Page 92 of Spearcrest Knight

“I do worry about it, though. You’re right, you trusted me with one thing, and I fucked you over, and I shouldn’t have, and I regret it, and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for telling everyone about—”

“Think about it this way,” I say in my sweetest voice, interrupting him before he gets any further. “I was the one breaking the school rules, so, technically speaking, you did the right thing. As you can see, there's nothing for you to worry about, alright?”

He’s staring at me, but he can stare all he wants because I’m not going to look at him.

“I shouldn’t have mocked you in front of everyone,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I feel shit about that too. I never meant to hurt you.”

I hate that he’s forcing me to remember it. My cheeks grow hot, and discomfort twists my insides into knots. I swallow hard.

“I already said I accept your apology, so stop apologising. Here.”

I hand him the list of bullet points. “Find some quotes for these events.”

He takes the sheet in one hand and grabs my wrist in the other.

“Look at me.”

I don’t want to. Ireallydon’t want to, because the more he apologises, the more I’m getting restless and upset. I don’t want to argue with him, I don’t want to look at him, and Idefinitelydon't want to cry in front of him again. But I’m not going to fight him, and I might as well get this over as quickly as possible.

I look at him and try to keep myself as neutral as possible.

His blue eyes are huge, almost green in the yellow lamplight. His expression, normally so open and cheerful, is transformed: full of regret and pain and sadness.

That makes me angrier than anything else. What doeshehave to feel sad about? He doesn’t deserve pain, he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, and he certainly doesn’t deserve the time I’m sacrificing as the altar of his ego right now.

I don’t say any of this—I know better.

“Sophie. I’m genuinely trying to tell you how sorry I am,” he says, his voice raw and low. “So why are you being like this?”

Pulling my wrist free from his grip, I meet his eyes with a cold, direct gaze.

“Look, Evan. I came here to tutor you because that’s what you said you wanted. Remember? Now I’m here, just as you wanted. Everything, exactly as you wanted. You kept everybody away from me so no boy would ever come near me—as you wanted, and we’ve had sex—as you wanted. Now, everybody knows you were right all along, that I’ve always been desperate to be with you. Everybody thinks I’m your worthless desperate groupie, just like you wanted. Now you’ve said you wanted to apologise, and I accepted your apology. So what more can you possibly want?”

He hesitates. His eyes search my face, almost fearfully, but there’s nothing there for him to find. Everything I said is the truth.

“Nothing,” he says finally.

He takes the sheet and gets on with the work. We work mostly in silence for the rest of the session, and the second our two hours are over, I pack my stuff and stand.

“I’ll see you next week.”

“Right,” he says.

He stays sitting down while I shoulder my backpack, staring at me while I tuck my chair in. He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn and leave before he can.

Evan

“WhatthefuckamI gonna do?”

My face buried into my pillow, I let out a long, angry yell. Then I bolt upright on my bed and glare at Zachary, who’s reclining in the armchair by the window, his chin propped on his fist.

“Your stupid idea didn’t fucking work, Zach!”

“Oh. You actually apologised?”

“I practicallybeggedfor her forgiveness.”

“Hm. And what did she say?”

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