Page 11 of Study Games

I downed the rest of her beer and slammed the glass to the table, making the announcement formal as every head in the vicinity turned in her direction.

“Nope,” I said plainly, backing off and left her alone in a circle of my housemate’s friends.

A circle of people I hated, just like her.

Then, it dawned on her what I’d done. I saw it in her face the moment the first grains of the fine powder made it beneath all those layers. They might act as protection, that clothing, barriers from the outside world, but they also trap inside what I’ve locked in with her.

And now, she can’t get out.

“Jax,” she whined so goddam prettily, twisting and turning as the snickers started.

The loose sleeves of my jacket flapped at the catches but she couldn’t undo the snaps. She couldn’t get purchase on anything. Right now, that leaves her in a hell of my making.

Nash sauntered past and handed me a fresh, cold beer. I made sure she witnessed the icy condensation gliding down the tall glass as I put it to my lips and finished it in one, never taking my eyes off her as I swallowed the refreshing beverage whilst she suffered.

For me.

It should be beautiful.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

But she wasn’t.

Because of all those eyes watching her, leering at her.

Her pain should be mine, and mine alone.

I’d made a raw, basic error in sharing her pain with everyone else. I should have kept her my secret, to myself, something only I coveted. And now I couldn’t free her, take her away without breaking the scene I created.

And so, instead of the mess I made for her, the rejection and the tears I expected, she glared at me as she fought to free herself while they laughed and I looked on.

Except I didn’t laugh, and I wished I’d kept her to myself.

When Crush burst between Nash and I, shouldering us out of the way with all his Allstar captain’s strength hard enough to bruise and swearing to boot, I let him unsnap her from the coat and fling it in my direction, showering me and everyone in the vicinity–the entire team, himself and his baby brother–with itching powder.

And when they began to swear and scratch and fidget, while I watched Waverly sob into his arms, peeking out at me with no small dose of confusion, only then did I begin to laugh.

Slinging my jacket over my shoulder I sauntered away, ready to peel my own flesh from my bones, though no one else would know that.

Except me and her.

And that was enough.

5

WAVERLY

“Are you sure you're getting the right foods? The room is warm enough? You're in a good space?” Dad's voice echoed tinnily through my cheap handset, the one my brother sent me through the mail when he figured I couldn't afford my own after paying joint rent with Celia.

I shook my head at Dad, angling the phone so he couldn't see the peeling paint on the walls–or off them–and only the pretty yellow my bedroom. It was the single room I’d been able to upgrade in color in the dodgy apartment I rented off campus and lied through my teeth.

“Dad. It's lovely here. See?” I jiggled the phone enthusiastically so the picture blurred and all he got was a shower of bright color and a couple of my hand painted bees he knew I obsessed over.

“Well, as long as they're looking after you at that university…” Dad said, doubtfully.

“I've been quiet, studying and all. But it’s great. Food is too,” I lied again, praying I wouldn't be sent to hell where all the drones attacked For All Eternity and stung their prey endlessly.

“Oh, that’s good.” Dad squinted a bit.

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