Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Jealous?” I taunt, hoping to make her feel the same way I feel deep in my gut with knowing that she found other guys to hang out with tonight besides me.

“I’m annoyed, Zeke. I’m agitated with this back-and-forth. I’m feeling like an idiot for thinking even for a moment that there’s any good in you. I hate myself for letting you draw me in when I know how it’ll end. I can spend my time with whomever I please, just like you did tonight. I’m no more jealous of those girls than you are of what I did tonight. You’re only acting this way because I didn’t stand in the parking lot after you pulled away crying. You’re mad because I’m not heartbroken that you touched me one minute and then left with another girl on your lap.”

Even though she says the words, I can see the pain in her eyes. I came over here tonight to apologize, not completely sure why I even interact with her when staying away would be better for the both of us. Acting out because my own life is in shambles isn’t fair to her, but I can’t seem to stop myself. She’s right, I always hurt her, and then I always regret it.

“Well, I guess I was right about you being a whore then.” The words are acid on my tongue.

She’s not a whore, not even close. Even after the haunted house, I know Frankie would’ve been uncomfortable sitting on my lap while other people were around to witness it. She’s not the type to stake a claim, because she’s the type of girl to know she deserves the assurance that a guy is hers.

“Think what you want. I don’t owe you an explanation, and I don’t answer to you either.”

She turns to head inside, but the sight of her back causes a wash of panic to rise in me.

“Frankie, wait. I…” I have no idea what I need to tell her to keep her from walking away, and at the same time, she needs to leave. Not just for the evening. She needs to pack her bags and head home to Colorado, so I can put my life back in order.

“What?” she snaps when she only turns halfway around.

My mouth opens and closes, but I just can’t find the words.

“I’ll tell you, Zeke. Let me break this down for you.” She closes the distance between us, shoving her finger into my chest repeatedly. “Leave me alone. Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t come to supper. Just pretend I don’t even exist.”

Like that’s possible when she’s all I think about, all I see when I know she’s near.

“Fine,” I hiss. “That’s what I’ve wanted all along.”

Her chin trembles when I glare down at her, but after a brief nod of acceptance, she turns and leaves, closing the front door softly behind her even though the finality of it feels like a cannon blast.

I don’t know how long I stand in the driveway, first looking at the front door and then shifting my eyes to her bedroom window. She never turns on her light, and the darkness staring back at me matches the blackness in my heart.

She never told me who she was with, and I know I’m going to wonder about it incessantly, but I shouldn’t do that here. The chances are slim, but I can’t risk her grandmother finding me staked out in her yard. But going home is the very last thing I want to do. The meds and antiseptic make the entire place smell like death is lingering in the air.

I opt to head to the barn, hiding in the loft with a direct view of her window even though it stays dark for the rest of the night.

I spend over an hour running through everything Frankie and I have done since meeting. I think about seeing her in her window for the first time, which was ruined by Dad’s insistence to be friends with her, hoping it transformed into something more. I close my eyes as I remember the first time I caught the scent of her skin in Mrs. Jacobson’s kitchen. The first time I heard her sweet voice and saw her tanned legs. The first time I realized it was her making my heart rate spike and not the work I was doing.

Then I remember the hateful words I’ve spoken to her. The vile words I’ve whispered in her ears. Splashing her with mud. Refusing to tell her I’m grateful for how hard she’s been working around the ranch.

Before I can criticize myself for all of that, I try to focus on the things she’s done to piss me off, the things she’d never do or say in front of her nan, and I’m completely disgusted with myself when I realize the hatred is there because of me. She hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve the way I’ve been treating her. Not one single thing.