Page 11 of Crybaby

Thoughts of her, of her mangled body as she took her last breaths, has me extending my arm into the locker and setting fire to that bag. I wish it could burn away this anguish I feel, but it never does.

It goes up instantly, which means Blackwood used an accelerant.

We both stand by the door, watching the small bonfire spark to life. Anyone could come out at any moment, but neither of us seems to care.

As the flames grow higher, I casually redo my buttons and fasten my tie. “Do you have a name?”

“I do.”

“And it is?”

“Rev.” He slams the locker door shut on the fire.

“What kind of name is Rev?”

He leans in close, so close he steals my breath away. I fixate on the two nose rings he has—one hoop in each nostril. “It’s a name.”

When I remember to breathe again, I go to press him further, but he grabs my hand and whispers into my ear, “Run.”

It sends a shiver through me.

Those words are very reminiscent of last night. Still, when he lifts his eyes to the ceiling, and the sprinklers go on two seconds later, I realize he means it in the literal sense.

We take off down the hallway, my shoes slipping on the wet floors as the sprinklers shower down around us. We are sopping wet, and maniacal laughter spills from me when I witness the bedlam we created. Students rush from their classrooms, screaming and crying with mascara running down their cheeks.

Rev drags me outside, where ironically, it’s started to pour. But I don’t notice the downpour. All I can focus on is standing in the rain with a delinquent who is as beautifully messed up as I am.

Our chests are rising and falling quickly as adrenaline bounces between us. My skin tingles, and it has nothing to do with the cold. He lets go of my hand but doesn’t walk away.

His white shirt clings to his muscled body, and as he rolls up his sleeve, I see he has a tattoo on his wrist. It’s a star in a circle with two half-moons on either side. I want to know what it means, but that will have to wait because the doors burst open, and a flurry of students swarms outside.

Rev runs his long fingers through his wet hair, emphasizing his flawless face. He licks a fallen raindrop from his full lips. I’m envious of it.

“What happened?” a girl asks her friend, wringing out her wet ponytail

“Donna Jo said Giselle’s locker caught on fire!” her friend replies while I almost inhale my tongue. “Apparently, her term paper was in there, as well as her laptop. I hope she has a backup at home. Otherwise, the girl is screwed. It’s due this week.”

Rev doesn’t react.

He simply smirks before pushing through the students and leaving me with a mouth full of nothing. Why did he do this? Did he do this for me? Maybe chivalry isn’t dead, after all.

Peering up at the wooden crucifix nailed to the wall, I know there aren’t enough Hail Marys to save my soul.

The moment I open the front door, I know things are about to go south.

“Mom?” I call out, tossing my keys into the porcelain bowl that sits with military precision on the hallway table.

My entire house is set out this way in caseheever decides to come back. My mom doesn’t want a thing out of place in case the deadbeat who knocked her up, aka my dad, ever waltzes through the front door. She wants him to believe our perfect life has been put on pause for him as we awaited his return.

It’ll never happen.

She knows it.

I know it.

But she clings to unrealistic hope that she’ll get her happily ever after. That she somehow deserves it. But that’s not how life works. We aren’t owed anything. We work for shit to happen. We work to better our lives so we aren’t waiting and pining for a useless fucker who couldn’t give two shits about the family he never wanted to begin with.

The house is deadly quiet, which is never a good sign.

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