Page 462 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

But we’ll have lots to talk about while we’re trying to survive on our own. I’m thinking California, somewhere close to the beach.

“Can we talk?”

Jude glances over at me, at my clothes, and then faces the screen again with a shrug.

I sit in the seat beside his. There are four recliners in this room, two sofas, and the daybed. I choose to sit in the reclinernext to his, turning to watch him as the colors from the screen glide over his severe features.

Shit, I don’t know if I can even?—

“We did this,” he says, staring straight ahead. “It’s pointless trying to blame each other, or someone else.”

I grimace. “Yeah, Sean is innocent until proven guilty.”

Jude cracks a rueful smile. “Which will never happen.”

I open my mouth to argue, but I didn’t come here to fight. I clear my throat and touch Jude’s arm so he’ll look at me. He’s wearing a black hoody and sweats—they make his dark brows and hair so much starker and turn his eyes into inky pools that suck me in when he finally turns to me.

“Let’s leave,” I blurt out. “I mean, you don’t want to go to this shitty camp, right? We can get jobs, live somewhere cheap until?—”

“You want me to run away with you.” It’s not a question. I don’t fucking know whether he’s surprised, disgusted,what.

“What’s the alternative?” I sit back in the seat, glance at the screen. Someone does something good—the crowd cheers. But Jude’s eyes on me force me to look at him again.

“Camp Joy,” he says.

“It sounds like a fucking mental asylum.”

He shifts in his seat, leaning closer to me. “You don’t think it’ll be good for us?”

Us.

I don’t know why that word makes my insides coil. And I don’t know if it’s a good feeling or a bad one. I’m so fucking confused, I don’t even know if the sky will be blue or green when I walk outside tomorrow.

“I don’t want to go,” I whisper. Pressure builds behind my eyes, but I blink furiously to hold back sudden tears. “It’s not fair.”

I sound like a fucking child, but I can’t help it.

“Because we did nothing wrong?” Jude chuckles darkly. “Come on, Harper. You don’t really believe that, do you?”

I frown. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“I could always put something else in there,” he says softly, his black eyes dropping to my lips.

His gaze is a featherlight touch that sends a tingle through my entire body. I look away, shake my head. “I’m being serious.”

He sits back in his seat, letting out a world-weary sigh. When I glance at him, he’s rubbing his eyelids, jaw pushed out.

“You’re an alcoholic, Harper. I’m?—”

“I’m not analcoholic,”I snap.His eyes are on me in an instant, boring deep inside. I clear my throat. “I mean, I drink too much, sure. But?—”

“Yeah, and I just get a bit irritated sometimes.” He works his right hand, and I can’t help but replay the moment he punched his father in the face.

Again.

I thought it was bad enough when he did that in the locker room on Saturday morning, but last night? I was terrified he wouldn’t stop until his dad was...

Dead.

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