Page 3 of Vicious Little Snakes
The worst part, though, is Liam chose Donovan, right to my face. He meant for it to cut deep, and he got his wish.
My face drifts toward where Donovan walked as my fingers gently tuck under the opposite sleeve of my crisp white button-down shirt. The raised scar on the side of my wrist still sits there bumpy and protruding from my skin, the pain lingering in my memory. Close enough that if I close my eyes, I can almost feel the sting, not from the cut but from what happened after. I blink, pulling myself from the moment before I remember too much.
None of them understand. I wasn’t trying to make Grey hate her, not forever, at least. I don’t even care that much that Donovan loves Liam. It’s Liam’s undying loyalty and affection for her that genuinely makes me sick to my stomach.
It’s unbearable—the weight of his affection for someone else because it’s something that used to be mine. For a brief apocalyptic moment, I was the only thing in his existence, and then that life died, and I woke up in a world in which he occasionally visits but never stays.
Laura’s eyes are still on me, but I ignore her, leaving her to wonder why I haven’t moved. I don’t care because all I’ve been thinking about for the last few minutes is that Donovan headed toward the art room.
And that’s where Liam is. It’s always where he is.
Despite all my better judgment, I head the same way, following Donovan’s footsteps or in her shadow—depending on the opinion. With each step, my body becomes tenser. Why do I do this to myself? It’s like emotional cutting. I slice a piece of my heart open and watch myself bleed, but unlike the times I’ve done it to my flesh, my heart never heals. It just shrivels up and dies, more and more.
The closer I get, the clearer I can hear voices. My hand skims over the silver metal lockers as I slow to a stop and listen. Soft, hurt-filled voices squeeze through the crack in the door. The noise begs me to spy, but I can’t look inside the room without being seen, so I lean back against the concrete, eavesdropping.
“What does that mean?” Donovan questions.
Liam’s voice sounds frustrated as he answers, “It means, this is what you do. You always have. Grey does something atrocious, and you forgive him. As if it never happened.”
Silence hemorrhages between them, and I close my eyes, laying my head back against the wall. I hate the way he sounds. Like he’s already lost a friend. Liam won’t survive this. As much as I wish she’d disappear again, I’ll kill her if she doesn’t make this right.
“In the cafeteria… He treated you like dirt, Van. Likened you to a whore and…”
She is one, but not because she fucks randos.
“Then fucked me like one…” Donovan sounds gutted as she continues, “You don’t have to say it. It’s written all over your face.”
Ha. Great minds.
There’s a harsh exhale, and I imagine Liam’s rubbing his hand over his shorn head the way he does when he’s the most frustrated. I hear him say, “Why can’t you hold him accountable?”
Because she’s a whore. We covered this.
Their voices grow quiet, robbing me of discerning what they’re saying. I roll my shoulder closer to the door, blinking my eyes open to stare at the hinges. My fingers barely touch the cold metal, moving centimeters closer, hopeful of making out any shred of a syllable.
“Fuck you,” rings out, and my eyes go wide as my head pops up off the wall. “I only forgive him blindly. Only him. So pay attention to what you say to me.”
I can’t help my smirk. Liam must’ve told her some truth. God knows Little Miss Perfect doesn’t like that thrown in her face. Good for him. I lift my eyes to gamble a peek inside the window, but Liam’s shoulder comes into view through the pane on the door.
Shit. I drawback, pressing against the wall, my eyes fixed on Liam.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
His angular jaw is tense as he grips the strap of his black backpack.
“No. I’m done, Van. If you want me as a friend, then that doesn’t include Grey.”
Fuck. I look around for an escape, taking two side steps away from the door, but it swings open too quickly and slams closed just as fast behind broad, muscular shoulders. Oh my God. Caught. I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I’m suddenly invisible.
A deep throat clearing—“Ahem”—lingers in the air, but all I can manage is one eye opening as I tilt my head to the side to peek. Those unmistakable shoulders squared off in my direction serve as more evidence that I am not, in fact, invisible.
I close my eyes for a millisecond more before pushing off the wall to face him, lifting my head as if embarrassment isn’t something I would entertain. A smart-ass remark readies on the tip of my tongue but tortured hazel eyes lock to mine, gluing me to my spot, and render me stupid.
Walk away, Caroline. Now.But I don’t move. I couldn’t walk away, even if I wanted to try...harder.
Liam swallows, bobbing his predominate Adam’s apple, staring down at me. He crosses his arms as his head tilts, and he licks his goddamned perfect lips—the actions of a bastard.
He’s always acting this way with me. Like I’m a snack he hasn’t had yet. It’s infuriating and addicting. I hate it, but like the fucking beggar I am, I’ll take it. Just not without disdain for myself.
