Page 16 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

Pity settled over me. Could he not afford to eat? No matter how mean he was to me, no one deserved to starve. He may be here on a scholarship, but the school didn’t give them free lunches or anything. That was on the parents. Did he have anyone at home? He said he worked. Had he emancipated himself?

Maybe not that. He seemed to be in a perpetually shitty mood. There’s a chance he’s going through something and doesn’t have an appetite.

Whatever the cause, I can’t stop the compulsion to fill an extra tray when I walk into the cafeteria and see that he has nothing in front of him but a bottle of water. Jensen is nowhere in sight.

Riggs is playing on his phone, deep into a game where he is shooting balls at blocks when I peek over his shoulder.

Why am I doing this to myself?This guy has it out for me. He can’t go without eating, and if he is going through something, then he shouldn’t be alone through it. I’ve spent way too many days by myself, drowning in my thoughts and memories of my past.

Am I presumptuous to assume he has a troubling past? It’s rude of me to spread stereotypes to others when I struggle with the rich, ditzy girl persona that I’m supposed to have. Most people don’t know I’m not that person. That behind closed doors, I struggle with my past. My birth mother is in jail as we speak, and even though she beat me senseless on a regular basis, I still want go to see her.

I’m fucked up. The darkness in me is calling to the darkness in him and that’s why I can’t let it go. Stupid, because for all I know he lives the best life anyone could ask for.

I suck in a deep breath to calm my nerves and the insanity flowing through me. This is going to be like any other time I’ve spoken to him. I can sense it.

Setting down the trays and pushing one in his direction, I settle in. I skip the chair next to him to give us both a little space. The mask of disdain that slips over him is clear, and my swallow is harsh. Sweat coats my back, making my uniform stick to my skin. Why am I so nervous? I should have expected something like this was coming because it has drawn me to him, no matter how rude he’s been. I have something to prove to him. Why? Well, I haven’t figured that out. I don’t know if something in me is calling to him or it’s just my need to prove that I’m not the person I was last year, not anymore. I’ve changed, and I need people to see that.

I’d like to think that I can own my shit, and while I have, I feel like there is still more to prove. Especially with Jonas pulling his bullshit.

“What is this?” His voice is low and gruff. His position speaks of a predator protecting what’s his. Right now, I’d say that’s his pride. There are eyes on us, inspecting the situation and trying to figure out what the hell is going on. I can’t help but wonder the same thing. What the actual fuck am I doing? I feel like I’m probing a jungle cat and waiting for it to strike, for claws to lash out and take their best shot.

“I brought you lunch,” I explain, stating the obvious like an idiot. He can see what is happening and his question was rhetorical. What he’s asking is why.

“I’m not hungry.” Ignoring me, he swipes his finger over the screen of his phone. The movement sends a ball flying and crashing into blocks.

I should keep my mouth shut. I mean, it’s not like I’m expecting a thank you or any sort of positive reaction, but I can’t trust myself to walk away from him. Instead, I say, “I overheard you and Je—”

“So you’re placing your nose where it doesn’t belong. Mind your own goddamn business.” He stiffens, and pins me with his pained glare before he shuts all emotions down other than hatred. A shiver from the icicles he’s throwing my way skitters down my spine. Why does he have such an effect on me?

His skin is flush with anger, making his blue eyes pop. He’s so damn beautiful in a dark, broken way. I saw the pain in his eyes, the pain that pulls me in, the pain I’m reminding him of by shoving food in his face. He hates me and for good reason, and it’s not like he can’t afford food. I can sense that he just can’t eat.

By not letting it go and bringing him food, I’m feeding his pain.

My stomach sinks. This will not go well. Instead of continuing on, I try to shut down the brewing outburst. I will not push or pry. I’ve brought him the food and before he locked it up, I glimpsed the broken kid that’s living in the shell of a handsome teenaged boy. It’s none of my business. We’re not friends and likely never will be. But I get it. Someone has hurt him and people aren’t his favorite. Toss him in a school full of callous, rich pricks and I get why he’s lashing out. I’ve lashed out my entire life.

But I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

“It’s not that. I wondered if you’d like some food. I’m sorry.” The right side of his brow raises in confusion for a split second before he fixes his scowl in place.

“How perfect. I choose not to eat lunch and you just can’t help but assume it’s because I can’t afford it. Typical. I don’t need your charity. I can afford to feed myself.” He keeps the volume of his voice low as he finishes his dig.

“Right. I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. If you ever nee—”

“I don’t get why the fuck you’re obsessed with me. Get off my dick,” he almost yells, drawing the attention of the entire cafeteria. I shrink but then think better of it. I won’t let his outburst get to me. Quiet chuckles bounce around the cold environment as the other students try to suppress their laughter. Great, in trying to be nice to him, I’ve just embarrassed him in front of the school. Riggs gets up and storms out, leaving everything, including his half full bottle of water.

I don’t satisfy anyone by meeting their stares. Instead, I force food into my stomach for the rest of my lunchtime. I’m not even close to being hungry, but I will not give in and act like the bully they are expecting, either.

CHAPTER9

RIGGS

Jensen explodes in a coughing fit.Smoke swarms the space in front of his face, spanning out around us as its expelled from his lungs violently.

“Jesus, first time smoking?” He shoots me a dry look. Between his pointer finger and thumb, he’s holding the joint. He passes it to me as he seeks his water bottle. His cheeks are flush, his eyes bloodshot from a mix of coughing and Mary Jane. The pungent smell of weed is thick in the air, the way I like it. After removing the cap to his water, he chugs half the bottle.

I place the joint to my lips and watch the blaze of the cherry glow into the night. Smoke fills my lungs, absorbing into the walls of my chest. The effects aren’t as immediate as I’d like them to be. Not fast enough to rid my mind of looming thoughts plaguing me. But I’m patient, so in about a quarter of an hour after we have passed around and around, I’ll be feeling just right.

“Fucking rookie,” I mutter, waiting for Jensen to send either a fist or an elbow to my ribs.

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