The low pulse of his voice is intoxicating but nothing’s changed. The threats still dangle above my head.
I feel bereft that he showed me how much better things could be, let me understand the difference, only to be forced to give it away.
I clear my throat, readying myself to tell him, confess everything.
Not so he can help me, not to slay the monster together before we ride off into the sunset, but so he understands. So he’ll know I’m not the girl he keeps in his mind. I’m not worth the effort. Let him appreciate the close call as he makes his escape.
Then he clears his throat and says, “If you don’t let me in, you’ll regret it. Graffiti on your locker is just the start.”
My mouth clamps shut, the words dissolving into a paste on my tongue that disappears the next time I swallow.
I blink.
My locker. My defaced locker.
I blink again.
He stares at me from behind the blank expression he wears as a mask. A low buzz of panic rises, tightening my throat. “You spraypainted my locker?”
Caylon’s eyes turn black, his pupils expanding out so far, they gobble up the iris. “I didn’t do anything to your locker,” he says in the emotionless tone I know so well. The one that drives his teachers up the wall. The one with all the warmth of a robot.
Then his voice floods with humour and his mouth curls into a teasing smile. “I’d never get my hands dirty. That’s what the other students are for.”
The twist in tactic leaves me shaking. I already have Wilbur. I don’t need the junior version. My heart sinks further when I understand how much he’s taking away from me with his words. How much I could have used another friend. “I’m not going out with you because you threaten me.”
“Aren’t you?”
He spins me again, walking forward a step so I’m pressed against the vanity unit. His eyes dance as they stare into mine, searching for something and relaxing once they find it there. “If you’re happy to play games, so am I.”
My voice finally takes itself seriously. I state firmly, “I’m not playing, Caylon. I can’t go out with you. You need to stay away from me.”
“But you don’t want me to.” His mouth twists, fingers tightening on the back of my neck while his thumb gently applies pressure to the front. “And I can’t.”
The small admission seems to stun him.
His hand drops away from me. He straightens his tee, pulls at the sleeves of his jacket, hitches up his jeans by their belt. One stroke through his hair and everything is back to normal. Everything but the dazed glint in his eyes. “I’ve tried. I can’t.”
I don’t know what he sees as his eyes devour my face. I was a mess when I first scurried through the bathroom door. Things can only have gone downhill from there. But his face shimmers with warmth as he continues to stare at me.
“Maybe we could just—” He breaks off, spinning on his heel. “Give us a minute.”
I tilt my head, straining to hear whoever he’s responding to, but hear nothing. It’s not silence, there’s the low hum from the rest of the house, people talking and moving and singing, but all that’s distant enough that I can’t pluck apart the individual strands.
Whatever Caylon hears, it’s distracting him. I slip a few inches to the side, not clear of his frame but at least able to see the door. “I really need to get going.”
“Not yet.” He appears confused, his eyes taking an age to make their way back to my face, then almost immediately returning to the door, which he suddenly wrenches open. “I said give us a minute.”
There’s no one outside.
I freeze in place, puzzled, then Caylon strides two steps out of the room and I see my chance, plunging through the door, skidding forward while my fingers scrabble for my phone on the hard floor, scooping it up as I continue moving, scampering down the stairs.
When I toss a glance over my shoulder, his face is blank, one hand tangled in his hair. His attention completely absorbed bysomething.
Then I focus on my escape. Running from the house. Making a beeline for my car.
The burning slaps of my feet against the rough concrete footpath reminds me my shoes are lying upstairs, next to the chest in the hallway.
Nate can have them with my compliments. I’m not going back for them.
