Broken Knight (All Saints High 2)

My smile collapsed; my eyebrows furrowed.

“Knight…” I said his name. Another different word. A word I’d practiced in secret for years.

He ran a hand through his hair, drawing a calming breath. The pain was smeared all over his face, like a sloppy painting. “Nah. It’s cool. My fault. You need to be a special type of stupid to allow yourself to feel for your best friend what I felt for you.”

Felt. Past tense.

But he’d felt something for me? I took a step toward him, cupping his cheeks, but he removed my hands from his face. My mouth quivered from the words it had produced earlier. Knight’s eyes were shining, the first time I’d seen him anywhere close to tears.

“You’re killing me, Luna Rexroth.” He groaned, producing the sound I’d thought I’d pull out of him with a knee to the balls.

“I’m killing you, Knight? Have you ever stopped to wonder that maybe, just maybe, you killed me a long time ago?”

The words flooded from my mouth now. I felt alive. Raw. Real. I didn’t even know I’d been feeling unreal up until now.

“Every day at school, your arm slung over a different girl’s shoulder? Every time you smirked at your phone, texting someone else? Tenth grade, Jamie Percy yelled in the cafeteria that you took her virginity in the back of your car. Eleventh grade, your parents were called into school because there was a rumor going around that you’d initiated a threesome with two seniors. I died a thousand deaths before I inflicted the slightest of pain on your beautiful, tarnished heart.”

Having a photographic memory sucked. I remembered every detail about our lives, and it poured out of my mouth without control. I couldn’t stop myself now. Even if I wanted to. And I was beginning to want to. A lot.

“You slept with so many girls, Knight. Arabella. Shay. Belle. Dana. Fiona. Ren. Janet. Staci. Dozens of them. Or was it hundreds? Wait, there was also Hannah. Kristen. Sarah. Kayla—”

“Enough!” he roared.

Knight disappeared from my sight like a demon. I turned around to see him blazing toward the Xbox, tearing it from its hub and throwing it against the wall. I jumped back as he plucked the TV from the wall, smashing it against the couch before ripping the couch apart. He then turned around to me, stretching his arms wide, as if he were some sort of a game show host.

“Funny story time, Luna. You may want to sit down for this one. There were, as it happens, no other girls. None. I actually waited for you. I’m. A. Goddamn. Fucking. Virgin! Let that sink in for a second.”

His voice boomed so loud, I was pretty sure everyone downstairs, and behind the door, heard, too.

“Those stories you’ve heard? That was all they are. Stories. I saved myself for you like a goddamn Jonas brother. Forgive me for not wearing a purity ring and shitting all over my reputation just to appease your never-ending, silent demands that I need somehow, miraculously, to predict.”

His fingers danced in the air, like my wants and needs were some kind of dark magic he wasn’t capable of deciphering.

“The only reason I even associated myself with girls was so I wouldn’t get shit from my friends, and to take some of the pressure off of you—so you didn’t think you were holding me back or something. Because, as a matter of fact, you were. I’ve been holding back for so long, you feel like a chain. A heavy, metal chain. I want to rip you apart, Luna Rexroth. I’ve been wanting to break away from you for a long fucking time, but you’re stronger than me. Than this.” He motioned between us, finally collapsing on the tattered couch, exhausted.

Speechless, a little hurt, and a lot proud, I felt my heart swelling in my chest to a point it took over my entire body.

It popped like a balloon the next minute when I realized his gesture was worthless now. He’d spoken about it in past tense. He’d waited. But no more. Now he wanted nothing to do with me. And why would he? I’d broken our silent pact. I was no longer a virgin.

“I appreciate that you saved yourself for me, but how was I supposed to know this? By the power of telepathy? The rumors were relentless, and you made out with Arabella in front of my face. Hell, you had Poppy’s tongue shoved so far down your throat I was afraid she’d scoop out your tonsils in one picture. She posted it on Instagram. And what about all the girls I smelled on you when you came to sleep at my place? I had no reason to believe you were anything less than a walking, talking, sexually transmitted disease.”

“Arabella was a one-off. I was drunk and vindictive and frustrated. The scent of other girls? That was just me hanging out with them. Nothing more. You can ask Vaughn and Hunter. They’ll vouch for me, because they always laughed at me for it. Poppy…”