Very Wicked Things
Page 61

“Cuba, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. You must be devastated…” I trailed off at the scathing look he gave me.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes not meeting mine head-on. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” His body shifted to leave.
“Wait, what‘s going on with you and me? I’ve tried to call you for two weeks and left you messages. Are you okay? Tell me what you’re thinking.” I paused, dread making my voice wobbly. “Do you blame me for making you late?” Even though there were two of us in that car.
He ignored my question and turned to walk away, and I followed, hating myself for chasing him down like some stupid underclassman girl.
He cut his eyes at me when I came up beside him. “This conversation is over. I have a class to get to and a ton of make-up work to do, Dovey.”
His tone made me pause. But then again, maybe his nasty attitude was about his grief.
I swallowed my pride and followed him again.
The bell rang, and he picked up his backpack and took off for the entrance at a fast pace.
“Cuba!” I yelled, my frustration finally erupting.
He halted, his back rising and falling rapidly, but he hadn’t exerted himself. “What?” he ground out.
“You said you loved me,” I bellowed, my voice carrying to others. Several of the girls giggled; the boys smirked.
He flinched and muttered something.
“Whatever you have to say, say it to my face,” I told his back, wrapping my arms around myself. Afraid I might crash to my knees. Scared of what he would say.
And wasn’t it awful that I was tempted to beg him to tell me he loved me? And then a memory of my mama begging my father came to mind, and I cringed.
I never wanted to be my mama. But this was Cuba, and he loved me. Right?
Spider came up beside me and tugged on my arm. “Let’s get out of here, Dovey.”
“No, if this whole thing’s been a game to him, then he’s going to own up to it.”
Cuba turned and stared as if he were memorizing my face, but then broke our gaze and looked around the quad, his expression frozen.
I fisted my hands. “Tell me you love me or tell me you’re a bastard. Pick one.”
He laughed, looking back at me with hard eyes. “You want the truth? I never had a dream about you. I never gave a shit about watching you do ballet. And FYI, I tell all the girls I love them, Dovey. It makes it easier to fuck them.” And then he turned and walked out of my life.
Something delicate and fragile inside me died.
My legs wanted to buckle. I wanted to crawl in a hole and never show my face again. Students were shaking their heads and murmuring, watching him leave, and then turning to me, watching as I brushed by Spider and fled back inside. Running into the bathroom, I got in the last stall and hunkered down.
Agony hit me as I replayed his words. I doubled over, clutching my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to disappear.
“Dovey, if you don’t come out, I’m coming in there,” Spider yelled into the open door of the bathroom.
I huddled in the corner on the floor, laying my head down on my knees. I rocked.
“Incoming,” he called out to anyone who might be listening, causing a riot of giggles from the girls still waiting for class to start.
My stall door was locked, but it didn’t stop him. He crawled underneath, his face grimacing at the dirty floor as he weaseled his way inside.
I surprised myself when I started giggling at the sight he made. “You’re crazy.”
“Just proves I’m a real friend. And, shit, this loo is dirty,” he said.
He maneuvered himself all the way in until he was sitting next to me. He took out a cig and lit up. And when he held it out for me, I took it and inhaled deeply, letting the menthol burn my lungs.
“I’m never falling in love again.” I handed him back his smoke.
He spoke around his exhale. “The best way to get over someone is to jump right back in. I know. I do it all the time.”
“I gave him my virginity,” I mumbled, picking at my nails.
“I’m going to kill that mutherfucker,” he bit out, pinching his cigarette out with his fingers.
“Don’t even go there.” It killed me to think of Cuba hurt. Or Spider. I loved them both.
He sighed and wrapped an arm around me, and we sat on the tile until my belly rumbled and twisted and gurgled. I swallowed convulsively and stood, holding on the side of the stall.
“Spider, I know we’re friends and all, but I’m about to be—”
Sick. I hunched over and threw up in the toilet. He hustled to his feet and rubbed my back as I retched until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Water came from my nose and eyes but it wasn’t tears. It wasn’t. It was just water or a runny nose or something—oh hell, it was tears. They blinded me.
“I haven’t cried since my mama died and now look at me. I’m a mess,” I said in between sniffs.
But I’d never felt this way before, like I might die without him. I clung to the hard walls of the stall and let it all out with my tears. It spilled out of me. Every hope I’d had for us, every dream I’d had that he loved me as much as I loved him. I broke in that bathroom.
After a while, I wiped my face and mouth with tissue paper. There. Maybe that was all. But I knew it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
I’d always thought of him as some fine Greek god like Apollo, known for his beauty and athleticism. God of music and healing, he protected you from evil and gave you peace. Now, I knew the truth. He wasn’t Apollo, but Ares, the god of war. Dark and vicious, his only goal was to cause discord. To ruin lives.