Page 14 of Our Ruined Beginnings

“Yeah. She has to pay.”

“Alright, I’m out of here,” I say to the group, nudging Bethany away. “Got shit to do.”

I walk away, holding my breath until I turn the corner and make my way outside.

Exhaling slowly, I lean against the brick wall. My head tips back, and my eyes snap shut.Hard. That’s a good word for it all. Seeing her again, having her in my vicinity. There’s nothing fucking easy about it, that’s for sure.

Bitter wind seeps from the darkening sky, coasting over the bare skin on my arms and shins. I should have gotten dressed after soccer practice—a vest and cotton shorts is a risky outfit choice for the late August evenings in Maine—but I was in too much of a rush to see the effect of the show we put on.

I was mostly disappointed, to be honest. Harper crawled along the floor like a dutiful pet, cleaning away the destruction left behind. There wasn’t a tear in her eyes, not a fumble in her step… To look at her, it was as if nothing had happened.

So, knowing she broke after the fact overwhelms my already conflicting emotions.

The thought of her shedding tears fills me with satisfaction, but also, knowing somebody else was there to pick up her pieces angers me. I don’t want her pieces picked up … right? That’s why. Nothing more. It can’t be.

I make my way back to the dorms, bypassing the common areas of campus and taking the back paths. Davis University is known for its quiet, picturesque gardens scattered around the lake, though most students prefer to spend their time either within the walls of the commons, tucked away in their dorms, or at one of the many house parties that take place in the off-campus houses. So, usually, you can find a little peace and quiet hidden away here.

Peace is the last thing I feel when I take the path that leads to the dorms. I dig my heels into the grass, halting my movements as my eyes lock on Harper.

Her hair falls into spiral curls down her back, a surefire sign she let it dry naturally. Without the sun to show the true color, her hair looks almost black. She turns slightly, her profile now in my line of sight, and without makeup, her cheeks have a dusky rose tint to them, though it’s the blank expression she wears that has me taking a step closer before I think better of it.

Harper has never been one to hide away. She loves tight clothes, heels, and her hair styled to perfection. I’m used to seeing her with a face full of makeup that accentuates her strong cheekbones, her plump lips, and her deep eyes.

This girl looks like someone else. Even now, she wears only an oversized sweater, a pair of workout shorts, and Crocs. It’s pure comfort, as if she’s seeking it from her clothes when the world refuses to offer it to her.

A twig cracks beneath my feet, and Harper snaps her head in my direction. Her eyes widen, and her lips turn down. She’s never looked at me that way—not once. Maybe that’s why my mouth opens, words clawing at my throat in exasperation. Before I can voice them, she spins on her heels and bolts down the path.

The urge to follow her is strong, my feet taking off without my consent. She stays ahead of me for a good few moments, her hair slapping across her cheeks as her feet pound the pavement faster. I let her stay ahead, content to chase her, but eventually, I tire of letting her win.

My hands wrap around her waist, and I spin her, slamming her back against the brick wall of her dorm building as the breath is forced out of her. I grab her jaw, tipping her gaze to mine, and when I see it, my heart begins to race.

Fear.

Her eyes darken with emotion, her lips turning down.

It’s a beautiful sight, truth be told. Something I’ve never wanted to see from her before, but that was when I used to get so much more from her. She used to willingly give me her smiles, her jokes, her worries—every thought, it seemed. Now, I get nothing unless I wrench the fear from her. If that’s the only emotion I can see, I’ll take it all.

Harper

He’s so close.

God, I’ve missed his face so much it makes my eyes ache.

It’s one of the first faces that come to mind when living in blissful stupor isn’t enough—when I need to be reminded of all I’ve lost. I see my favorite memories played out in front of me, and he features in nearly all of them.

I’ve dreamt of him more times than I can count over the last two months, willing him to life so often I’d trick myself into thinking he’d stroll through my door.

But he didn’t.

This is only the second time I’ve seen his face since he left me lying in a hospital bed, begging for him, and just like that moment, his dark eyes hold none of the warmth and comfort I’m so used to seeing. That day, they were blank—his face a mask without expression. Now, they burn with rage, chilling me to the bone.

I’ve seen Madden a lot of ways, but never like this.

Sure, he’s got a quick temper that’s flared more than once, but this? Pure venom? The way it twists his face into looking like a villain … I’ve never seen it before, and definitely not directed at me.

“Where are you going, Lilypad?”

The nickname stuns me, rendering me speechless as my warring emotions rise up inside. The way he takes something that used to mean the world to me and spits it like an insult meant to wound elicits a visceral response from me.

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