Page 23 of Too Sweet
“Two.”
“This isn’t over, kitten.” He dips his head, licking my ear. “You’ll break.Iwill break you. Mark my words. Give up while you can.” He leans in even closer, his nose almost touching my cheek. He grips my waist, fists my dress, and inhales deeply. “Fuck... I might keep you longer once you’re mine. You have until next week to decide.” He pushes away from the wall, not waiting for anything else, and motions his buddies to follow.
I can’t move a muscle, glued to the spot, flush against the wall, my breathing irregular as dry heaves loom nearby.
Dropping my bag, I fall to my knees, searching for mouthwash. The peppermint scent helps control nausea and saved me from puking more times than I can count.
My hands shake. My eyes fill with tears, the scene embarrassing at best. The gazes of many onlookers burn holes in my skull, but I don’t dare check how many students have stopped to watch the free entertainment.
“Shit, what did Brandon say?” Cody crouches beside me, unscrewing the mouthwash. “There you go, Bug. Breathe.”
I inhale deeply, holding the back of my hand firmly against my lips. “He’s annoyed about his nose.”
“Yeah, I figured that much,” he mumbles, gently stroking my back. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Three more sniffs and I tuck the bottle back in my bag.
The first person I see when Cody hauls me to my feet is Blair—Brandon’s self-proclaimed girlfriend. She must’ve seen him invade my personal space and her jealousy is on display, foretelling trouble. She silently simmers thirty feet away, glaring at me like she imagines ripping the hairs from my skull one by one.
Cody drapes his arm over my shoulders, but the protective gesture doesn’t faze Blair. She stilettoes toward us, wearing a fake smile with a matching hard edge in her light brown eyes.
“You have a death wish, bitch?” She kicks the drama up a notch, hurling the contents of her takeaway cup in my face. “Whoops,” she chirps, beaming when the caramel latte drips from my eyelashes, down my chin, and the front of my knitted dress. “I must’ve tripped.”
“What the fuck!” Cody booms, taking a threatening step forward. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”
The only upside is that the coffee wasn’t hot enough to burn. I’m on the verge of projectile-vomiting again when I hear Blair’s friends laughing, and in the distance, Brandon throws his head back, cackling like a demented hyena.
I’ve lived through fifteen years of this. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but the shame doesn’t lessen with time. It’s even more humiliating the older I am becausethisisjuvenile. It shouldn’t be happening in college. I really hoped it wouldn’t. We’re adults for crying out loud!
Too bad not everyone got the memo.
“Get the fuck out of here, Blair, or I swear I’ll—”
“What?” She licks her lips, taking a second to look him over, her gaze lingering on his broad, muscular chest. “You’re all talk,” she adds, then her ponytail whips Cody’s face as she walks away with a triumphant smile, her head high, eyes on the green Mercedes parked where it shouldn’t.
Cars have no access to the courtyard, but just as Blair didn’t get the adult memo, Nico didn’t get the not-allowed memo.
I doubt he understands the meaning of the phrase.
He stands by his sporty car with Conor and Colt, Wayfarers pushed up the bridge of his nose.
I’m back in the hot seat. Ruled by him. Consumed by the pull whizzing between us. Mint won’t help me this time. It was bad enough being laughed at by half the students, but knowing Nico witnessed the adolescent drama is too much for my spineless self.
A tight pinch of pain squeezes my stomach when I turn on my heel, keeping a steady pace up the concrete steps.
Once inside, I sprint to the nearest restroom and slam the door with a bang. I burst into the first cubicle, hugging the toilet at the last moment.
Today’s breakfast, lunch, and two cups of coffee make a reappearance. My eyes water. Bitter bile burns my throat. Cold sweat coats my back as I heave, gasp, and shake, ejecting wave after wave of partly digested food.
Thisis why I always have mouthwash in my bag—to keep the puking incidents to a minimum. They started in middle school when Blair stole my clothes while I showered after gym class, right before lunch break, during which the football team had an emergency meeting ahead of their homecoming game.
Before the teacher came to my rescue, I sat on the floor, my arms and legs covering as much flesh as they could while the boys hollered, throwing cups of cold water at me so I’d flinch and accidentally flash them.
I’ve not taken a shower at school since.
Once my stomach’s empty, I lean on the cubicle door, breathing in through my mouth and out through my nose. I’m not surprised when the door opens again. Heavy footsteps reverberate through the space, the walk easily recognizable.
“You good, Mia?” Cody stops by the cubicle, his shoes peeking under the door.
