Page 8 of Forever We Fall

“Fuck this place,” I snarl quietly.

After my tantrum, my gaze hits the ceiling, and I stare blankly. A few minutes pass, and then I hear something through the wall.

It’s broken and chilling. It’s a sob followed by a string of them.

I blow out a breath and sit up. I stare at the wall facing the new kid’s room.

This place is hell for me. It’s a reprieve for him.

What right do I have to be so damn angry against that? None. None at all.

And that kinda makes me hate the guy.

“Ugh!” I jump down and pull the snack bin from beneath my bed. I rifle through it. The seamstress will take a couple of hours, and I don’t know how long it’ll take him to pull himself together. Now, because of that fucking guy, I look at the snacks my grandmother sent in a care package, and I’m forced to feel grateful. Hell knows that the kid’s abuser won’t be sending him any snacks.

Using my newfound irritation, I rip open a protein bar and shove it in my mouth. Then, because I’m apparently a goddamn do-gooder today, I put another one in my back pocket. I shove the stash away and start pacing as I chew.

My gaze hits my computer just as I’m finishing the bar. I continue pacing. Gray light filters in through the lone window.

“Fucking England.” Even after all this time, I miss Japan. I miss the sunshine. I miss the culture. I miss the food most of all. Hell, I even miss London. Not the sunshine. There isn’t much. Not the food. It sucks. I miss my friends.

Once more, my gaze lands on my computer. My cock stirs. Sure, the school has firewalls and search protections set up. It only took me half an hour to find a workaround.

A soft knock echoes in the room. I throw my hands up. Of course, when I’m contemplating jerking off, he’s ready to go.

“Coming,” I call out. “And not the way I want,” I grumble.

I lock up, and we head for the main stairs. There’s barely a hint of red rimming his eyes. His hands are firmly ensconced in his pockets.

“Here.” I produce the protein bar and offer it without asking if he’s hungry. He has to be. There’s a hollowness to his cheeks that isn’t natural.

Again, like with the keys, he just stares at what I’m holding.

He’s not dumb. I don’t know how I know. Maybe it’s the hyper-awareness of his surroundings. Maybe it’s the intelligence bleeding out from behind his perceptive gaze. It’s dark and sad and quick in a way that makes me wonder what it’s seen.

I toss the bar. He snatches it out of the air with sure hands.

“You play sports?”

He shrugs, and I don’t exactly know what it means. So I toss a layup.

“You used to?”

His nod is quick. If I hadn’t been looking, I’d have missed it. He rips into the bar, and it’s gone by the time we push out onto the quad. Now, I feel bad for not bringing more food. I should have brought a notepad and a pen too. I’m sure the guy has things to say.

Who am I, Angelina Jolie?

“The school has a good football team. With your long legs, you could be a runner.” He doesn’t make a gesture, so I continue, “They have lacrosse too. I’d suggest wrestling.” His gaze slides to me. There’s a quirk in his brow. “Not many schools here have it. It’s the only lucky thing about this one.” I shrug. "After you get bulked up, you could be a beast.” When his brow stays pinched, I add, “It would be useful. More useful than running. You could learn how to toss a guy. A really big guy.” Like the fucking bastard who brought you here.

He bites the inside of his cheek and nods.

We push out the double doors and into the quad. His gaze flits away, and his hands go back into his pockets. The guy scans the area like his life depends on it.

Maybe it does.

The protein bar suddenly feels like a brick in my belly.

Step by step, we make our way to the far side of campus. He slows as the main buildings get farther away. His shoulders go higher and higher.

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