Page 47 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“You’re not making the right choice. How many more hearts do you have to break before you see that?” he gritted out.
I watched as those words disengaged from his mouth and floated over to me on thick air, making their destructive impact. Thankfully my desk was there to catch my fall. “I…” I swallowed and tried again, but failed to find the right words.
“So we remain neighbors? We pretend every morning in class thatwenever happened?”
I dragged myself over to the drinking cart and poured myself two fingers from the decanter. Emily had only told me last night. I hadn’t had much time to map everything out. “We’ll move—”
“—No! Don’t leave...” Themewas silent.
“Was it really Emily’s idea to stay, Sebastian?” he asked, cluing in on something. A sixth sense. “You saidEmilywants to try again. Was that the truth? Was it...you?”
I was mute.
“Answer me!”
“I don’t deserve happiness, Phoenix. I don’t get to walk away from all that I’ve done having not answered for it.” It was hard to see this pregnancy as the blessing that it was while in the process of losing so much. And that ate at whatever modicum of change that had come from knowing and loving Phoenix. The dark thoughts that I naïvely believed could be banished by love alone cloaked me now like a warm familiar sweater.You deserve to suffer, look what you did to Alex, to Emily, to your first unborn child. Look at the disappointment you feel about this one.
No! I fought back against that last thought. What I felt was complicated. Like gaining more but losing a lot at the same time.ButI will love my child.
“I’m no good for you,” I said, stripped of all the happiness I’d gained by association with Phoenix. It wasn’t mine to keep. I’d been a fool to have thought otherwise.
His gaze held mine hostage. “Please don’t stop loving me.”
“Never,” I whispered, my eyes drowning. I would love him and mourn the loss of him forever. He’d be added to the top of the pile.
Sometime later, after downing a quarter bottle of scotch, the bell rang.
I stepped around the destruction in my study. The broken glass from when I threw all four tumblers against the wall—forcing me to drink from the neck of the bottle. The books that no longer resided on their shelves.
I stopped in front of the standing mirror in the living room, popped a mint into my mouth, fixed the buttons on my shirt, and practiced three smiles before settling on one that appeared more natural. There was little I could do about the scruff that had grown since that morning. After one last check, I opened the door. “Emily, come in.”
Day one of what was to be the rest of my life. She eyed me wearily before adopting a smile similar to mine.
Monday rolled around, and although classes weren’t in session due to winter break, try as I might, I couldn’t get out of the agreement to assist in supervising the school’s Winter Formal that night. Or maybe I didn’t want to. I just needed to see him one last time.
I’d been assigned punchbowl duty at the far end of the gymnasium near the table of refreshments. This year’s theme was Winter Wonderland Masquerade. Imitation snow dotted the floor along the perimeter of the room, hills of it piled high in other areas too. And they’d somehow managed to give the ceiling the appearance of a dark and stormy night. Students filed in wearing tuxedos and gowns, mouths agape as they took in the transformation of the room.
I myself opted for an all-black suit with a matching phantom mask. It suited my mood and my desire to go unnoticed. I’d spent the weekend, in between watching the front door and my phone, packing up the rental house in preparation for the move with Emily. I’d imagined that walking away from Phoenix would be as excruciating as having a limb severed without anesthesia. What I hadn’t expected were the dreams. Scenes of me bathing him after a grueling workout, or a demanding night of lovemaking. Running my soapy hands through the cleft of his buttocks like I so loved to do. Of me washing his hair and gathering the coiled strands in my fists as I plundered his mouth. Or us doing something as mundane as sitting across from each other and reading in a silence rife with love. Playingfootsiesfor heaven’s sake. I’d wake up from the dreams rutting against a pillow trapped between my legs, and a pillow twisted in my arms, confused, wondering why the planes of it weren’t defined nor hugging me back.
I blamed it on the signs of him in every corner of the house. In a fit of rage I’d thrown all the reminders into a box and dumped it at the curb for trash collection. Then ran out of the house like a madman in nothing but boxer briefs and socks, wrangling it from the sanitation woman’s arms.
A student saying hello interrupted my self-torture. I nodded, adjusting the plastic covering my face. The mask thankfully hid my puffy eyes, but unfortunately, did little to conceal the yearning from within them.
I lost the grip I had on my breath when right then Phoenix walked through the entrance flanked by his two friends. I stumbled back a step into the shadows, fighting the need to run to him. I stiffened when he shook his head and went to make an about face, but Ms. Kumar caught his elbow and whispered something to him. He nodded, and fidgeted with the tail of his tuxedo as he proceeded forward under the arch of balloons.
I shouldn’t be here.I was no good to the punchbowl anyway. If someone wanted to spike it, they’d meet no resistance from me. Yet, I couldn’t leave. He hadn’t noticed me, and blended into the dark as I was, I psyched myself into believing I could stay and harmlessly watch him.
He wore his hair slicked into a bun with product, and his face was maskless. It left his delicate features unobscured, and the brightness of his eyes took center stage. They were bold and blue and misty, and although a frown marred his lips, the corners of my trembling mouth lifted at the handsome picture he made.
The young man I’d once caught Phoenix in a compromising position with called his name.Mr. Mason Jones.
Ms. Kumar scooped her train from the floor, looped her arm through Phoenix’s, and they made their way over to him. Their other friend, who wore a vintage drape-suit, pointed to a group of girls near the restrooms and chose to venture in that direction.
Mr. Jones wrapped Ms. Kumar in a one-armed shoulder hug before smirking awkwardly down at Phoenix. He sported the same enamored expression now as he did that day in the park, and the day I walked in on them huddled in the cafeteria.
To Phoenix’s credit, I never got the impression that he saw Mr. Jones in the same way. But a freshly broken heart did tend to leave one vulnerable, and the way Mason’s eyes threatened to burn a hole through Phoenix’s clothes raised my hackles and my concern.
I shifted on my feet.The nerve of me.
