She’s using words like us, and it’s fucking terrifying. “Us? You’re not trying to tell me you’re going to break up with him . . . for me, are you?” She feels heavier on my lap now, a solid reminder of why virgins aren’t my thing. Even Natalie wasn’t a first-timer; she had given her virginity to a boy from her church while “experimenting.”
“You don’t . . . want me to?” Tessa frowns in confusion.
Christ, this is going downhill fast.
“No, why would you? I mean, yeah, if you want to dump him, go for it, but don’t do it on my behalf.”
“I just . . . I thought—”
“I already told you that I don’t date, Theresa.”
She flinches, hurt by my words. This is messier than I thought it would be. Part of me wants to tell her I don’t mean to be a dick, that it’s ingrained into every fiber of me to be this way, it’s not my fault. Or hers. Except it is my fault—it’s my fault that I just don’t have the slightest bit of whatever it is that makes people want to pair off and live happily ever after whilst frolicking through wildflower patches. I’m simply not capable.
“You’re disgusting.” She climbs off of my lap and quickly gathers her phone and bag. Her absence on my lap nags at me. So does the deep gray storm that has brewed in her eyes. “Stay away from me from now on—I mean it!” she shouts and runs off.
Natalie’s voice saying the exact same words to me, eyes full of tears, blasts through the speakers in my mind. Tessa’s eyes are glossy, but she’s holding it together for her pride. We’re alike in this way; the enormous, irrational amount of pride we both have could be dangerous.
Tessa opens the car door and climbs out without even looking back at me. She does her best to slam the door and hurries across the parking lot. I immediately pull out and turn the dial up on my stereo. I need the noise to silence the hurricane gathering in my mind. My hands are itching, my mind racing.
Natalie, Theresa, Natalie, Theresa.
Natalie standing on the porch at my mum’s house in Hampstead, a book bag covered in floral print clutched to her chest and her bloodshot eyes full of thick tears.
“Please, Hardin,” she cried. “I have nowhere to go.” She was begging. A puff of smoke clouded in the cold air in front of her as she spoke. I couldn’t bring myself to let her in. I just couldn’t. I had heard that her family and church had exiled her, kicking her out of both of her lifelong sanctuaries. She looked so young in that moment; her blue eyes were shining through the darkness as she waited, hoping I would change my mind.
I wouldn’t, though, I fucking couldn’t. I couldn’t let her stay at my house. My mum was barely home, and that would leave her with me all the time. What could I do for her? I didn’t want to have anything to do with her, and even if I had, I couldn’t really do shit to help her. My dad was a drunk who would wake her as he stumbled into the musty house, its walls stained with cigarette smoke the odor of which had permanently seeped into the upholstered furniture. Where would she sleep if he suddenly came back? He’d been gone for a few years, but my childish mind believed that he could return. I was a damn fool.
Now he is in fact back, and he has a nice little family in a big house, and I hate how often this thought crosses my mind. I’ve already moved to another country to live close to him, and now he’s become embedded in my thoughts what feels like all fucking day.
A honking noise pulls me back to the present, and I quickly jerk the steering wheel, causing a minivan to honk at me again. My eyes aren’t focused; the world outside the windshield is a blur.
Blinking a few times, I reach for the volume dial on the stereo. I need to pull off to the side of the road. My chest is aching, a steady, thick pounding of muscle inside of me. My bones are rattling from the force of it. I can feel beads of sweat, tears maybe, soaking my skin. Embarrassed, I wipe at them.
“Fuck!” I shout into the thick air. I need air. My throat feels like it’s closing as I throw open the door. The cool fall air tunnels through, calming my breathing.
Natalie’s face is fresh in my mind. Tessa joins her, and the girls are laughing at me, snorting and teasing me. They’re mocking the way they have this power over me. Tessa’s knowing smile brightens, and Natalie fades out. What the fuck is happening to me? I need to stay away from Tessa, no matter what stupid bet I made or how stupid I’ll look when Zed wins.
Zed.
He’s always a factor. I can’t stand the thought of him having her. His body, beads of sweat on his skin as he presses his body against hers.
I close my eyes and rest my burning cheek against the cool steering wheel. What a goddamn mess I got myself into.
WHEN I NEXT GO TO class, Tessa isn’t sitting in her seat. It’s empty, along with Landon’s. I sit down and pull out my phone. One text from Logan inviting me to a drink during lunch hour. I decline and push my phone back into the pocket of my black jeans. They’re a little snug, but it works. My legs are too long to wear loose-fitting pants without looking like a clown. I do have a pen stain—or perhaps it’s some sort of makeup that won’t wash out—on the sleeve of my white T-shirt. I didn’t want to do laundry, and some of the shit women put on their faces has to be biohazardous at best.
I’m distracted from the disgusting truth about my hygiene when Tessa comes through the door. I stare straight at her, willing her eyes to meet mine as she walks toward the front row. I’m surprised that she didn’t pick a new seat. I do believe her hatred toward me is that strong right now.
“Tess?” I whisper across the small space between our seats. She ignores me, but I noticed her shoulders flinch when I said her name.
“Tess?” She swallows, and her chest is moving at an unnaturally slow pace. The tension is clear between us; I can feel it buzzing, radiating from us.
“Do not speak to me, Hardin.” She squares her shoulders to let me know she means business.
“Oh, come on.” I try to cajole her with a smile, but she’s not having it.
She licks her lips and says, “I mean it, Hardin, leave me alone.”
“Fine, have it your way.” If she wants to be difficult, I can be difficult, too. Oh, I’m the fucking king of difficult.
Landon comes into the conversation looking like an anxious little puppy. “You okay?” he asks Tessa.