Painkiller

He might party hard, but he was also a very hard worker. This was the first time since Friday night that she’d seen him, and Rosie couldn’t deny that the encounter that night had been a little more uncomfortable than normal.

Maybe it had been the things he’d said … and the things he’d stopped himself from saying? All weekend she’d wondered what he could have told her, but forced himself not to. But then on the heels of those obsessive thoughts she wondered if it had all been because he’d been shitfaced.

“You sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird as hell.”

She waved off his words. “I’m fine. Let’s get to school, because I can’t be late.” She reached over and turned on the radio, hoping the music would dissuade him from pushing her on this.

But there was also a part of her that wished he would push her, because maybe then she’d grow a set and man up to how she really felt.

* * *

Rosie was acting weird as fuck, but Rebel hadn’t pushed her in telling him what the issue was. Maybe she was sick and tired of seeing his partying ways?

There had been far too many times that she’d had to witness his drunk ass coming home, but on Friday night she’d actually put him to bed.

Yeah, he remembered it all, even if he had been so fucking drunk the hangover the next morning had brought tears to his eyes. But he wasn’t going to bring that shit up, wasn’t going to try to tell her what he’d almost said.

He might have been drunk, but at least he’d been smart enough to keep his mouth shut, at least for the most part.

Ten minutes later and he was pulling into the school parking lot. He cut the engine, turned to face Rosie, but before he could say anything, she was out the door.

“Thanks for the ride, like always. See you at lunch,” she said through the open passenger window, and then hauled ass into the school.

Fuck, maybe he’d said more than he remembered? Maybe she felt awkward as hell, sick of seeing him drunk from partying, and tired of all his bullshit? He couldn’t blame her, but not having Rosie in his life, at least as a friend, was not an option.

But he’d starting questioning why he felt the need to be so reckless, to be a fucking idiot and drink his life away. At only eighteen that was the highlight of every single fucking spare time he had off. Was he such a damn loser that he couldn’t even focus on a future?

What fucking future? You’ll be stuck in this damn town while Rosie leaves and makes something incredible for herself.

He pushed his thoughts away and got out of the car. Rosie was long gone inside, and he saw Rowley and a few of the other guys he hung out with making their way over to him.

After clapping each other on the back, they made their way into the school and their first class. Truth was Rebel fucking hated school, was shit at it, but then again didn’t apply himself. He did the minimum just to pass, and that was it.

Just as class was about to start, the door was pulled open and a guy walked in. Clearly new at school, he had a backpack slung over his shoulder and this arrogant attitude cast along his face.

Rebel leaned back in his seat and watched as the newcomer went to the empty seat beside him, and although he hadn’t said one word to the guy everything in Rebel’s body tensed. He was big, tall, and muscular, and had this smirk on his face like he knew something no one else did.

It kind of pissed Rebel off, or maybe that was the asshole side of him rising up?

The guy looked at Rebel, maybe feeling the holes he stared in the side of his head, and smirked wider.

“What’s up, man?” He gave Rebel a chin tilt in acknowledgement, and when Rebel didn’t respond he faced the front of the class again.

“We have a new student, everyone,” the teacher said, her appearance frazzled, like she might have just rolled out of bed and hastily gotten ready because she realized she was late. She gestured for the new kid to stand. “What’s your name, and where are you from?”

“Charleston,” the kid said.

“Charleston?” the teacher said. “As in that’s where you’re from?”

“No, as in that’s my name. I transferred from River Run.” He sat down without saying anything else, and there were a couple of hushed murmurs from the students.

“Okay, well, welcome, Charleston,” the teacher said again and turned to start class.

Rebel didn’t like this guy already, not with his cocky attitude. Hell, maybe he didn’t like him because Charleston reminded Rebel of himself, and wasn’t that a scary fucking thing?