Page 71 of Beyond the Lines
And Godfuckinghelpanyonewho stands in my way.
fifteen
LEA
I rushpast the woman who’d been banging on the bathroom door and head for the fire exit, moving like the whole library is on fire. It may as well be, because the white-hot humiliation burning through me would put any regular fire to shame.
No one can see me like this. No one.
As I stumble away from my bad decisions, the fluorescent library lights feel like spotlights tracking my every stumble. Mascara tears have turned my face into a Rorschach test of bad decisions. The hickey forming on my neck feels like a brand.
A scarlet letter.
H for Horrible Judgment.
But still my body still pulses with the ghost of pleasure even as my thoughts scream in protest. With every step, my mindhelpfullyreminds me of Declan’s hands, his mouth, the things I let him do, the things I’dstillprobably be letting him do if we hadn’t been interrupted.
And the things I did to him.
Oh god!
The taste of him lingers, salty and unfamiliar.
My phone vibrates in my bag. I ignore it, knowing it’s him.
I push through the emergency exit door, ignoring the sign that claims an alarm will sound—Em had told me that the Pine Barren security team disabled those years ago after too many false alarms, most of them perpetrated by the hockey team—and the concrete stairwell is cold and quiet as I flee downward.
My reflection flashes in a small window—smudged mascara, swollen lips, and pupils still dilated—and I decide I look wrecked. Thoroughly, utterly wrecked. By the guy who lied to me—thefirsttime I opened up to someone just a little bit after Chris destroyed me—and who tore my art apart in front of an entire class.
By the guy whose taste still fills my mouth.
I reach the bottom of the stairs, hit the crash bar on the exit door, and launch myself into the hallway, only to collide with what feels like a brick wall covered in flannel. I tumble to the ground as Brick Wall Guy doesn’t move an inch, though he does me thefavorof showering me with the books he’d been carrying.
“Jesus! Watch—” The guy’s voice trails off, and I knowexactlywhy. “Lea?”
Fuck. My. Life.
The universe isn’t just laughing at me; it’s doubled over in hysterics, pointing and cackling like the schoolyard bully. But there’s no escaping it, so I let out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like a sob as my gaze travels upward and locks onto the familiar eyes of my brother.
As he takes in my appearance with growing alarm, Mike’sannoyance shifts to surprise then concern so quickly I can practically hear the gears grinding. “Lea?—”
“Sorry! Wasn’t looking!” My voice sounds unnaturally high and brittle as I avoid the obvious question, like a helium-filled balloon about to pop.
His eyes narrow as I immediately begin to gather his books, grateful for any excuse not to face him directly. Maybe if I move fast enough, I can hand everything back and escape before he processes what he’s seeing and who I would likely have been meeting with in the library.
“Leanndra, look at me.” Mike kneels beside me, his hand catching my arm. “Are you… crying?
The touch sends a bolt of panic through me, and I jerk away instinctively. “I’m fine,” I say, stuffing a book into his arms. “Just… allergies. Library dust. You know.”
“Bullshit, Lea.” Mike’s voice is low, dangerous. “Tell me what happened? Who did this to you?”
The protective edge in his tone makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. My brother has always been my defender, my protector. The one who checked under my bed for monsters when I was six. The one who put me back together when Chris broke me.
I know he’d jump in front of a train for me, kill anyone who hurt me or die trying, or stand there while I cry my heart out for hours and not complain. But now I’m kneeling on the cold floor, reeking of sex (with his teammate!), the taste of said teammate still coating my tongue.
“Nothing happened.” I gather the last of his notebooks, my hands visibly trembling. “I just… I have to go, Mike. Let’s catch up for bagels tomorrow?—”
Mike catches my chin, tilting my face up to his, cutting me off. The gesture is gentle but firm—big brother modefully activated. His eyes scan my face, lingering on my swollen lips before dropping to my neck, and I watch as comprehension dawns.
