Broken: A Bad Boy Romance, page 3
Hospice.
Palliative care.
That's what she's on. She gets the best accommodations to make her comfortable, manage her pain, but other than that, there's nothing they can do. She's battled cancer for the majority of my life, and now, she's losing.
As I round the corner, I see her before she can see me. She is sitting in her inflated chair. It's an electric chair that's hooked up to an air machine and shifts her weight every thirty minutes. Mom is so skinny these days that doctors are worried about her getting pressure injuries. They said one of those things could take months off the rest of her already short life span.
Mom's crocheting something. I can't tell what because she's hunched over her project. Her bald head is covered by a peach hat that she made herself. Her hands shake as she tries to loop the yarn over the hook.
When I was a kid, she would crochet at least three pieces a week. Every outfit I wore, at least some of it she made.
When I got to third grade, I stopped wearing her things. Eddie told Mom he wanted whatever she was going to make for me. It had made her so happy. Eddie was always so much better at making her happy. He was always her son. With him being gone, I've tried, but neither of us has to say aloud how much I don't stack up. We both know.
"Ah! Theodore!" Mom exclaims, catching me.
I come out from behind the corner and into her room. Most of the bookshelves are still here, but a couple of them were ripped from the wall to make room for her bed, which also hooks up to an arm machine and shifts Mom's weight. There's a small couch along the opposite way, a chair for Rosalyn, and her nursing supplies.
I hate how frail Mom feels when I wrap my arms around her gently for a hug. It seems like every day, she loses more weight. Gets closer and closer to the end.
"Oh, you can hug your mother harder than that!" Mom playfully scolds, tightening her grip.
I hug her as tight as I can without feeling like I'm going to crush her, and she seems pleased at that.
"What are you making?" I ask, sitting in the normal chair next to her.
Rosalyn must have just left because the small table in front of the chair is topped with homework. I bet James hasn't set foot in here in months.
He appears the doting husband to the public, but I know he's the furthest thing from the truth. He takes care of Mom the best that money can buy, but there's no love there. The first few years after Dad died and James came into the picture, they seemed happy and in love. But one day, all of that vanished. The man who had once been kind was replaced with a power-hungry, cruel man. Even as a young kid, I could see how it all fell apart after that.
"I'm making something for Rosalyn's baby. She'll be having a little girl at the end of July."
Mom smiles at the thought, but I can tell that we are both thinking the same unspoken thing.
If she makes it to the end of July.
I wonder about that. I've known for most of my life that my mother has a serious illness that's never going to go away. I've been there for various treatments and hopes that have left us with the same empty pit as before. Mom was always so optimistic, but after Eddie died, all of that disappeared. And she got sicker than ever before.
And now we're at the final stretch.
What happens if Mom can't finish the blanket for Rosalyn's baby? What happens if Mom can never crochet me anything ever again? They're such little, insignificant things to consider in the grand scheme of things, but right now, they're the most pressing things in my mind.
"Oh, Theodore, don't give me that look. None of that sad shit in here. Okay?"
I nod and try to remove any traces of 'sad' from my face.
"What have you been up to today?" Mom asks, clasping my hand.
Her hand is freezing. I envelop it in both of mine, even though I know that won't make a difference. Thousands of dollars spent on heated blankets, space heaters, and insulation haven't made a dent, so my hands surely won't. But I still do it. It's good to feel my mom. Feel that she's still here.
For now.
"Pretty much the same as any other day," I answer.
Mom clucks her tongue at me, and I prepare myself for another one of her lectures. If it were anyone else, I would cut them off and tell them I couldn't care less about their stupid fucking opinions, but I will always listen to whatever my mother has to tell me.
I'm soft with her. She melts the hard shell I present to the rest of the world, and I'm not ashamed of that. She's the only person left on Earth that I can let that wall down around.
"I thought you said you were going to start applying to colleges. You don't have much time, Theodore."
"I know," I murmur.
Neither do you.
We've had this talk countless times since Eddie died. Before he died, I was on track to go to school, had a pretty good scholarship too. But after Eddie died, I couldn't have cared less about any of those things. I still don't. The only things I care about now are spending as much time with Mom as possible before she dies, keeping myself together until I can get revenge, and drowning out as much as I can until the first two are finished.
