices to mine, no longer keeping up with nonchalance. “It means you never should’ve fucking come here.” Crayton tosses the cigarette out the window and kicks off the wall, stalking over to me with pure menace in his features.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I take several clumsy steps back until I hit a wall.
