Page 32 of Ominous: Part 1
“Eli. Let.Go.”
I don’t, and I keep quiet, holding his gaze.
He narrows his eyes. I know he’s close. He’s about to snap.I just have to wait for it.
“Eli! Get your fucking hands off of me!” He yanks at my wrist again, but I just grab his upper arm with my other hand, and then he screams in frustration. It’s a loud, broken sound, followed by him shoving me against the glass at my back. My head thuds against it, and I laugh, trying to keep him off even as he yanks me away from the door by his grip on my arms just to slam me back again. This time hurts worse, a roaring in my ears as I drop my hand from his jacket to cock my fist back. I curl my fingers and shove him away with my palm at the same time I land a blow to his throat.
He gags, coughing as his face turns red, but he doesn’t even miss a beat. I guess he still has wrestling reflexes after all. His fist hits my gut and I curl over, the wind knocked out of me. He doesn’t stop. He hits me again, and again, and again, the last time in my chest, my head thudding with the door once more in time with the violent motion. My hands come to my knees as he backs up, his palms held up toward me like he’s surrendering. I try to catch my breath as I close my eyes, sinking down to the floor, my wrists on my knees, hands clenched into fists. The pain is deep, but bearable. It just knocked the fucking air out of my lungs.
“I don’t want to do this with you,” he says, and I smile, eyes still closed as I try to breathe, my adrenaline fading, a little of my impulses curbed. “I can’t fucking do this with you anymore.” Then he turns and I hear him stalk off. A few moments later, the side door slams shut so hard his glass rattles on the counter by the sink.
I open my eyes in time to watch it fall and shatter.
The sound pierces through the pain and I start to breathe normally again.
The need in my head to fuck something up is momentarily sated.
Staring at the two broken cups in this house, I think of Eden. I think of telling her about this morning, casually. My eyes catch on the newspaper, the classified section damp with coffee, smudging the tiny black print.
What would she say, I wonder?
I prop my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my hands, then smack my palms against my face. Once. Twice. Three times, harder.
I don’t think she’d say anything.
I think she’d just get it.
I thinkshewould understand.
7
Eden
“What amI supposed to do here?” Trafalgar’s turrets are half-hidden by low-hanging clouds, and heat lightning spikes through them. It’s a strange mix of cool and warm today, the windows down on Eli’s car, and little hairs stand up on the back of my arms despite the fact they’re covered.
A sheer, black long sleeve shirt pushed into my faux leather pants. The shirt is buttoned to the top, but I wore a lime green sports bra underneath, for a pop of color, and a silver necklace with an ouroboros pendant is around my neck. Now, glancing at all the pricy, shiny cars in the parking lot, I’m starting to regret that act of brazenness. I knew I wouldn’t have to wear my uniform, since it’s not school hours, but I guess I didn’t think through being under the eyes of wealthy Trafalgar parents.
I pull down the visor in the passenger seat for something to do with my hands, waiting for Eli’s response, and tilt my head to each side, checking my hair. It’s in a big, tortoiseshell clip affixed to the back of my head, my long bangs hanging down around my face. I tuck them behind my ear and twist my cartilage piercing, wincing as I do. One day, it won’t hurt. I’ve had it for nearly a year now, so maybe I should give it up, but I like the way it looks.
Eli turns down the music, “What Do You Gotta Lose?”by Islander. It’s in my collection of liked songs, but I don’t tell him as much. Our ride has been quiet, as they all are. I like we don’t have to break the silence. It’s comfortable, and after dealing with Reece’s probing questions this morning, Mom shaking her head and getting up abruptly to leave the table while Sebastian barely looked up from his cereal, deep purple shadows under his eyes, I didn’t really want to talk.
“You’re going to watch a boy you hardly know roll around with other boys in a singlet all day?” Reece rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him as he does. He spears a piece of thick, burnt sausage at the end of his fork. It looks remarkably like his fingers. “Sounds like he’s really got you brainwashed.”
He’s right, maybe, because when I woke up to Eli’s texts to tell me I wasn’t getting out of this, I darted out of bed and put this outfit together without once trying to turn him down again.Shit.
“Watch me,” Eli answers my question.
I close the visor with a snap as I turn to face him, his seatbelt off, mine still across my chest.
He looks good in a white T-shirt, black sweats. I wonder how many pairs he owns. On his feet are white Chucks, and I imagine his closet, row after row of the same pair, waiting for him to choose them. I could be making it all up in my head, but I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re just so blindinglywhite.
And for whatever reason, staring at his shoes, I’m hit with the memory of last night, my fingers in my sleep shorts as I waited with bated breath for Eli’s texts. Even imagining them in my head now, his words, my blood pricks with heat, and as lightning flecks the sky, it’s like I can feel it in my chest, too.
Averting my gaze, I turn to look out my half-lowered window, watching other students enter F. M. Fink’s athletic building. It’s quiet out, parents and students far enough away I can’t hear any conversation, and the music is still playing inside the car, but I wish it was a little louder to drown out the sound of my own pulse in my head.
I think of our texts this morning.
Him: Good morning. I hope you slept well because you’re going to be up a while. Can’t take this back, I’m leaving to pick you up soon.