"Eddie wouldn't have wanted this for you," Mom says. She tries to say it matter-of-factly, but her voice shakes at the end, which gives her away. We've avoided talking about the elephant in the room. Which actually would have been a giraffe because Eddie wasn't an elephant. He was long, tall, and lean, like a giraffe.
It's been a year.
A year without his knobby knees cracking when he walks into a room. A year without him groaning anytime he gets up because his skinny legs got tired seconds after he sat down. A year without guessing what color his hair would be when he came out of his room. A year without his infectious laugh that seemed like it did more than all of the expensive medicines and treatments Mom went through combined.
I think about what Mom said. I know he wouldn't have wanted it for me. No one would have guessed by looking at him that Edward Fitzgerald loved school and learning more than anything, but it was the truth. He was top of his class and got a full ride to Harvard right after submitting his early application. He went into college with a full semester under his belt because of all the AP courses he took in high school.
When I started my junior year of high school, he would grill me at least once a week on what I wanted to do and what I was going to major in. I know that if he could see me now, he would be majorly disappointed.
But he's not here anymore. So he doesn't get to make those types of calls for me anymore.
"How are you holding up today, Mom?" I ask, changing the subject.
She gives me a hard look, but the tears in her eyes give her away. I open my arms up again, and she sinks into me. The way she cries, I would bet that this is the first time today she's been able to get this out.
I would be lying if I said a couple of my own tears didn't fall onto her crocheted hat. I wonder if she could feel it through the fabric.
Probably not. My mom's rows are tight.
7
ONE WEEK LATER
SOPHIA
I wake up when my alarm goes off. My face feels puffy, and I press gently on the bags under my eyes. My head pounds, but I force myself out of bed anyway. I pop a couple ibuprofen and get on with The Steps.
Step 1.) Make my bed.
I make my bed with care even though I am still half asleep. In five minutes, my bed is made up as if someone happy and together sleeps there every night. Couldn't be further from the truth.
Step 2.) Water.
I drink the liter of water I start my day with like every other morning. It helps the headache.
If only Hunter could see me now. She would probably smirk and poke fun at me for being such a 'healthy bitch’. I smile. Since I'm still half asleep, it's like I can really hear her saying it.
Step 3.) Gratitude.
I am grateful for the water I just drank. I am grateful for the opportunity for another day. I am… What else? I pause, which is a mistake. The gratitude step is the one that nearly takes me out most mornings. It's a good step to follow. I'm glad that it's on the list. A lot of mornings, it reminds me how much I have to be grateful for, but many other mornings, like today, all I can think of is how much I wish Hunter were still alive.
I take a deep breath, refusing to let myself cry. If I start crying now, I will forgo the rest of the steps, and then I won't want to see how my day unfolds.
Before I adopted The Steps, I was a hot mess every morning. I would snooze on my alarm so many times I would lose count. Lots of days, I wouldn't get out of bed.
When I first lost Hunter, it was even worse. I lost my spot in our class because of it. I nearly failed three AP classes. It was the worst time in my life. I won't let myself go back to that again. No matter how much it hurts to keep moving.
I am grateful that her four-month anniversary has passed, I think to myself. Four months and a day should be easier than four months on the dot, right? I try to believe it, but a lump forms in my throat. As tears streak down my face, I get up and move to step four.
Step 4.) Get outside and exercise.
I lace up my shoes and shake the rest of the sleep out of my body as I get dressed in the outfit I laid out last night. Even though this means getting out of my comfortable room and facing the day, this is easier for me than the thoughts I had during Step 3.
My father smiles at me over the paper and raises his coffee mug at me as I walk through the house. I put all of my energy into sending a real smile back. He doesn't have his glasses on, and even if he did, he wouldn't mention my tear-stained face.
I pick Chris this morning as I head out the door. Every morning, I decide between Chris, Dawna, and Joli. Their individual podcasts are the only things I allow myself to listen to during Step 5.
Music from the past can lead to spiraling down. Trying to avoid songs because Hunter liked them or because we jammed out to them or used them for inspiration, even if it was only once, is too hard. So I stick to safe podcasts.
Chris's podcast is all about mental health. I see that he uploaded a new episode just a couple of hours ago.
This episode is called "What to do when you have a hard day grieving your loved one."
How fitting.
