Painkiller

“You don’t even know me.” She didn’t bother looking at him as she started putting all her stuff away. The library in the center of town was small, but it was pretty dead this time of day and they were in the back, a row of books blocking them from anyone that looked this way.

There was a big window across from them, and although there were a lot of people walking around outside, no one paid them attention.

“I know that I like what I see.”

Okay, this is getting weirder by the second.

Red flags were done sprouting up. Those fuckers were waving right in her face, all but screaming at her. “You’re not even acting like the same person that needed tutoring,” she said, wanting to appear calm even if she felt anything but. “I should probably go.” She stood, but when she turned to leave Charleston grabbed her arm in a firm, painful hold. “What are you doing?” she asked, shocked, not sure where this aggression was coming from.

“You know why I left my other school?”

She shook her head. “No, but I don’t care, nor do I want to know.” She tried pulling her hand away from him, but his hold tightened.

“Because anyone that fucked with me, denied me, or put me in a downright shitty mood got to know me real personally.”

She knitted her brows. “Let go or I’ll scream.” She should have just done it, but this crazed look in his eyes stopped her.

“They wanted to say I had some kind of mental defect, but being underage there wasn’t a lot they could do.” He grinned and pulled her toward him. “My parents refused to have me checked out, and thought switching schools, and having different scenery would be better.”

His warm breath bathed her cheek, and she turned her head.

“I’ve come to accept who I am.” He leaned forward an inch. “And I like who I see when I look in the mirror.” He tightened his hold on her chin with his other hand. “But one thing I don’t like is not getting what I want, and what I want is you.” He chuckled. “Even if you aren’t my type.” He purred like some kind of rabid cat. “Geek and all, you got this innocent thing going on, makes me want to pop your cherry.”

And just as she was about to scream out for help, because it was clear Charleston was a psycho, even if he wasn’t assaulting her in a public library, someone cold-cocked him in the side of the head.

That’s when all hell seemed to break loose.

* * *

When he saw that fucker put his hand on Rosie, pull her toward him, and grab her forcefully something in him snapped, just broke free. He saw red, wanted blood on his hands, and he wasn’t going to stop until Charleston fucking knew messing with Rosie was the biggest mistake of his worthless life.

He slammed his fist into the side of the guy’s head again, but Charleston shook it off and rammed his shoulder into Rebel’s gut. They fell backward, the bookshelf shaking and books falling around them. There were a few people shouting, and one person telling someone to call the cops.

Rebel pushed Charleston back. “You motherfucker. You don’t ever touch her.”

“Fuck you,” Charleston spat out, and Rebel was pleased to see the smear of blood along his cheek from his split lip. He charged Rebel again, but Rebel was ready.

He grabbed Charleston’s shoulders, turned him around with all his force, and slammed his back against the bookshelf. The thing went down, and so did the prick.

Charleston grabbed his head, and Rebel saw the gash in the side of his temple from where Charleston had clearly hit his head on the corner of the shelf.

“You fucking think about Rosie again and I’ll make sure you can’t walk right for the rest of your miserable fucking life.”

Charleston lowly stood, shifted on his feet as if he might be dizzy, and grinned. Blood covered his teeth, and although Rebel wanted to do more to the asshole, he didn’t want to frighten Rosie, and they were in a library.

“Fuck. You.” Charleston reached behind him, and the gun he pulled out of the back of his pants had Rebel freezing. He instinctively moved in front of Rosie, reached behind him, and gripped her waist, pulling her flush with his back.

“Just chill the hell out,” Rebel said, his body taut, his worry for Rosie getting hurt outweighing his own safety.

Charleston waved the gun around, and a few people gasped and screamed out. What fucking high school kid carried a gun?

A fucking crazy one, that’s who.

“You know why I transferred?” Charleston asked, pride coming from his voice.

Rebel didn’t answer, and felt Rosie holding onto the back of his shirt, probably scared shitless.

“Because they didn’t fucking understand me.”