Page 35 of Collision
I can feel Travis’s eyes on me, as if studying my every move. I force myself to not, under any circumstances, turn to look at him. I nibble on my cheek instead.
“Nah. I’ve got better things to do here,” Thomas replies from afar.
“Matt! What the fuck are you doing? I don’t want that asshole over here. Having to put up with him at practice is plenty,” growls Travis. I take advantage of the fact that he and Matt are arguing and allow instinct to override my reason. With utmost discretion, I allow myself to send one furtive glance toward the six foot three collection of muscles and tattoos that sits on the edge of a rusty railing a few feet away from us. He has an unlit cigarette between his lips, his leather jacket open over a tight gray T-shirt that emphasizes his sculpted physique and a pair of dark-wash jeans, a little baggy and ripped. He still has that rough and wild look that never seems to leave him.
He’s with Shana, for a change. She has positioned herself between his spread legs, with her back pressed against his chest. I know it shouldn’t, but the sight of them bothers me. When Thomas senses my gaze on him, he gives me a contemptuous sneer, the same one Shana also reserves for me. Instinctively, I cling tighter to my boyfriend.
“Knock it off, Trav.” Matt’s voice makes me wince. “The other night you got outta hand, but it ends there. You’re even now, right? Let bygones be bygones and be a man. Team chemistry depends on it.”
“You’re ‘even’? What does that mean?” I stare at Travis, perplexed, waiting for an answer I’m not entirely sure I want to hear. Matt falls silent, awkwardly.
“Nothing. You know we can’t stand each other. Let it go,” he answers, scratching the back of his head and visibly annoyed.
“Let it go?” The two of them have secrets and a history that I know nothing about, and I’m supposed to just let it go? Does Leila have anything to do with it? Of course she does! I’ve known it since the first day I saw her in the gym!
“Does it have to do with his sister?” I ask around a rapidly forming knot in my throat.
“What? Jesus Christ, don’t start that again!”
“I asked you a question, Travis!” I shout, determined to take it all the way this time. It’s what I should have done from the start.
“Yeah, a stupid question, like always. Right now, I’m not in the mood for your ball-busting. Today is stressful enough as it is; don’t bring your fucking insecurities into it too,” he spits ferociously, leaving me and his friends frozen. I feel tears welling up, but I struggle to keep them at bay. I don’t want to start sobbing like a child. Not here, not in front of everyone; this is humiliating enough as it is. So, incapable of responding the way I should, I instead run away before it’s too late.
“Nessy! Come back here!” Travis shouts at my back. “Why did you bring that shit up?” I then hear him demand of Matt.
“And why do you treat her like shit every chance you get?” These are the last words that reach my ears before I cross the threshold of the liberal arts building. I run to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Leaning against the door, I finally burst into tears.
I feel so pathetic. I am a sophomore in college, dammit, and here I am locked in a bathroom, crying over a boy who deserves to be slapped in the face. I’m hopeless. I slide to the floor and pull my knees up to my chest. I sob heavily, until I hear someone banging on the door.
Some girls ask to come in. I wipe my cheeks and inhale deeply to settle my nerves before getting up and unlocking the door. I rinse my mascara-streaked face in the hope that a little cold water will get rid of the redness, but it is all in vain. I shrug my shoulders and, despite the pitiful image I see reflected in the mirror, I force myself to act like the mature person that I should be. I have three classes to take today and a game I want to attend. To hell with Travis and his continued lack of respect for me.
I leave the bathroom and head for my philosophy class. Obviously, because I cannot have a moment’s peace, I see that Thomas is already seated at the last table. Well, at least this time he won’t bother me. His eyes flicker warily over me. He examines me from top to bottom, frowning. But I ignore him, sit in the front row, and do my best to push down the heated sensation I feel whenever his eyes are on my skin, even from so far away.
When Professor Scott enters the classroom, he resumes his lecture on Kant. I hear him speak, but my thoughts are wandering. Matt’s words resonate in my head as my logic wrestles with my hope that it’s all some big misunderstanding.
“Miss Clark?” Professor Scott calls.
“Yes?” I reply, wincing.
“Class is over, you may go.”
What, over? I look around and there is no one left in the classroom. Yikes. I gather my things and hurry out. As soon as I step outside, a strong arm drags me around a blind corner of the hallway.
“What the hell are you doing?” I lash out at Thomas. “Will you stop constantly popping up out of nowhere? It’s starting to get disturbing,” I exclaim, annoyed, as I try to extricate myself.
He grabs my shoulders and gives me a look so intense that it takes my breath away. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I thought we set the record straight yesterday, didn’t we? It doesn’t concern you,” I snap. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re here instead of being with your girlfriend,” I add contemptuously. But I regret it as soon as I see the corner of his mouth rise.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I tighten my lips into a hard line. “Let me go, please?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Believe me, I don’t care.”
“Sure, I believe you,” he says with a wry smile, closing the distance between our bodies. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face and I feel my heart leap. “Either way, that’s not my thing,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
