A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

I’m not going to the studio though because I don’t have the energy or any will to dance, but I need some fresh air. So I creep out of the room, scale the fence and wander into the woods.

I walk aimlessly, my feet kicking up the leaves, crunching them, my fingers grazing the rough bark, the branches, trying to get rid of this nausea that has suddenly crept up.

I even walk over to the tree. The tree.

Just by the side of the road. Where he kissed me.

I’m an idiot for doing that. I know.

But I just wanted to see it. I just wanted to touch it.

As soon as I do though, I snatch my hand back, disgusted with myself, and walk away, ready to go back to my dorm room, when I hear something.

Tires screeching. Bang of a car door shutting.

Footsteps.

Loud and thumping.

I can hear the crunch of the leaves. I can feel the force of the heels stomping the ground right in my chest.

Strangely, I know it’s him.

I already know it so I dive for the tree just by my side and hide behind it. I hunch my shoulders and try to shrink my body, try to make myself smaller because I don’t want him to see me.

I don’t.

What is he doing here? Why has he come?

He’s looking for me, isn’t he?

He’s come to find me when he promised. He promised he wouldn’t.

Yet he’s here on a Thursday at midnight.

God, Reed.

I ignore my fluttering heart. I ignore that it soars in my chest, that a rush goes through me. At the fact that he’s here.

I slowly look over my shoulder from where I’m hiding. I dig my nails into the bark when I see that he’s striding down the path that I take to and from the fence. He’s going to that spot, the spot from which we sneak out.

I showed him that spot the other night.

That night.

He actually carried me to that spot. After. In the rain.

Like I was his doll or something.

And I held on to him like I’d never let go. I burrowed my nose in the side of his neck, in the triangle of his throat, trying to fill my lungs with his scent for the last time.

He kept smelling me too, pressing his hot mouth on my forehead, breathing me in and breathing out.

I want to do that right now.

Jump into his arms so he carries me. Rub my nose in his hoodie, smell him, have him smell me.

Kiss me.

But I stay put as my stomach churns.

As I watch Reed march over to the fence, that I can only partially see through the trees.

As I feel dizzy.

Pressing my spine to the tree to keep my balance, I put a hand on my stomach and God, it feels so warm.

I don’t remember my belly ever being so heated.

Why is it so hot?

But I don’t have the time to think about it right now because he’s come to a stop. Right at the spot in the fence where I asked him to let me down and where he watched me scale it and leave him to go back to my dorm.

Like he was really my Romeo and I was really his Juliet, sneaking back to my room.

In this moment, my Romeo is watching the fence, running his hands through his hair. His shoulders and back are shifting with what I think are agitated breaths and his stance is wide, battle-ready. As if he’s going to tear the fence apart, take it down brick by brick, demolish it, all with those hands that are messing up his overly-long hair.

My belly lurches and churns and bile rises up my throat.

And oh my God, I think I’m gonna throw up.

I think…

Reed turns around then and looks in my direction, or rather where I’m hiding.

And quickly, I duck even more behind the tree.

I clench my eyes shut, put a hand on my mouth to muffle the sounds of my breaths. The hand that’s on my stomach, I press it even more as if I’m trying to stop whatever the heck is going on inside my body.

Whatever the heck makes me want to throw up right now and all the time, and that repels bacon and coffee and that makes me…

Wait a second.

Just wait a freaking second.

I’m throwing up all the time. I’m tired and I’m depressed and I smell everything and everything makes me nauseous.

And I can’t remember the last time I had my period and wasn’t I supposed to get a period a few days ago?

But maybe that’s fine. Maybe I’m just a little late.

It doesn’t mean anything, right?

My stomach churns and roars and I can feel him running his eyes frantically over the area. I can feel him looking for me, hunting for me, and it’s getting harder and harder to stop this chaos in my stomach.