Misbehaved

“Remington…”

“No. Get the fuck out, Pierce.” She stalks to the door and opens it wide. “Get out of my house, out of my life, out of my head. You’ve had enough time to tell me all of this about Ryan. You had the time to warn me. You had the time to explain yourself. You had every opportunity to make this right, or let me decide for myself if I wanted to be in a relationship with someone who relentlessly pursued the persecution of my brother. You’re a lawyer, for fuck’s sake. You know what he’s facing. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize how bad you’ve hurt me.”

“I know. And let me assure you…”

“No. You’re done assuring me. Out,” she says again, and this time I really have no choice. I can’t force her to listen to me. “You’re done here. Please don’t make it awkward at school and make me do something that would jeopardize your career.” She says that in the flattest voice I’ve ever heard her produce before adding, “And that goes for your plans to take Ryan down, too. I have leverage over you, Mr. James. I strongly suggest you leave my family alone and focus on your own. Go find another stupid girl to ruin.”

Harsh words from a girl who knows what a harsh life feels like.

I give her one last look to see if there’s room in her heart to give me anothe

r chance. There isn’t. Her face is hard, and her quivering lower lip is the only indication that maybe she once loved me, too.

“Out.” The word falls from her lips more quietly now.

I leave, without the girl.

Without the evidence against Ryan Anderson.

And most importantly, without my soul.

Christian leaves the hospital two days later with a broken eye socket and a fractured nose. He looks like how I feel. A complete wreck. But as I dote on him in his room, I realize that it’s not about me right now. I copied all the homework he missed out on from my notebooks and bought him his favorite quinoa and avocado salad from the bakery across the road from our school. I sit on the edge of his bed and tell him about all the latest gossip—leaving Benton out of it, of course—when he groans as he shifts in his place.

“Remi?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you think school is going to feel for me for the rest of the year?” His voice is small. He is referring to outing Benton—no matter what happened between them, I think he knows that he was wrong—and to the fact he is now the most hated person amongst the jocks. I want to tell him that it’s going to be okay, but the truth is, he is probably the biggest outcast in our year other than me. Even though Benton Herring was quick to sweep the gay rumors about him under the carpet—he said Christian has had a weird fixation with him ever since he moved to Riverside High and that he had to turn him down a few times—I know that the story is far from over.

“Honestly? I think we should both invest in a good pepper spray.” I sigh.

“At least we have each other.” Christian brushes my dark hair, and I try to smile, but it is hard to look at him, with the purple and green rings around his eyes, the yellow of the fading bruises on his cheeks, without wanting to cry. I also want to cry simply because my heart is broken into a thousand different pieces, and I have no idea how to mend it back. I’m not even sure I want to. Part of me believes that I deserve all this pain. I did something wrong. I did my teacher. Maybe I should pay the price.

“You’ll always have me.” I take his hand and lace my fingers through his, reassuring him.

“So, what’s up with Mr. James? Are you guys still seeing each other?” He perks up in his bed, scooting upwards to a sitting position. I smile through the pain, because that’s what life has taught me.

“Not really.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t who I thought he was.”

“And why is that?”

“I thought, if anything, I’d be his downfall…” I say, biting my lower lip and picking at my chipped, black nail polish. “Turns out he was mine.”

It’s been two weeks since Pierce appeared at my door begging for me to listen to him. Begging for forgiveness. Two weeks, in which I tried to convince myself that in time, it would feel better. That it can’t possibly hurt that bad. That life moves on. That he was just a teenage crush.

I see him walking down the hallway, and time stops. He walks in slow motion, at least in my eyes, but maybe it’s because when it comes to him, everything else fades away.

He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t talk to me. I’m trying to convince myself that he is giving me the space I demanded. The space I blackmailed him into giving me, threatening to tell the world about us. But the truth is, deep inside, I am scared and hurt and desperate. What if he got over me? What if he forgot all about me? What if I was nothing but a quick fuck?

I think about our time together more than I should—every waking moment, and then I dream about it in my sleep. And even though it’s only been two weeks, every day, it’s becoming a little harder to imagine exactly how his touch felt against my skin. How he smelled when we made love in his bed. How he tasted when we fucked on his office desk.

“Remington?” I hear a voice calling out my name and look up. It’s Pierce. I swallow hard.

“Yes?” My back straightens at his voice. We’re in the hallway. He looks amazing in one of his sharp suits.