Page 12 of Monster Made
He keeps her pinned for another few moments before taking a step back, releasing her. Still looking completely unbothered, she smoothes down her Chanel outfit, then stalks off.
Quill turns around to the crowd that has gathered, and threatens, “That goes for all of you. No one fucking talk to her. Or look at her. I don’t want to hear her fucking name in any of your mouths. Got it?”
Unlike Cass, everyone else is absolutely terrified of Quill. There are a few murmurs of assent, then the bell signaling lunchtime rings, and everyone hurries off to the cafeteria.
Not me, though. I go to grab my lunchbox from my locker, preparing to eat it in a discreet corner somewhere, my chest tight with the thought that Quill has made my lonely high school days even lonelier with his threat. Then I nearly scream when I suddenly feel two arms wrap tightly around my upper body.
“Quill!” I squeak out, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.
What the hell is he doing?
He pins me to the locker with his whole body, his breath hot against my neck. And then… he stops moving.
“Quill,” I whisper again, but his only response is to shudder against me.
The lump rises up again in my throat, because if I close my eyes, I can almost pretend it’s a loving embrace.
Almost. But not quite.
I know the truth, and besides, when I try to wriggle out of his grasp, his arms tighten, locking me to him.
“Please let me go, Quill.”
He doesn’t move a muscle, keeping me trapped against him. The more I squirm to try to get away, the firmer he is. At last, I give up, sagging against him, my head resting against the cold metal of the locker, the spicy heat of his body enveloping me and doing something to my stomach. Something that isn’t entirely bad.
Then suddenly, heat blooms across my cheeks, because hedefinitelyjust sniffed at my neck.
Is he… is hesmellingme? I feel his breath, hot as he blows it out, and then the absence of it as he inhales.
Do I stink? Did I forget to wear deodorant?
Shit, shit, shit.
I don’t think I did, but then, why would he sniff at me like that?
“Did you shower, Piper?” are the unexpected words he speaks at last in a low growl that has my stomach clenching.
Oh my God.So I do smell bad. I want to disappear ten feet underground.
“Yes?” I squeak out. “L-last night…”
“With what?”
“Uhm…” Confusion takes the place of embarrassment. “With… with soap?”
He clicks his tongue as if that’s the wrong answer. “Whatkindof soap?”
My confusion is deepening by the second. “It’s, uh… I don’t remember the… the brand… some sort of lemon-scented thing…”
I try to move away again but he squeezes me tighter than ever, burying his face in my hair. I can feel my body trembling with the effort of not succumbing to the lump in my throat.
What is he doing?
This is worse than his cruelest bullying. The way he’s holding me to him, his warmth washing over me, his face against my hair. I could trick myself into thinking he cares. It’s going to hurt so much when he shows me once more the proof of his hatred.
“It smells good,” he says suddenly, and then just as abruptly disengages from me, leaving me spiraling against the lockers.
It takes me a moment to come to my senses. When I do, he’s nowhere to be seen.
