I very carefully extricate myself from his grip. Not because I don’t want him to touch me, but because I do. So, so, so, so much.
“Like you said, I’m a crushing disappointment to her.” I offer Parrish a weak smile before heading into my room and curling up on the bed with just a sheet. He follows me in, covers me up with a spare blanket from who knows where, and then heads into his room.
After a while, I hear his words, soft and vulnerable in the quiet: “goodnight, Dakota.”
He may as well be saying goodbye for all it’s worth.
I don’t sleep very well that night.
Not very well at all.
As promised, Tess makes me ride in the front seat of the SUV with her while Paul sits in the center row and Kimber is pushed into the back (much to her oft-voiced frustration). The ride back to Medina is hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. I miss Parrish already, and he’s just a few feet away from me.
Once we’re home, things don’t get much better. I still don’t have a door and neither does Parrish. There are few ways for me to escape from him unless I hide in the bathroom.
“It doesn’t have to be weird,” I whisper to myself after a particularly awkward encounter in the hallway. But it is. Because I touched his dick, and he put his fingers in me, and mostly, it’s because we confessed our feelings for one another. That’s the weirdest part of all.
I’m so relieved to head back to school on Tuesday that I practically throw myself out of Parrish’s car and sprint through the parking garage with my book bag flopping against my side. Both Danyella and Lumen can tell right away that’s something off with me, but I’m not quite ready to talk about it, so I just brush it off.
By the end of the day however, I feel like there’s a scream trapped in my chest, clawing to get out. I wouldn’t mind paying another visit to Chasm’s cabin to let out some steam.
By the end of the week? I’m ready to sprint my ass over there on foot; if I don’t let out my frustration, I’m going to break. Parrish is being nice, almost too nice. Pair that with Chasm’s false cheer, the lack of a bedroom door, and Tess’ near constant hovering, and my sanity is wearing dangerously thin.
Why did I do this to myself? I wonder, my chin parked in my hand, my elbow resting on the surface of a desk. Mr. Volli is droning on and on about … something. It’s not that I don’t understand it today—thanks to Chasm, I actually do—but that I’m not listening. I’m more than ready for the week to be over.
“Let me guess: this is Parrish related,” Lumen says, far too loudly, waking me from my stupor just in time to realize that I’ve spaced out and missed the fact that class is over. The day is over. I’m free.
“Huh?” I blink myself out of my coma, glancing up to find the honey-haired princess of the school lording over me. Her hands are parked on her hips, her skirt a scandalous few inches shorter than it was during lunch. If Lumen has somewhere to go after school that isn’t home, she usually rolls her waistband up even further, to the point that the skirt looks more like a costume than an actual uniform.
“You’re daydreaming about Parrish again.” She leans forward and puts her palms flat on the desk, giving me the eye. “I’m starting to get jealous.”
“Ms. Hearst,” Mr. Volli calls out as he stacks books together on his desk, “unroll the skirt, please.”
“Sexist,” Lumen murmurs, but she unrolls the skirt as he asked. I’d agree with her in most cases, but I’ve seen multiple dudes wearing skirts here at Whitehall and at least three of them got in trouble for the same reason. As Ms. Miyamoto likes to say, pubic hair and genitals need not touch any school surfaces. “Anyway, you’ve lost your mind.”
“I haven’t,” I promise her, standing up and grabbing my bag. “I’m just tired.” She gives me a look, but that’s not a total lie. All week, I’ve had serious trouble sleeping. I’d say it was the whole ‘made Parrish come and also got fingered by him’ thing, but really, it’s more about Blockbuster. About the way I felt when I saw the Vanguards together, how I wanted to be a part of it … and how once again, I was further away than ever.
Then there’s the issue with the ATV. Someone hit us, and it didn’t feel like an accident. Actually, it seemed very, very purposeful. Add in the hiker and that night in the woods … Ugh. I scrub both hands over my face.
“Everything okay?” Mr. Volli asks, pausing beside me. He smiles warmly and reaches up to adjust his glasses. He’s what I would call ‘painfully average’, as in, you would never remember his face in passing. The way he styles his hair though, and the glasses he wears, the cute plaid bow ties? He’s adorable.
