Page 13 of Collided

“Yes.” Two annoying idiots who make my life insufferable, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.

“As long as they know who youreallyare. That’s all that matters.”

Her words hit me in the chest.

Sebastian and Marie know plenty about me. Enough to look at my face and understand what state of mind I’m in. They know me through and through. If it weren’t for them I wouldn’t be here. They tolerated me when I was going through hell. Pain that turned to poison and infected them. I’ve never been good with emotions. I don’t know how to talk about my feelings and be vulnerable. All I know is how to hide them behind my cold words and tough act. Still, they stayed. They didn’t leave my side when I needed support more than ever.

“You got friends?” I ask.

“It’s just me.” She shrugs carelessly as if it doesn’t matter to her, but the sadness is evident on her face.

Before I can say anything more, she says, “What’s your—”

The bell rings.

She shakes her head. “I have a class. Bye.”

In a hurry, she exits the room, leaving me in a pool of thoughts.

“Woah. What’s that?” Sebastian flops down on the seat next to me and stares at my wrapped knuckles with rapt interest.

“That’s called a bandage,” I reply in a dry tone.

Sending me a glare, he takes out his textbook. “I know that asshole. I’m wonderinghowit got there. Did Paul haul your ass to the chair and tie it himself?”

Paul is my trainer. A thirty-six-year-old man who’s taught me every single thing about boxing and how to channel my anger into something useful. Much to his dismay, boxing doesn’t help me with grief. If anything, I fight because I enjoy it.

“No.” I direct my attention to the whiteboard wishing for Mr. Nathan, our business teacher, to enter the classroom so I can save myself from this conversation.

“Then?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He frowns and stares at me with his inquisitive green eyes, more than eager to get to the depth of what I’m hiding.

Fuck it.

“Tell me,” he asks again.

“I said it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“It does. Just tell me. Wait, are your hands okay? Don’t tell me you’re hiding broken bones underneath that.” Scraping his chair against the floor, he gets closer and tries to take my hand.

I resist the urge to punch him in the face.

“Back off, asshole,” I warn him, inching my hands away from him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sebastian points his finger at me. “Wrong with me? You’re the onenottelling me stuff.”

Inhaling air, I try to exhale the irritation out of me.

“Look, Bash, I’m okay,” I say, with as much calm as I can summon, which is very little.

He scoots away from his chair and stares at my hands. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Now something isdefinitelynot right.”

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