Page 14 of Sweet Punk
Ryleigh nods slowly, then points her paintbrush at me, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “It’s totally a girl, isn’t it.” It’s not a question. When Ryleigh is sure of something, she’s usually right. She’s obviously not wrong, but I’m unsure if I should admit it.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, quickly weigh my options, and decide there’s no harm in sharing what’s happening in vague terms. “This is… just between you and me—” I hesitate. “I, uh, I don’t actually know what it is yet. There’s a girl. But I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or feeling. And I think she’s avoiding me now because I’m fucking dumb and clearly don’t know how to handle things when anyone gets the slightest bit close to me. Because I’m not like other guys.” My face burns with frustration and embarrassment.
Ryleigh sets her brush down. Her eyes roam over my anxious expression, taking it in. Figuring me out. Because she’s good at that. Quietly, she says, “It’s okay, Kellan. We don’t always have to know how to navigate every little thing. And you aren’t dumb. You’re just—”
“Damaged. I’m fuckin’ damaged. Call a spade a spade.” Letting out an exasperated sound, I shake my head. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Always.” I can tell from the concentration drifting over her features that she senses what I’m about to say is important, that she genuinely wants to help.
“I’m afraid I’ve messed it all up.” What’s stupid is that the second Star was in my bed, I’d started thinking of her as mine. I can’t tell Ryleigh that. I can hardly admit it to myself. “Ry, I’m so fucked up, I don’t even know where to begin, don’t know how to be with someone.” So, I’d let Star think I used her to get off. I draw in a ragged breath. “I did what I always do. I pushed her away in the only way I’ve ever known. I said things I knew would hurt her.”
NINE
KELLAN
I’m still in a shitty mood when I get to my speech class Tuesday. I’m one hundred percent sure that Star is avoiding me. And I’m not simply referring to her politely not speaking to me. I’ve literally not seen the girl for days. I stopped by their suite after my art studio class yesterday. I had it in my head that I should apologize or something. I don’t know how to explain to her why I’d responded like I had or how to make sure she understands that it’s not her. It’s me. God, that sounds cliché. But it’s the damn truth. She has her own issues, and I don’t need to add my bullshit on top of whatever she’s going through.
My chest is so tight, thinking about her, and I’m so goddamn embarrassed about it that I haven’t said much to anyone, except that vague explanation I gave Ryleigh. It’s hard to talk to Maddox or Hawk right now, and I don’t know if I’m angry about that or what. They’re in relationships with the girls who live with the person I hurt. Surely, there’s talk among our friend group. But it’s happening behind closed doors. And I’m the only one standing clueless on the other side.
“Mr. Murphy. Would you care to come up to the front of the room? It’s your turn to give your speech.” Professor Coggins eyes me, his bushy brows going up in question.
I blink, feeling every eye in the room on me.Shit.I must have zoned out. My speech class is definitely not my favorite, but it’s one of the liberal studies requirements at SRU, so I figured I’d better get it the fuck over with sooner rather than later. And today we’ve got practice speeches. We’d all been given random topics to present, and Professor Coggins couldn’t have selected a worse one for me if he’d tried.
I clear my throat, getting up from my seat. “Of c-course.” I blink.Fuck.My concentration is screwed. Slowly, I walk to the front of the lecture hall, hoping I can calm the fuck down so I can deliver this speech and not make a complete fool of myself.
Setting my notes down on the podium, I face the sea of fifty faces, then look to our professor, and he nods that I may begin. This entire class is my worst fucking nightmare. Not only do I hate public speaking—speaking in general, really—but the assholes Star and I had run into at Duke Hall after the pepper spray incident are in this class. They’re typical big-men-on-campus types, thinking they rule the damn school and can do no wrong. I call them The Assholes for a reason—and that’s because ever since they picked up on this class as being a weakness of mine, they do nothing but taunt me. It reminds me so much of the way Jamie used to treat me when we were younger that it truly fucks with my head. It’s bad.
And today will be no different, I can tell already. My ears buzz, and my palms begin to sweat as I stand at the front of the class, gathering the courage to begin. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself. Usually it works. “M-my topic t-today is childhood t-trauma.”Fuck.I wince at how terrible I sound and how I can’t seem to control it at all today.
“Dude. Seems like someone has experienced some trauma of his own.” The Assholes cackle like maniacs even though Professor Coggins stands up and looks at them with a death glare. Their laughter reminds me of my brother every fucking time he did something better than me. Every time he won and I lost. Every time our father praised him and degraded me. These guys are a lot like him.
* * *
“Why the hellcan’t you be more like your brother, Kellan?” Our father glares, his eyes roaming over me with disdain as Jamie leaves the room. I hear that jerk brother of mine laughing all the way down the hall. He knows Dad’s about to lay into me. He doesn’t even care. He thinks it’s funny.
I look down at my feet. I’m still in my baseball uniform. My brother and I are on the same team, which I thought would be fun at first, but it’s not. Not at all. The joke’s on me, especially when Dad finally shows up to watch, and I strike out at every at bat, while my brother hits home runs.
“You’re so fucking scrawny, kid. I have no clue where you came from. It must be your mother’s genes. I can’t believe my firstborn son is built like a goddamn pansy. Thank God for Jamie.”
My brows draw together. Eight-year-old Jamie is Dad’s favorite. Everyone thinks he’s older than I am. He’s bigger and stronger, though he’s two years younger. I get picked on mercilessly at school because I haven’t hit a good growth spurt yet. My grandma says it’s coming, but I don’t know about that. I think I might be doomed to be this size forever—the one everyone picks on and laughs at.
But no matter how bad it is at school, that’s nothing compared to what it’s like at home. Nothing. I’m scared I’m never going to get any bigger. Will never be able to defend myself. And if I can’t, this will never stop. My lip wobbling, I whisper. “W-what was wrong with M-M-Mom? She was pretty. You m-married her.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what was wrong with her. Her entire goddamn family is full of weak, worthless people.” He grits his teeth as he towers over me. “I swear to God, some days I don’t think we share a single cell. How the fuck are you mine?”
My chest tightens, knowing full well what’s coming next. “And Jesus Christ. What’s the deal with the stutter? H-h-haven’t y-y-you outgro-grown that yet?” he mocks me, then glares again, shooting an ugly smirk at me. He shakes his head, like he’s disgusted by me.
I don’t know why I ever think things will go differently. It’s always the same. Always.
“Come here.”
My heart skips a beat, then thumps hard as it resumes. I shake my head, my gaze flitting to the ashtray on his desk, terror shimmying down my spine. I feel sick to my stomach. “N-n-no. I-I don’t want t-to.” My breath stutters as much as my words do.
“Get your skinny little pathetic ass over here, right fucking now, Kellan.” Dad’s growling voice reaches inside me, squeezes my lungs, and makes it so hard to breathe. They don’t even want to work anymore. It’s like they’ve given up on me, too.
When I shake my head, my nerves getting the better of me, he pushes back from his desk, rising to his full six-feet-four inches. He towers over me, and before I can make my feet move from where they’re rooted to the floor, his meaty hand lands on the back of my neck, gripping me so tightly, I cry out.
“Be a man, Kellan. This is the problem. You’re a fucking baby, and you’re always going to act like one unless I do my job and make you into a fucking man.” He picks up the cigarette that’s been sitting on the edge of the ashtray.
