Ruthless Secrets (Elites of Macedon High 2)

I snort. “You’re powerless to help me, and you know it.”

Her hand retracts so quickly that it shocks me. When she curls her fingers to her chest as though hiding a wounded palm, I realize my mistake. I bit my best friend—and it was a cruel thing to do while she was just offering me support.

“Fuck, Demetra, I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I pause near a set of lockers. I take her hands in mine and squeeze them while meeting her gaze. “That was a selfish thing for me to say to you.”

“I understand.”

I shake my head while smiling sheepishly. “You’re far too understanding for your own good.”

“I’m too soft for this world. I know that.”

“No,” I argue. “You’re exactly what this world needs. Softness is essential, Demetra.”

It takes a minute, but her sweet smile returns, pumping relief through my veins. Crisis avoided. The last thing I need is for the one person in my life who doesn’t hate me to end up hating me. The boys hate me, my mother hates me, the school hates me—and all for their own reasons.

But Demetra can’t hate me. That would be the end of me for sure.

“Thank you for saying that,” Demetra says while squeezing my hands. She nods toward our classroom door. “We have a few minutes. Want to give me an update on the boys?”

I sigh. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything that you’re comfortable telling me.” She pauses for a second, curiosity invading her features as her eyebrows dip together with concern. “Are they still using you as a toy?”

My hesitance registers as an affirmation—which isn’t terribly far from the truth. I rush to explain, “I guess it’s just awkward talking about it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because this isn’t something you would be subjected to.”

She nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

“The short answer is yes—I already told you how they railed me the day after Thanksgiving.”

Her cheeks grow pink as she responds. “Yeah, I remember you told me.”

“But here I am complaining about something that’s supposed to be a huge honor.”

“If that’s not how you feel, then you don’t have to force it.”

I shake my head. “No, Demetra. I need to accept it or else I might go a little crazy.”

“Just don’t go crazy trying to accept it, okay?”

I smile weakly. “What the hell would I do without you? I feel like I’ve lost my entire moral code.”

She wraps her arms around my waist, her frame light and frail as I embrace her. I sigh while burying my face into her fluffy cardigan. The scent of cardamom invades my senses and puts me at ease, an aroma so distinctly Demetra that it makes me think of the warmth of her home, the comfort and safety of her bedroom, the girlish giggles of our younger years.

“I know you have a good heart,” she whispers, while rubbing between my shoulder blades. “You’re doing your best in a hard situation.”

“Thank you…for saying that…”

My throat tightens, a sob threatening to crack right through my cold exterior. God, what the hell happened to the girl who stabbed a man in his armpit? When did I get squishy? Or is this just how I am with Demetra comforting me?

Before I can truly find out, I step back and take her hands, sniffling while forcing a smile. “Your support means everything to me. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you’re under a lot of stress.”

“Too much. I almost can’t think straight.”