It's like the universe is laughing at me.
* * *
"Who wants to start off talking about how the last week went for them?" Cody asks. He tosses the purple ball up in his hands. He must have had too much coffee; he's never this revved up.
Angie, the newcomer who laughed at what Mara said last week, raises her hand. From the way she shyly raises her hand, I can tell she's not used to the spotlight either.
Cody tosses the ball, but Angie fumbles and the ball rolls off her lap onto the floor. The hopeful expression she had quickly disappears. Angie sinks back into her chair and wraps her huge black shawl around her shoulders.
Lucy, a girl who's been coming to Group for nearly as long as I have, snags the ball for her and tries to toss it back, but Angie shakes her beet-red face.
Lucy quickly saves the moment. "Last week was pretty rough for me, honestly," Lucy shares. Angie shoots her a grateful look.
"Why was last week difficult for you, Lucy?" Megan asks.
Both Cody and Megan are on the edge of their seats. From what I've gathered, Lucy and I are the two who have been coming to Group the longest. Both of us hardly ever talk. When we do, Megan and Cody perk up. I respect that in them. They actually want to help people instead of other counselors who are clearly just there for a paycheck.
"Last week, Thursday was supposed to be our eighth anniversary."
Lucy is just a couple of years older than me. From the few other times she's shared, she's in Group because her fiance was jumped and murdered eight months ago when he was out for a run. They had been together since middle school.
Out of all the other group members, Lucy's story resonates with me the most. Though a completely different relationship, Hunter had been in my life for most of it thus far. I had never imagined a world without her, and now, I was forced to navigate that, just like Lucy.
"Normally on our anniversaries, we would eat at McDonald's. We first did that for our one year in the seventh grade." Lucy smiles. "It was all we could afford at the time. Not many jobs for a seventh-grader."
A couple of people chuckle with her, and it makes me remember what seventh grade was like with Hunter. It was a completely different world back then. We were so much more carefree. What other people said mattered, but not as much. We could hang out every weekend without jobs, school, and boys getting in the way.
I miss those days.
* * *
I head out into the lobby of the library. As I walk through the heavy double doors, I remember who I met here last week. When I think of Theodore's face, it makes me feel all fluttery. Even though he's an ass, he's stupidly attractive. I feel extra stupid when I turn and look for him. He did say he had to come every week, and I didn't see him.
"Looking for someone?" a familiar voice asks behind me, practically materializing out of nowhere.
I gasp, and there Theo is. Sans the leather jacket. Instead, today he is sporting a plain but expensive-looking black t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair is still messy, but not as much, and he's not sporting a blunt, nor does he reek of alcohol. I curse the tingling that spreads throughout my stomach at the sight of him.
He clucks his tongue. "I didn't think you would be one to scare easy," he comments, eyeing me up and down.
The way his eyes linger over my body definitely does something I don't like to my insides, but I also don't shrink away from his gaze. It's not hungry, nor does it make me feel gross. It's like he's looking me over for anything he missed.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
His appearing behind me out of thin air has made my mind go blank. With the way he is standing in front of me now, I'm surprised I couldn't feel him before he announced himself. He has a very powerful, attention-commanding presence. Intimidating.
Theodore smirks, and one corner of his lips raises in a lopsided grin. "My stepfather makes me. Remember? We talked about that."
Ah. There it is.
The asshole.
Instead of responding, I turn to walk away.
"Hey, wait! Where are you going?"
Theodore reaches out and grabs my arm, and I freeze under his grip. He instantly loosens it but leaves his fingers wrapped around my arm. For some reason, I don't immediately shake him off. I don't say anything either. We both stare at each other, neither of us saying anything.
Just when I am about to say something, Cody appears over Theodore's shoulder. "He giving you any problems, Sophia?" he asks, glaring at Theo.
Theo rolls his eyes. This time instead of a smirk, he breaks out into a full-blown grin. Which only makes Cody's eyes narrow more.
"We're good," I blurt.
Cody's eyebrows raise, and Theo turns so that his grin is directed towards me. Perfect, straight white teeth. Of course.
"Are you sure? He's regularly here causing trouble."
Theo mockingly scoffs. "Me? Causing trouble? I think you've got the wrong person, Chase."
