The humor is gone from his voice. There is only this underlying darkness. Like he wants to hurt me, but not in a mean, evil way. I can’t pinpoint what it is, other than the darkness in him scares and excites me.
Gulping, I challenge him. “Yes, I would like you to spell it out.”
Pushing my buttons is part of his darkness. I’m tired of walking on eggshells around him. I’m ready to push back, praying to a God I don’t believe in that Trace’s darkness doesn’t drown me.
“Are you sure you can handle the heat?”
I don’t answer right away. How Trace talks to me is different from how the guys at school talk to me. I understand what he means by “handle the heat” from my romance novels. I’m not worried about whether I can or can’t handle his next words. Other words guys say to me scare me. Trace’s words don’t scare. They excite me.
Do I tell him? I decide that I should. Trace is the apex predator, and I can’t fight all my fights alone. I’m tired.
“It can’t be any worse than what other guys say.”
“What the fuck, Sorrow? Who? When? I’m going to fuck up their faces. Break their fucking legs.”
I bask in his anger. Trace pissed off means he cares. His anger is different from my father’s. My father didn’t want to protect me. He hid me from the world. He took out his anger on Mom and me because his life wasn’t going as planned. Unhappy. Stretched thin with money. A depressed wife. A kid he didn’t want, from the arguments I overheard him and my mom having.
“What the fuck did they say to you?”
“I . . . I don’t want to tell.” I’ve changed my mind. I’m embarrassed and ashamed to tell him what the guys said and why.
“Well, too fucking bad. You opened a can of worms. Now tell.”
I grab strands of my hair and twist them around my fingers. I start to cover my face with their thickness and length, but Trace stops me with his hand on my wrist.
“Sorrow, please.” He brings his face to mine.
I wear down my bottom lip with my teeth. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him.
He reads me like a book. “I’m glad you told me, now spill.”
I swallow. “Um, they called me a slut and the c-word.”
“Because you’re living in a house with a guy your age?”
I tell him the truth. “Because you have a reputation.”
He blows out a breath. “Fuck me.”
“Their words scare me. I tune them out. Walk faster. Turn and walk the other way when I see them. Taking the long way to class makes me late, but I’d rather be late than have them, um, speak to me.”
Everything pours out of me. It’s so good to tell someone. I would never tell Leigh. She’ll worry. But Trace? He can do something about it.
I thought each day at school would be easier after my entire personal life was leaked in an email to the kids and their parents.
It was the statement I gave to the police, as well as an old report taken from my father, when my mother OD’d. He said I ran away.
My life was out there for them to forward to as many people as they liked. There wasn’t any speculation to be had.
But each day is worse than the last. The taunting is nonstop. Same with the snickering and the whispers.
“I might as well move to a new town. Or a city where no one knows who I am,” I admit wistfully.
“Fuck that. You’re not leaving. I won’t let them run you out of this town.” He grabs a rock and chucks it into the darkness. “They weren’t speaking to you. They were fucking harassing you. It’ll get taken care of the instant we walk on school grounds. Any guy who harasses you will regret it. Understood?”
A spark of hope ignites in me. I nod. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” he mutters. “It’s the decent thing to do. Come here.” He stretches out his knee and pats the spot between his legs.
