“God, you’re insufferable. You do know the whole world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” Leif seethes.
“And you do know that ghosting your supposed best friend because you can’t have her is a dick move?”
Blustering, Staten’s mouth falls open with seemingly no response, as if her hatred-fueled words are caught between her teeth, evading capture like some nettlesome popcorn hull. “You two both need to calm down.”
“You should listen to her. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Leif warns.
“You think I’m afraid to get my knuckles dirty? Do you know how many times I’ve been benched for fighting on the ice, Kennedy? For lesser reasons than you harassing my girlfriend.”
The brunette with Leif narrows her eyes, poring over me as if I’m some breakthrough science experiment that defies a backlog of research. “I don’t know why you even bother, Leif. She’s not worth it.”
Who the fuck is this girl?
Staten looks to me for help with the swiftness of a whipcord, mouth permanently folded like she’s suddenly taken an oath of silence.
I jump into action as protectiveness crawls down each vertebra of my spine. “Leave her out of this.”
Leif scrapes his teeth together, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d expect to find blood-red gristle between sharp canines—a compulsive rush to hide his food away from view like a predator dragging its kill into the underbrush. “Everything was fine before you came into the picture.”
I wish I could astral project myself out of this fucking conversation. There’s a potpourri of emotions in my head right now, and it’s getting harder and harder for me to scab over the pain.
“It’s not my fault you were too stupid to notice her,” I growl, nearly halfway to causing a scene that will inarguably makeheadlines before midnight. “Do you know how many times she tried to get your attention?”
“Knox,” Staten whispers beneath her breath, pleading with me to deescalate before it’s too late. “It’s okay.”
I don’t plan on backing down, nor do I plan on lowering my voice. “It’s not. Do you just want me to stand here and let him say these awful things to you?” I hiss, and my question bellows into the hushed surroundings like a verdict in a courtroom. The bustling of the party has, expectedly, ceased in the face of our altercation.
I’ve never been so mad before. It’s like I’m possessed by something unholy—like the voice that came out of me doesn’t belong to me.
A low growl rattles in my throat. “This isn’t your fight.”
“It shouldn’t be yours, either,” she bites back.
Whatever retort I had locked and loaded pulls a vanishing act. “Staten…”
And then it hits me—ormissesme, more appropriately. A fist swung in my direction—aimless in its trajectory—trying to hit a target that’s only a few feet away. Luckily for me, I duck out of Leif’s range before he can land a shot, and maybe it’s the adrenaline or the pure shock, but my arm flings out in retaliation. Ten dollars of fries go scattering everywhere; it’s a miracle that they don’t hit anyone in the immediate vicinity.
I feel the impact before I hear the corresponding crack of cartilage. Something warm and wet explodes over my knuckles, followed by a high-pitched scream from one of the unfortunate witnesses.
There’s blood on my hands, and I’m standing in the middle of a parking lot again.
An oppressive red paints the asphalt. I don’t even realize the extent of what I’ve done until I glance over at Leif staggering backwards, holding his broken nose. Torn skin, pulpy muscle,carnage that stains the ground in more ways than one. My knuckles are in a similar state: split open, raw, pulsing with a violence that’s been written into the helix of my DNA. I was a sleeper agent, and Leif knew the exact words to wake me up.
Before he can lunge again, my teammates are restraining both of us by the arms and escorting us outside of the tailgate to evade one hell of a phone call from the dean.
We’re both quite literally kicked to the curb, and the throbbing of my hand doesn’t compare to the pain of seeing Staten on the other side of my mess, staring at me like I’m nothing but a stranger.
The temperature is five degrees colder when we perform the ultimate walk of shame, and the sky above is akin to a funeral shroud, blotting out the beauty of the stars. Leif—bridling next to me—doesn’t seem in much of a hurry to get his nose checked.
If I thought the parking lot was tense, the walk is unbearable. Once the scene unfolded before me like a degenerate war, I knew I was at my wits end to offer any sort of resolution. I just stood there, taking every jab until my throat closed, and I was already drawing up plans to bury that indignant part of myself.
Unfortunately for me, it’s a part that doesn’t want to die quietly.
With each step, my ribs grind together on a rough inhale, and a shadow of irritation blurs my voice. “I can’t believe you got us kicked out.”
“Right, because this night is allmyfault,” Leif gruffs.
“You tried to hit me!” I seethe, venom adhering to my tongue.
