Bad Boy Blues

God, the arrogance. Like every girl on this planet wants to be with him.

Not me, though.

Never me.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Why is she not your girlfriend?

“Why did you send her away?” I ask, squeakily. “I-I mean, it’s great that you did. She’s a grade-A bitch. No offense to your choice of company or anything.” I hold up my finger. “Actually, on second thought, I was trying to be offensive. So yeah, you should take offense. Anyway, I’m happy about it. You know, that you sent her away. Like Grace and everyone else. Not that it matters that I’m happy. I mean, why would it? I think, it’s actually the opposite. It’s like… my unhappiness is what you live for, right?”

Gosh, I have no idea where I’m going with this. What am I saying? All I know is that my heart’s beating really fast and he’s super close and somehow, all I can hear right now is Grace’s voice.

Zach holds his silence and I wonder how he can do that when my words have a life of their own.

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t live for you. Nothing about you matters to me,” he replies after a few seconds.

“Right. Of course. I knew that.”

He totally defended you, Cleo.

He did not. Grace doesn’t know anything.

I scan Zach’s hard face, angled jaw, the flicks of his hair brushing against his eyebrows. For the first time I notice that he looks… pale. Kind of haggard, sweaty, even. His cheekbones have a sunken look and his stubble is thicker, like he didn’t have the time to shave this morning or he simply forgot.

“Do you… are you sick?”

“You worried about me?”

I scoff. “No. I’m just…”

“You’re just what?”

There’s a bite in his voice and it gets my back up. “I’m just wondering if you have a fever. And if you do, then is it contagious because I don’t want to catch anything from you. You’re a little too close to me.”

At this, he gets even closer. As if he’s crossing the threshold, the line, just to scare me.

My glance jerks to his right hand. The hand he uses the most and the one where his tattoo is. I read the script running down his wrist. I can cross the line.

But suddenly, that hand is gone from the wall and I whip my gaze back to him. He fishes something out of his pockets.

“No, Blue. It’s not contagious. What I have is because of you.”

I focus on the object he’s holding and dear God, it’s the laxative.

My eyes go wide when I understand his meaning. He fell for it. He fell for my prank and that’s why he looks like this. Pale and sweaty and clammy.

“I…”

“I found it on the counter last night. Belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

I jerk out a nod.

“Another way to get back at me.”

I go to nod but then stop. Did he say he found it last night?

If he did, then why did he… eat it? Why did he eat the custard? That was the only thing in that fridge I could’ve put it in because that was the only thing meant for him. And for me, too.

“Why did you eat the custard?” I ask, confused. “If you knew… about my prank.”

His answer is a tight clench of his jaw.

Then something else occurs to me. He hasn’t smoked in a while. I haven’t seen him with a cigarette ever since I took his pack. Not that I keep tabs on him but still. Even now, his smell is… un-smoky.

“Wait a second. Are you…” I shake my head because this is bizarre. “Have you not been smoking? Why would you not smoke?”

This is the very first time I don’t understand him. I don’t understand his motivations, his actions.

All these years, it’s been simple. He was rich and bored and bad. And I was the new girl from the other side of the line. He and his friends bullied me because they could. Because no one would lift a finger and because I was on their turf.

Why would he deliberately hurt himself though?

“I…”

I trail off again because I literally have nothing to say. My mind is blank.

Actually, no.

I’m lying. My mind isn’t blank. It’s flooded with stupid, crazy thoughts.

Thoughts like… maybe he did it for me.

He hurt himself. On purpose.

He hurt himself because I wanted him to hurt.

Zach lowers himself over me some more, making my jumbled thoughts go away.

Okay, thank God. Because it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever thought. Zach doesn’t care what I want. He never has.

Crazy with a capital c.

There’s no touching between us, nope. But the weight of his chest inches apart from mine still feels crushing. It still halts my breaths.

“You’re getting brave, aren’t you?” he asks, instead of answering my earlier question.

“What?”

“But there’s a very thin line between being brave and being stupid.”

A barely-leashed threat lingers in his tone. A threat that steals my voice.