Page 11 of Collided

Fuck.I mutter under my breath.

She leads me to the infirmary and glances my way numerous times as if I’ll ditch her. I’m pretty sure if I did, she’d hunt me down and take care of the wounds that don’t even hurt.

When you’re hurting all the fucking time, you get used to the pain.

She moves around the infirmary with a level of confidence and finds me a stool.

“Sit,” she commands. I glare at her but obey.

She opens cabinets and retrieves supplies while mumbling words to herself. It’s interesting to watch her in her element.

While she does that, I take my time to look at her.

Her dark brown hair falls on her shoulders in waves and reaches a few inches below her chest. She has light brown eyes that balance the line between honey and whiskey. A shade entirely new, that I’m sure didn’t even exist before her. I run my eyes along her body, she’s tall and has a skinny figure. Her face is bony with a sharp jawline and hollow cheeks. She has a button nose, full lips, and cheeks that blush in a pretty shade.

She’s beautiful.

I called her pretty in front of my friends, but it was a fucking mistake. I should’ve said beautiful. A million times over, only then it’d come close to how I see her.

Taking a seat on the other stool, she looks at me as her hands proceed in my direction.

My first instinct is to pull away, but I let her hands hold mine and put them in her lap. Her touch is delicate. She’s cautious to not hurt me.

Getting some cotton, she cleans off the blood. As her fingers work on me, I feel her warm skin.

Tiny sparks race up my arm as our skins touch. This is fucking odd.

Her eyes are concentrated on the task while mine study every contour and curve of her face.

She glances up at me. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“How did you get these?”

I want to ignore her question and let her believe the outrageous rumors about me. Sooner or later, she’d know I’m no good and she should stay miles away from me. Just a week ago I broke someone’s nose.

“In a fight,” I answer vaguely, hiding the actual truth that no one here knows.

“Mr. Huxley hates when there are fights in school.” That’s such a good girl thing for her to say. From the looks of it, she surely is one.

Our principal favors the rich kids and feeds on money. Wealthy families make donations to Bellmare High School to keep up their facade of being good, and to avoid taxes. One of those families is my parents, who also donate millions and are the reason why I haven't gotten expelled no matter how hard I try. The more I want to piss off Dad, the less the universe lets me.

However, all the fights I’ve been in are because those guys pushed me to the limit. They made crude comments about the people I care about, and I’m not one to take it like a fucking saint. If you come for my people I will bury you alive.

“It wasn’t at school,” I tell her.

She looks up at me. From this close, I stare into her brown eyes.Fuck, they’re hands down the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Oh, that’s…” she clears her throat while avoiding my gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She brushes off the topic and it pisses me off.

Why I want to know her thoughts is beyond me.

“I hate when people do that,” I snap.

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