Page 49 of Distortion
‘No.’ He turns away. ‘Not ever.’
I flinch at the words, but at least he delivers them matter-of-factly. He doesn’t pretend and I’m glad.
I nod.
‘Did you think she would?’ he suddenly says, whirling back to face me.
His tone has changed. It’s colder. Biting.
I force myself not to go back into the closet even though I’d love to lock the doors and hide alone in the dark.
But that’s not allowed.
‘After that night, did you think any of us would talk about you?Missyou?’
I flinch. Why is he saying these things?
I don’t respond. I know I won’t even be able to get my lips to form words, so I don’t even try. I just watch him going in for the kill, unable to stop his words. They’re a locomotive hurtling toward the end of the track.
I can’t listen.
‘You killed someone, Margu?—’
I slip past him and lunge for the door.
But he’s fast.
He grabs me, his fingers bruising my arm. He takes hold of my ponytail in a tight grip and angles my face up to his.
At least I can attribute my tears to the sting of my scalp this time and not his horrible words, however warranted they might be. I hate that I notice how he smells, and that, despite what he’s saying and doing, it’s relaxing me in a weird way.
‘Don’t you fucking dare run from me!’ he hisses, pulling harder.
My lips tremble.
‘I stood up for you. Did you know that? You told me you were on the track. You told me you were fucking practicing for Cross Country. I told the cops that. I told them it couldn’t have been you. I told them you were my best friend, that you’d never do something like that.’ His fingers in my hair clench hard, ripping a cry from me.
‘I believed you. I fucking believed you. God, I was so dumb.’
If I could shake my head, I would.
I open my mouth, willing something to come out, but I can’t. What would I even say? That night is seared into my memory and yet ... I shy away from it. It’s too much. It always was.
I do what I always did at The Heath when Stoke wanted to talk about it. I bury it deep, I put it far away and don’t think about it.
Our eyes meet and he angles my face up toward his. Then, his lips are on mine. My body jerks in surprise, unable to process what he’s doing. Lots of thoughts flit through my head.
He’s kissing me.
Why?
I didn’t see this coming.
It’s different than that time in his bedroom when we were barely teens.
His lips are hard.
I like it.
