Page 33 of I Blame the Rival

Lacey beams, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree, “I told you.”

She sits up and pieces of artificial grass fall from her rumpled hair. I swallow, letting my eyes roam down the Saber sweater and the black skirt barely covering her thighs.

She looks like a dream, and for a moment, I want to fall back to sleep.

Her skirt rides up as she climbs to her feet and I quickly look away, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable with my wandering eyes.

Clearing my throat, I risk a glance over my shoulder, “Can I give you a ride home?”

“That would be lovely.”

Lacey gives me another wide smile and my chest cracks wide open. She’s so transparent with her emotions, so honest and trusting with every smile. It makes me wonder what happened in the days that led to her trying to take her own life.

What kind of monster tried to dull my flower’s shine.

Rage, sharper than any knife, cuts through me so quickly my body starts to shake. My hands clench as violent thoughts flash through my mind, each one more horrible than the last. I grind my teeth, trying to tamper the fury exploding through my system.

I want to fucking kill him.

The person who did this to her. The person who almost stole her from me.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to exchange numbers or something.” Lacey blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “So we could talk more often. Maybe hangout again.”

The haze in my eyes is so thick I can barely see, the anger choking me until I can’t breathe. My muscles tremble as I fight to keep the beast inside, the need to release the pressure overpowering me.

“Do you have a pen?” I choke out the words and Lacey nods.

“I think so… one second.” She rummages in her purse, and I focus on bringing my heart rate down like Karen taught me.

“Here you go.” Her smile slips into a frown, “Skylar, what’s wrong?”

“I-I need to draw.” I gulp down a breath, looking anywhere but her face. All night we’ve been trading secrets, but here I am, struggling to keep the biggest one at bay.

Dropping my gaze to the ground, I feel my shoulders hunch as I try to shield myself from Lacey’s kind eyes.

I don’t deserve her kindness.

I don’t deserve her.

“Skylar, look at me.” She lifts my chin until I have no choice but to look at her. Lacey stares at me, seeing the ugly side for the first time, but she doesn’t turn away.

“You’re safe here.” She presses the pen into my hands, “I don’t have any paper, but you can draw on me.”

I freeze, my fingers clenching the pen painfully, “I can’t draw on you.”

“Yes, you can.” She smiles, shrugging out of my sweater, “It will only take a shower or two to wash off.”

I stare at her, thinking about the hideous pieces I have spent my life drawing. The kind of violence no one wants their children to see, let alone have traced onto their skin. If Lacey had any idea of the kind of art I create, she would run away screaming.

“Stop overthinking.” Lacey holds out her bare arm with a fake pout, “I’m not leaving this stadium until you draw me something.”

I swallow, reaching out to touch the soft texture of her skin. Goosebumps break out and Lacey bites her lip. My fingers tremble as I push aside the thin strap of her tank top and press the tip of the pen down.

“Ooh, that tickles.” Lacey starts to giggle and the sound puts a dent in my rage.

Taking a deep breath, I trail the pen down over her shoulder, letting the steady glide of the ink lead the way. Losing myself in the artistic process, I let every stroke and dip of the pen loosen the clutches of my anger until I can slip away.

Feeling my control lock back in place, I blow out a breath and continue drawing, not wanting to leave Lacey with an unfinished piece.

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