Bitter (A Dark High School Bully Romance)

“Yeah, yeah, the scholarship.” He hands me the tiniest plastic cup filled to the brim with the pink medicine. It looks almost like a shot glass. The thought makes my stomach turn, so I down it quickly and hand it back to him.

“Do I have time to sleep?”

“Yes, but there’s a water bottle and some ibuprofen by your bed. Drink the whole bottle and take the pills, and then I’ll let you sleep.”

I nod obediently and let him help me up. He sighs and pats my back as we walk into the messy dorm room. One of my shoes is on my desk. My pants are actually thrown across the foot of Rafael’s bed.

“Oh shit,” I mumble, looking around.

“You tried to seduce me last night,” Rafael tells me.

I look at him with wide eyes as I sink down onto my bed and grab the water bottle he’s put on my nightstand. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp.

He laughs. “It’s all right. You didn’t do a very good job. You did a weird little dance—looked something like this—” He moves around jerkily and swings his hips.

“Oh, no,” I groan.

“Yep. And then you stood like this, with your feet super far apart.” He models the stance. “And you said, ‘I look enough like a boy, don’t I? Let’s do it.’”

“Oh, fuck. Rafael, I’m so sorry.”

Rafael laughs. “Take your damn pills and stop apologizing. It was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.”

I pop the ibuprofen into my mouth and proceed to suck down the contents of the water bottle, trying to remember Rafael’s story. I do vaguely remember something about it, but it doesn’t make things any less embarrassing. After I finish the water bottle and lay down, pulling the covers up to my chin, I groan again.

“Oh, no. Did I throw my pants at you?”

“Yeah,” Rafael says sweetly as he turns off the light. “You did. And they were wet.”

I gasp, horrified.

“No—the bottoms. The legs. Because you’d been walking in the snow. Get you remind out of the gutter!” But he bursts out laughing before he can even finish his sentence. “God, it was so funny.”

I let my eyes shut. I’m exhausted.

“It would be even funnier if I wasn’t so absolutely sure your antics are gonna get us both killed.”

“Cool, thanks,” I mumble, turning over on my side. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

I need to sleep. I need to forget this awful, pounding headache and the bile that keeps trying to rise in the back of my throat. But when I close my eyes again, I’m not met with darkness.

I’m met with another bleary memory.

A hand brushes mine, then pulls away.

“Sorry,” mumbles a deep, slurred voice.

“I don’t mind,” I say back, my words running together. The hand returns, this time folding its fingers around mine. The thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“Soft.” The owner of the voice sounds astonished.

“Rough,” I reply, feeling callouses.

“From lacrosse.”

Is it Heath?

I jerk awake as my alarm rings. My head feels a little better, but the alarm definitely isn’t helping; I roll over and slam my hand down on it, one hand immediately lifting to press against my pounding temples.