Cody's expression darkens. While his lips snarl, Theo's only spread into a wider grin. "It's Cody," he spits out.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I will definitely pencil that down for next time," Theo taunts.
"Why do you come if you're just going to be a nuisance and destroy property?"
Theo shrugs and chuckles. "Ask my stepfather. Now, if you'll excuse me, Sophia and I are in the middle of something."
Even though we are definitely not in the middle of something, I don't contradict him when Cody turns to me. He is still shooting daggers at Theo as he adjusts his messenger bag over his shoulder and heads out of the library. Theo doesn't back down from the stare.
"I should get going," I say, trying to move away.
Theo's grip tightens, but just slightly. For some reason, I don't object to that either. Something in the way he's looking at me makes me stay rooted there. Every part of my brain is screaming at me to go. Nothing good is going to come from hanging around him or waiting to hear about whatever's possessed him to hold me here. He's the same asshole from last week who spoke the way he did about Hunter.
"I want to walk with you," he says.
He seems genuine, which is even more confusing. "Why?"
"We started off on the wrong foot last week, and I want to get to know you more."
"Why?"
He smirks. If Hunter were here, she would slap me. Hunter would pull me to the side and lecture me about what a beautiful man Theo is and that I should take him up on his offer. And then give me a flirty, playful wink and tell me that it might lead to other types of offers later. The thought makes me miss her. I realize it's just another area of my life that I depended on Hunter so much.
Theo must be able to see my falling face because he loosens his grip on my arm. But, instead of breaking contact, he runs his fingertips around the spot his hand just held. It sends shivers down my spine and brings me back to the present moment. Not that that's much better.
"What are you thinking about?" Theo asks.
His eyes are serious and unwavering from mine, and for some reason, they compel me to be honest.
"Hunter."
"You want to walk and tell me about her?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"And why is that?"
"Because of what happened last week. I'm not really in a place where I can take on assholes right now."
"Well, then I won't be an asshole."
He says it so casually that it makes me grin. Theo smiles back. Though, a large part of me is not convinced. I'm sure that Theo is so used to getting what he wants, and for some reason, I'm that thing at the moment. He's probably just pursuing it because I'm not fawning all over him like he's used to.
Theo sees my hesitation. "Or, I could give you a ride, if you want?"
Palliative care.
That's what she's on. She gets the best accommodations to make her comfortable, manage her pain, but other than that, there's nothing they can do. She's battled cancer for the majority of my life, and now, she's losing.
As I round the corner, I see her before she can see me. She is sitting in her inflated chair. It's an electric chair that's hooked up to an air machine and shifts her weight every thirty minutes. Mom is so skinny these days that doctors are worried about her getting pressure injuries. They said one of those things could take months off the rest of her already short life span.
Mom's crocheting something. I can't tell what because she's hunched over her project. Her bald head is covered by a peach hat that she made herself. Her hands shake as she tries to loop the yarn over the hook.
When I was a kid, she would crochet at least three pieces a week. Every outfit I wore, at least some of it she made.
When I got to third grade, I stopped wearing her things. Eddie told Mom he wanted whatever she was going to make for me. It had made her so happy. Eddie was always so much better at making her happy. He was always her son. With him being gone, I've tried, but neither of us has to say aloud how much I don't stack up. We both know.
"Ah! Theodore!" Mom exclaims, catching me.
I come out from behind the corner and into her room. Most of the bookshelves are still here, but a couple of them were ripped from the wall to make room for her bed, which also hooks up to an arm machine and shifts Mom's weight. There's a small couch along the opposite way, a chair for Rosalyn, and her nursing supplies.
I hate how frail Mom feels when I wrap my arms around her gently for a hug. It seems like every day, she loses more weight. Gets closer and closer to the end.
"Oh, you can hug your mother harder than that!" Mom playfully scolds, tightening her grip.
I hug her as tight as I can without feeling like I'm going to crush her, and she seems pleased at that.
"What are you making?" I ask, sitting in the normal chair next to her.
Rosalyn must have just left because the small table in front of the chair is topped with homework. I bet James hasn't set foot in here in months.
He appears the doting husband to the public, but I know he's the furthest thing from the truth. He takes care of Mom the best that money can buy, but there's no love there. The first few years after Dad died and James came into the picture, they seemed happy and in love. But one day, all of that vanished. The man who had once been kind was replaced with a power-hungry, cruel man. Even as a young kid, I could see how it all fell apart after that.
