“If I have herpes, which I don’t, it’s because Killian gave it to me.” I pin her with a cold stare and just as I suspected, she looks ready to crumble. Girls like her, the ones that could never catch the eye of Killian and his crew, hate me because they think I have something that they want. They see how hateful he is to me, and in their twisted little brains, negative attention from a Pierce brother is better than none at all. Killian might screw around with a lot of girls, but never more than once, and after that, he acts like they don’t exist. And that’s why I’m the one the girls hate. Because his hate for me is greater than anything he could feel for any of them. “He’s the only one I’ve slept with. One time. When things were different. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Her friend doesn’t seem to grasp that I’m not spilling my secrets to them because I want to be part of their little friendship because she leans in, almost excitedly, and asks, “We heard that you’re the reason he got sent away. Is that true? People were saying it, but then Kai shut them up.”
I haven’t heard that one yet. When I tried to find out where Killian went and why he wasn’t around, Kai froze me out, telling me to stay out of their business. And when Killian came back to school, he acted like I was his enemy.
“Keep my name out of your mouth, understand me?” I snap, standing up and grabbing my bag. I usually don’t let the bullshit bother me, but I’m already on edge today. I storm out of the classroom and nearly barrel into a substitute teacher. He’s young, new, and is taking his job way too seriously if the stack of handouts, and the tie he’s sporting are any indication.
“Miss Brady, is everything okay?” He seems genuinely concerned and I feel bad for him. He’s not going to make it a whole semester in this school. He’s a bleeding heart, it’s written all over his face.
“I’m sick, I’m going home,” I say bluntly because he’s not going to stop me and I’m not in the mood for some heart-to-heart with someone who probably picked this school because he wants to make a difference in kids’ lives. It’s too late. I just need to get out of this place.
I expect him to tell me if I need anything, his door is always open. I expect him to tell me to email him if I need an extension on our assignments. But I don’t expect him to reach out and touch my shoulder so gently, it feels like he might not even be touching me at all.
I step away from him and if I had enough brain power at the moment, I’d warn him about touching students that way. I don’t get the vibe that he has any ulterior motives. He doesn’t look like he would hurt a fly. But Killian won’t see it that way, and by this time tomorrow, he’ll be walking into a classroom full of unsavory rumors featuring him and me.
“Did something happen that you need to talk about?” He retracts his hand, but the softness on his face doesn’t waver.
I hear a loud noise that sounds like a locker slamming shut. My heart lurches into my throat when I turn to see Killian pulling his fist away from a now bent-in locker door.
“You need to go back to class,” I tell the teacher who is still standing there, mouth agape like he’s trying to figure out how his four-year degree in education that he probably got in the last two years is going to help him in this situation.
I don’t have time to move or say anything because Killian is right up on us. The teacher backs up a few steps, but I know better than to flinch in front of Killian Pierce.
“You’d be smart to listen to her,” Killian sneers, one of his hands reaching out to curve around the back of my neck roughly, but his eyes don’t leave the teacher. “If I see your hands anywhere near her again, you won’t need to worry about getting fired.”
The teacher holds his hands up, his papers fluttering to the floor. He looks at me one last time before he decides that his life is more important than mine and ducks inside the classroom I came out of. The classroom that he isn’t even subbing in today.
The air is sucked out of my lungs when Killian slams my back into the nearest locker, his hair falling into his eyes as he glares down at me.
“I would have killed him for touching you.” His grip tightens around my neck and the long fingers of his other hand pull my top down just enough for his thumb to rub over the raised skin of the brand he gave me. It used to be a symbol that I was his, marked so everyone would know who I belonged to. He used to love to kiss and suck on it, let the rough texture of his tongue rub over the sensitive skin. The idea that he owned me turned him on even when we were younger, when things were good between us.
“You didn’t seem to mind who was touching me when you decided to pretend I didn’t exist. You left me on my own, started a bunch of rumors, and let me fend for myself.” The anger pours out in my words and the hot tears that wet my cheeks. I haven’t really dealt with the feelings of abandonment and they’re rearing their ugly head at the worst possible time. I know it’s the wrong thing to say before it even passes my lips. Maybe I just don’t care what he does to me anymore. Maybe I’m trying to provoke him into touching me again. Maybe I
