At lunch, I sit with my face in my hands, going over all the ways I can win her back. When the lunch bell rings, I track her with my gaze, watching like some love-sick puppy as she leaves the cafeteria, Meiying and Liu close on her heels.
I shove away from the table and storm after them.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Des shouts somewhere behind me.
I shake my head. I have no fucking idea, but I have to do something. Isa slips into her third-period class and I walk past it, my eyes trained on Liu, and just before he reaches the door to his own class, I jerk him back by the fabric of his shirt.
“Hey, man—” Startled green eyes meet my own when he sees who grabbed him. “What the hell, Rafael?” He jerks away, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
“You’ve been hanging out with Isa a lot lately.” I meant it as a question, but it comes out as an accusation and Zheng’s jaw tightens.
“Why do you care? You’ve been a complete asshole to her ever since she came back. Do the girl a favor and leave her alone. She’s been through enough and she doesn’t need your shit.”
I slam my fist into the locker beside him. “I didn’t know!” A few people in the hall turn to look at us and I snarl at them. “Move the fuck along.” Heated faces turn and rush to their classes, effectively clearing the hall of everyone but the two of us. “I didn’t know what happened to her. Not until just recently.”
“And that’s supposed to somehow make this all better? Fuck you, Rafael.”
“Liu—” It’s a warning.
He shakes his head. “No. You fucked up. I don’t know why you’re even talking to me. I’m not going to help you fix your mistakes. I don’t owe you any—”
“Yeah, you do.”
His eyes narrow.
“You owe me and you fucking know it. You want me to stop hating you? You want Clan wolf to stop hating you for what you put us through the summer before junior year?”
His mouth presses into a sharp line and he gives me a single sharp nod.
“Then help me talk to her. She doesn’t feel comfortable with me.” He snorts and the urge to punch him in his smug face is strong, but I ignore it. “I care about her. I want to be there for her. Help me talk to her and I’ll forget what happened. We’ll wipe the slate clean.”
He considers this. It’s no secret I hate him. I’ve hated him since junior year. He used to be my friend. We were like brothers. All four of us. But then he had to go and fuck it all up. He broke faith. It’s not something I’d ever forgive but hell knows desperate times call for desperate fucking measures.
To get Isa back, I’ll do damn near anything.
“You’d do that? Forget what happened?” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Forget what I did, and all I have to do is get Isa to talk to you.”
I nod.
“I can’t make any promises.”
“I don’t need promises or assurances. I just need a chance. One chance to make this right.”
“Okay.”
I exhale a breath. “Okay.”
39 Isabella
Rafael calls me now. All of the Hellbound High wolves do. Jordy sends me a joke each morning. Or a funny meme he found online. He wants to make me smile. And while I appreciate the gesture, it’s a lot to take in. The sudden shift in their behaviors.
One second they hate me. Now it’s like they’re smothering me in distant affection.
Desmond is the only one I talk to at school. He sometimes walks me to class when Zheng isn’t around. He makes sure no one gets too close. I didn’t ask him to play guard dog, and when I told him as much, he just gave me this serious stare and carried on like I hadn’t said anything. I’ve learned not to push. If he wants to make himself late to class each day, that’s his prerogative.
Rafael messages me each morning. A variation of good morning, beautiful, and calls me every night. I don’t respond to the texts and never answer the calls. He doesn’t leave any voicemails which is probably for the best. Hearing his voice at school is bad enough. If he left me messages, I know myself well enough to know I’d replay them again and again, obsessing over the sound of his voice. Trying to peel back any hidden meaning. It’s already what I do with his texts. Sometimes he adds an emoji and it’s enough to leave me guessing, hoping. For what, I’m not really sure.
But without fail at nine o’clock each evening my phone lights up and his name flashes across the screen. A part of me has come to look forward to that phone call. When eight fifty nears, I start counting down the minutes, hoping he’ll call, and that alone scares me. Because sooner or later, he’s going to give up. He’ll stop calling. He’ll stop texting. And he’ll move on. I want him to move on.
I can’t afford to need anyone else in my life. I’ve lost too much, and I don’t think my heart can take any more. It doesn’t matter that I miss him or that his presence sets my heart racing.
What happens when he’s no longer there?
I’m already dreading when the calls stop.
It’s been a week since he found out
