He shrugs. “I guess I just grew up and realized that people say cruel shit because they're used to hearing cruel things themselves.”
That's so…thoughtful; so utterly understanding and the way he speaks reminds me of Kai.
As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Aryan is right. There are more aspects of intelligence than being book smart, because from his words, I can tell he's very emotionally intelligent.
Quite the opposite of me. I combat cruel words with crueller words. In fact, I start it off before anyone else does. I wouldn't think of someone's reasons for being mean or being cruel, I would just tear them down for it. That's not something to be proud of, it's just something I've grown accustomed to.
I find myself nodding along, still intently listening, wanting to hear more—needing to hear more and he shockingly obliges.
“People will always talk, no matter what you do. So why let it bother you? I won't change myself for anyone—no one should.”
He's staring at me. His gaze is thoughtful, lingering on me and it rattles me. As I've stated before, I'd like to think I excel at reading people or maybe it's the paranoia that lives deep within my bones; the same paranoia I've lived with most of my life.
It could also be the fact that Aryan wears his emotions on his face—the biggest drawback of being such an optimistic person—his dark brown eyes nervous, his right-hand scratching that awfully perfect stubbed beard.
“Oh my God,” I mutter under my breath and I can see his breath hitch, he looks confused or maybe he looks scared. I've puzzled it together. We aren't friends, so why is he sitting here giving me more information than needed, giving me what sounds like advice, and trying to convey some deep message? Because he knows!
“You know, don't you?”
“Know what?” he asks, his octave rising higher and his right hand rubbing his neck.
What a terrible liar.
“Fucking Adaline,” I mutter angrily, feeling my heart pounding. I stand up roughly, grabbing my bag while feeling heat rising to my neck.
I can see Aryan’s mouth moving, but I can't hear anything coming out of his mouth, nor can I look him in the eye. I just run out of detention, not worried about anything else besides confronting Adaline.
I'm going to kill her.
***
I think I broke about five traffic rules on the way to Adaline's home, but I don't care. I couldn't care as I drove because fury was coursing through my body. Betrayal, I've never tasted it before, but is this what qualifies as betrayal? It sure feels like it, especially now, as I stand outside Adaline's house, my hand banging on her door.
It doesn't even take five seconds before the door swings open and there she stands. She has the nerve to smile softly and excitedly at me and I have the nerve to like it.
“Hey—”
“Is your brother home?” I cut her off abruptly.
She shakes her head confused. “No—”
Before she can answer, I barrage my way into her house, pushing past her shoulder harshly. I turn back to her and she closes the door, looking utterly baffled.
“You told your friends about us?” I spit the words out like an accusation.
One.
Two.
Three.
It takes three seconds for Adaline to seemingly process my words—she looks like a deer in head lights and instantly my heart drops.
The guilt that's written on her face only makes me angrier and confirms my every suspicion even more. This probably means she also told Victoria.
Oh my God.
“Shit!” she exclaims worried, walking closer to me. “I just needed someone to talk to—”
