These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

To cut me into pieces.

“You did.”

His features tighten up, become brittle and harsh, cut in marble. “I crossed a line. You trusted me with something and I…” He grits his jaw. “And I broke it. Your trust. And I did that knowingly.”

I know I shouldn’t care.

I know I shouldn’t even give him a chance to explain. What he said was shitty and yet, I find myself asking him in a strangled voice, “Why? Why did you do it when you knew it would hurt me?”

At this, he draws in a sharp breath. “Because I wanted to. I wanted to hurt you.”

My eyes sting. “You wanted to h-hurt me.”

Another sharp breath, and this time, he also shifts on his feet as if restless. “Yes. Because I wanted you to get over it. I wanted to end your teenage fascination with me or whatever the fuck is going through your brain. I wanted to take that and crush it. Because it’s only going to hurt you later. Hurt you worse.”

I unfurl my fingers and grab hold of the tree behind me as I ask, “Why? Why would it hurt me worse?”

At this, he takes his hand out of his pocket, his silver watch gleaming, and he rakes it through his hair, making it even messier.

More unkempt and somehow even more beautiful and carefree.

“Because you’re young,” he says with clenched teeth. “Because you’re much too young to know what you’re doing. Because I’ve got a sister your age. Because you’re best friends with that sister. Because I’m your fucking coach. There are a million reasons. Take your goddamn pick, write it down in your notebook, and look at it every day until you memorize it and get the fuck over your obsession.”

His voice is loud.

Louder than I’ve ever heard it before.

Which makes me realize that he never raises his voice. Not even when he caught me in his office. His voice was tight and angry, yes, but never loud like this. And the fact that he’s raising his voice right now for some reason, that his control has been slightly chipped, makes me say, “And because you’re in love with someone else.”

A shutter drops through his features, closing him off completely.

I can’t even make out the strain on his face now. It’s all blank. And cool.

Cold.

“Aren’t you?” I prod him, digging my nails in the bark of the tree. “You’re in love with Miss Halsey.”

As soon as I say it, I scrape my nails down the bark.

Because that’s how it feels in my heart.

That a thousand thorns are pricking it, dragging through the muscles of my soft organ. Making it bleed.

Making it hurt.

“She’s my guidance counselor,” I continue, my voice wobbling slightly but I won’t stop. “I’m sure you know that. I mean, you looked at my file. You took away my privileges. Of course you know she’s my guidance counselor. But did you know that I knew her before St. Mary’s?”

I wait for some reaction from him at this. Some sign of shock or surprise.

But nothing.

“Yeah, she’s from my town. From Wuthering Garden. I’ve known her all my life. And generally, people in my town hate me. But not her. Not Helen.”

Helen is different.

She’s always been different. She always liked me, talked to me whenever we crossed paths. In fact, she even babysat me when I was little. And when she came here — she works here part time both as a guidance counselor and a history teacher as part of her parents’ charity foundation — I got lucky and she was assigned to me as my guidance counselor.

We’re friends, even. Or at least I consider her one.

“Helen was nice,” I tell him. “In fact, our bond has only grown ever since she started teaching here. I was the one who told her about this spot. I gave her the tip that it’s a great spot. For hiding. That’s what you two were doing, weren’t you? Hiding, meeting in secret. Because we both know you can’t do it out in the open. Because we both know that Halsey is her maiden name.”

It is.

Her married name is Turner.

Helen Turner.

She never took her husband, Seth’s, name after marriage. But that doesn’t mean that she isn’t.

Married, I mean.

She is. Very much so.

In fact she and Seth, along with the whole Halsey family, came over to our house for dinner on Thanksgiving last month. And back then, everything looked fine between Seth and Helen. They looked very much in love, very much the happy couple.

Not that things have gone bad since then.

Last week in our session, Helen was telling me about this skiing holiday Seth was planning to take in Vail. For Christmas.

“You know that, don’t you?” I ask him then, even though I know the answer. “You know that she’s married.”

“Yes,” he replies, at last breaking his silence.