"I'm making something for Rosalyn's baby. She'll be having a little girl at the end of July."
Mom smiles at the thought, but I can tell that we are both thinking the same unspoken thing.
If she makes it to the end of July.
I wonder about that. I've known for most of my life that my mother has a serious illness that's never going to go away. I've been there for various treatments and hopes that have left us with the same empty pit as before. Mom was always so optimistic, but after Eddie died, all of that disappeared. And she got sicker than ever before.
And now we're at the final stretch.
What happens if Mom can't finish the blanket for Rosalyn's baby? What happens if Mom can never crochet me anything ever again? They're such little, insignificant things to consider in the grand scheme of things, but right now, they're the most pressing things in my mind.
"Oh, Theodore, don't give me that look. None of that sad shit in here. Okay?"
I nod and try to remove any traces of 'sad' from my face.
"What have you been up to today?" Mom asks, clasping my hand.
Her hand is freezing. I envelop it in both of mine, even though I know that won't make a difference. Thousands of dollars spent on heated blankets, space heaters, and insulation haven't made a dent, so my hands surely won't. But I still do it. It's good to feel my mom. Feel that she's still here.
For now.
"Pretty much the same as any other day," I answer.
Mom clucks her tongue at me, and I prepare myself for another one of her lectures. If it were anyone else, I would cut them off and tell them I couldn't care less about their stupid fucking opinions, but I will always listen to whatever my mother has to tell me.
I'm soft with her. She melts the hard shell I present to the rest of the world, and I'm not ashamed of that. She's the only person left on Earth that I can let that wall down around.
"I thought you said you were going to start applying to colleges. You don't have much time, Theodore."
"I know," I murmur.
Neither do you.
We've had this talk countless times since Eddie died. Before he died, I was on track to go to school, had a pretty good scholarship too. But after Eddie died, I couldn't have cared less about any of those things. I still don't. The only things I care about now are spending as much time with Mom as possible before she dies, keeping myself together until I can get revenge, and drowning out as much as I can until the first two are finished.
"Eddie wouldn't have wanted this for you," Mom says. She tries to say it matter-of-factly, but her voice shakes at the end, which gives her away. We've avoided talking about the elephant in the room. Which actually would have been a giraffe because Eddie wasn't an elephant. He was long, tall, and lean, like a giraffe.
It's been a year.
A year without his knobby knees cracking when he walks into a room. A year without him groaning anytime he gets up because his skinny legs got tired seconds after he sat down. A year without guessing what color his hair would be when he came out of his room. A year without his infectious laugh that seemed like it did more than all of the expensive medicines and treatments Mom went through combined.
I think about what Mom said. I know he wouldn't have wanted it for me. No one would have guessed by looking at him that Edward Fitzgerald loved school and learning more than anything, but it was the truth. He was top of his class and got a full ride to Harvard right after submitting his early application. He went into college with a full semester under his belt because of all the AP courses he took in high school.
When I started my junior year of high school, he would grill me at least once a week on what I wanted to do and what I was going to major in. I know that if he could see me now, he would be majorly disappointed.
But he's not here anymore. So he doesn't get to make those types of calls for me anymore.
"How are you holding up today, Mom?" I ask, changing the subject.
She gives me a hard look, but the tears in her eyes give her away. I open my arms up again, and she sinks into me. The way she cries, I would bet that this is the first time today she's been able to get this out.
I would be lying if I said a couple of my own tears didn't fall onto her crocheted hat. I wonder if she could feel it through the fabric.
Probably not. My mom's rows are tight.
7
ONE WEEK LATER
SOPHIA
I wake up when my alarm goes off. My face feels puffy, and I press gently on the bags under my eyes. My head pounds, but I force myself out of bed anyway. I pop a couple ibuprofen and get on with The Steps.
Step 1.) Make my bed.
I make my bed with care even though I am still half asleep. In five minutes, my bed is made up as if someone happy and together sleeps there every night. Couldn't be further from the truth.
Step 2.) Water.
I drink the liter of water I start my day with like every other morning. It helps the headache.
If only Hunter could see me now. She would probably smirk and poke fun at me for being such a 'healthy bitch’. I smile. Since I'm still half asleep, it's like I can really hear her saying it.
