“I told you, I already have a boyfriend.”
“And I told you, I’m happy for you. I’ll be even happier for you when you have two.”
My eyes lock with his and I’m instantly distracted by flecks of dark blue, almost black, in his iris. The colour should look icy cold, but as they rest on me, they’re warm.
The bruises along his jawline have completely faded. Without them, he’s lost the air of danger he had.
Now his appearance is back to its normal perfection, he could be a model. If I were taller, it’s a career option I might have pursued, but at my height, it’s impossible. People would need to drag their binoculars out to see me on a runway.
Caylon could do it. He could do anything.
The ease of his existence suddenly rubs me the wrong way. “Anything else you need or is the daily reassurance that I’m never going out with you enough?”
“Still so feisty.” Caylon pats me on the head like I’m three.
His hands are bruised, especially over the knuckles. Work, maybe. God knows Zach turned up enough times with his left hand destroyed after sorting things out for their shared boss, Stefan.
“Just checking in before I escalate things. I wouldn’t want to do anything without fair warning.”
“Nothing about this is fair, Caylon.”
“No. If life was fair, you’d be squirming under me in bed right now, coming so hard on my face that your juices would drip down my chin.”
The piercing hit of lust stabs me right in my centre, making me shift my weight. His eyes track the movement, they track everything.
“Warning received and understood,” I say, patting his arm in as condescending a manner as I can manage. “Guess the next spider I bat out of this locker will be real.”
Someone farther along the corridor gasps. When I turn, Keith is fumbling at his locker. There’s a knot on his cheekbone, swollen out a full inch. His left eye can’t be seen beneath the puffy flesh, purple with bruises. The eyebrow above is split, the spiky strands from a dozen stitches melding into the dark hairs.
He has a busted lower lip, the deep crack black with dried blood.
Caylon’s gaze darts towards him, then away. “Looks like someone fell into their locker,” he says in a mild voice. “Seems to be a run of it, lately.”
He pushes my hair away from my forehead, tracking where the bruise still mars the skin. The touch of his thumb against the still-tender flesh is gentle, so soft it’s like being stroked with a feather.
A rush of heat floods into my cheeks, through my belly, between my legs.
I shouldn’t feel anything but horror at the casual violence. Instead, I’m absorbed by a wave of longing so deep that my knees shake; I can barely stand.
He digs into his pocket, pulling out a half dozen protein and muesli bars and pushing them into my locker. “Here. They’re healthier than the ones I eat. I thought you might like them.”
My stomach curls into a tight ball. For the past few days, even when I do feel hungry, I struggle to swallow anything. My body seems to be actively working against me. “I…” My mouth dries and I can’t finish. Don’t really know what I would say.
“See you around.” Caylon pushes away from the locker, eyes unfocused.
My head spins so much I struggle to remember which is my next class.
In English, I grip my pad tighter as I take notes, then falter as the lesson progresses. With the rest of the year’s scribbles gone, what does it matter if I get back into my notetaking habit?
At this rate, I mightn’t even see out the year. The corridors are becoming a hazard and with Dee determined to ignore me, it’s not as though I’m staying to keep up with my friends.
I could just leave. Work up my first client into a successful business. Once I have my feet under me, I’ll be escaping, anyway. Might as well sever ties now as later.
But I can’t make myself go home. There’s less for me there than there is in these unfriendly corridors. Ratty’s doing a better job raising me lately than my mother. The thought a toothless meth-turned-heroin addict is a better parent than my flesh and blood isn’t a great turn-out.
Another lead comes in while I’m staring out the window, wondering whether there’s any value in me staying. A definite for Saturday and a possible for Sunday. It’s incredible. Better than I’d hoped.
If those two appointments come through, I’ll make almost as much on the weekend as I do from Wilbur. Far more than my last attempt at getting a replacement job: working as a dish pig with all the glory that entails.
