Page 74 of Strelitzias in Spring

At the sound of Heather sliding into her seat beside me, I sit up to say hello. Except, when I look over, it’s not Heather occupying the seat, but Bethany with a mocking smile.

“Hello, Serena.”

“What do you want, Bethany?” I sigh, already over the conversation.

“What, I can’t say hello to my little’s sister?”

Scoffing, I let my disgust bleed into my voice. “Marina and I aren’t sisters; we’re not even friends. Can’t you just leave me alone? Both of you. She won; she got the family. And anyway, aren’t you graduating this semester? Aren’t you too old for the bullying trope?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be a homewrecker?” she replies, but instead of sounding vicious, she just sounds confused.

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Just let it go, Bethany. I get it, Marina is your friend. That’s great. But truthfully, I don’t want to be anywhere near either of you. If you’ve come over here to warn me away from Jack, let her know I’m not interested. I’d tell her, except I don’t care about what either of you want. So, go back to your seat, study your notes for the quiz we’re probably going to have, and stay far away from me.” Turning forward, I avert my face so that she’s not in my peripheral view.

Though, just because I can’t see her doesn’t mean I can’t hear her. Bethany huffs and mumbles, “Bitch,” under her breath before standing from Heather’s seat and walking down the aisle toward the front of the room. Relaxing once she’s no longer next to me, I watch as Heather slides into her seat and offer her a small smile.

Forester steps to the podium not a second later, greeting us before telling us all to clear our desks for the pop quiz. Bethany looks back at me and scowls.

I shouldn’t feel so satisfied that I was right about the quiz or about telling her to fuck off. But there’s no denying that it felt good.

—

Two hours, a pop quiz, and a hand cramp later from typing fast enough to keep up with Forester’s lesson, I’m relieved to walk out the doors of the lecture hall. That relief quickly morphs into dread at the sight of Dylan leaning against the wall opposite me. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, I welcome the grumblings of my classmates as their bodies collide with mine to sneak past me; at least it makes me feel something other than absolute dread at his presence.

“Stop blocking the hallway, bitch,” Bethany mumbles under her breath as she shoves me aside. Her comment is all I need to jolt myself out of my haze and start my movement, letting my legs take quick strides toward the exit and away from my former best friend.

“Serena, wait,” Dylan calls from behind. Three, four months ago, I would have listened to his command; hell, I would have been overjoyed to see him and would have hugged him the moment I realized his presence. Now? My body, mind, and heart are repulsed by the thought of any form of contact with him. I pick up speed, breaking into a light jog as I weave through the crowd walking through the doors.

“Sorry, excuse me. Whoops, sorry about that,” I mumble as I elbow, side-step, and stomp on the people in my way, all to avoid Dylan. I don’t breathe until I’m yards away from the building, certain that I’ve placed enough distance between us that a run-in is impossible. Stopping to catch my breath, I draw in a long exhale and jump at the haunted voice behind me.

“Serena, please. Can we talk?”

Whipping around, I take in Dylan’s disheveled appearance; he’s always been vain, consumed by his presentation and outward appearance. The rumpled clothing, bags under his eyes, and paleness of his skin are almost enough to make me feel bad for him. Almost, but not quite.

“You’re joking, right? No, we cannot talk. As Celeste would say, get fucked.” Turning, I step forward to continue my walk across campus but stop when Dylan’s hand reaches out to grip my shoulder. His hold is light, but a flashback to the party assaults me and my body stiffens. “Get your hand off me.Now.”

His touch is immediately lifted. “I’m sorry. Please, Serena. Just give me five minutes.”

Keeping my back to him, I clench my fists. “You don’t get five minutes. You don’t get another minute of my time, Dylan. You were my best friend, my rock, for years, and you betrayed my trust out of what? Jealousy? You know that our kiss was wrong; it was like kissing a cousin or a brother. You were just mad that you couldn’t have me all to yourself anymore, that I wasn’t yours and yours alone. I made other friends, I had sex with someone, and you lashed out like a child because you couldn’t control me. And then, you put your hands on me, bruised me, and whispered vile things. What fucking right do you have to come up to me, demanding we speak?

“Following me, as though you have the privilege to be in my presence? You don’t. I never want to see you again. I never want to speak to you again.” I’ve had time to analyze why Dylan did what he did, and all theories point to the same conclusion: he wanted control.

A strangled sound comes from behind me, but I have no sympathy, no shred of compassion. “Serena, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I found out you were in Bethany’s class and knew I needed to speak to you, apologize for what I did. I miss you; I miss us. Please, look at me.”

Shaking my head, I’m surprised by the lack of tears in my eyes as I say, “You should be sorry for acting like a monster, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you or want to speak with you. Get your shit together and have a good life.”

I don’t let his sorrow stop my progress forward and resume my walk back to my apartment. Maybe this is a good thing, though I never felt I needed closure after he put his hands on me. To be honest, I’m pissed that I had to see him at all. I’m sure some would romanticize his tracking me down, but I’m disgusted that he forced me to see his face after what he did. Maybe I’m a bad person, or maybe I just refuse to be subjected to cruel behavior by someone I trusted and cared for, but in either case, I have no desire to see or speak to Dylan again.

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath as I pull my cell phone out to let Ava and Celeste know what just happened.

32

Wolf

Mumford & Son’sThe Wolfflows over me, hyping me up as I get my hands wrapped by Jedd before the final fight of my career. I mouth along to the lyrics of my entrance song, the same song I play on repeat before every fight I’ve ever had.

Sheltered, you better keep back from the door

He wanders ever closer every night

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