Step 3.) Gratitude.
I am grateful for the water I just drank. I am grateful for the opportunity for another day. I am… What else? I pause, which is a mistake. The gratitude step is the one that nearly takes me out most mornings. It's a good step to follow. I'm glad that it's on the list. A lot of mornings, it reminds me how much I have to be grateful for, but many other mornings, like today, all I can think of is how much I wish Hunter were still alive.
I take a deep breath, refusing to let myself cry. If I start crying now, I will forgo the rest of the steps, and then I won't want to see how my day unfolds.
Before I adopted The Steps, I was a hot mess every morning. I would snooze on my alarm so many times I would lose count. Lots of days, I wouldn't get out of bed.
When I first lost Hunter, it was even worse. I lost my spot in our class because of it. I nearly failed three AP classes. It was the worst time in my life. I won't let myself go back to that again. No matter how much it hurts to keep moving.
I am grateful that her four-month anniversary has passed, I think to myself. Four months and a day should be easier than four months on the dot, right? I try to believe it, but a lump forms in my throat. As tears streak down my face, I get up and move to step four.
Step 4.) Get outside and exercise.
I lace up my shoes and shake the rest of the sleep out of my body as I get dressed in the outfit I laid out last night. Even though this means getting out of my comfortable room and facing the day, this is easier for me than the thoughts I had during Step 3.
My father smiles at me over the paper and raises his coffee mug at me as I walk through the house. I put all of my energy into sending a real smile back. He doesn't have his glasses on, and even if he did, he wouldn't mention my tear-stained face.
I pick Chris this morning as I head out the door. Every morning, I decide between Chris, Dawna, and Joli. Their individual podcasts are the only things I allow myself to listen to during Step 5.
Music from the past can lead to spiraling down. Trying to avoid songs because Hunter liked them or because we jammed out to them or used them for inspiration, even if it was only once, is too hard. So I stick to safe podcasts.
Chris's podcast is all about mental health. I see that he uploaded a new episode just a couple of hours ago.
This episode is called "What to do when you have a hard day grieving your loved one."
How fitting.
It's like the universe is laughing at me.
* * *
"Who wants to start off talking about how the last week went for them?" Cody asks. He tosses the purple ball up in his hands. He must have had too much coffee; he's never this revved up.
Angie, the newcomer who laughed at what Mara said last week, raises her hand. From the way she shyly raises her hand, I can tell she's not used to the spotlight either.
Cody tosses the ball, but Angie fumbles and the ball rolls off her lap onto the floor. The hopeful expression she had quickly disappears. Angie sinks back into her chair and wraps her huge black shawl around her shoulders.
Lucy, a girl who's been coming to Group for nearly as long as I have, snags the ball for her and tries to toss it back, but Angie shakes her beet-red face.
Lucy quickly saves the moment. "Last week was pretty rough for me, honestly," Lucy shares. Angie shoots her a grateful look.
"Why was last week difficult for you, Lucy?" Megan asks.
Both Cody and Megan are on the edge of their seats. From what I've gathered, Lucy and I are the two who have been coming to Group the longest. Both of us hardly ever talk. When we do, Megan and Cody perk up. I respect that in them. They actually want to help people instead of other counselors who are clearly just there for a paycheck.
"Last week, Thursday was supposed to be our eighth anniversary."
Lucy is just a couple of years older than me. From the few other times she's shared, she's in Group because her fiance was jumped and murdered eight months ago when he was out for a run. They had been together since middle school.
Out of all the other group members, Lucy's story resonates with me the most. Though a completely different relationship, Hunter had been in my life for most of it thus far. I had never imagined a world without her, and now, I was forced to navigate that, just like Lucy.
"Normally on our anniversaries, we would eat at McDonald's. We first did that for our one year in the seventh grade." Lucy smiles. "It was all we could afford at the time. Not many jobs for a seventh-grader."
A couple of people chuckle with her, and it makes me remember what seventh grade was like with Hunter. It was a completely different world back then. We were so much more carefree. What other people said mattered, but not as much. We could hang out every weekend without jobs, school, and boys getting in the way.
I miss those days.
* * *
I head out into the lobby of the library. As I walk through the heavy double doors, I remember who I met here last week. When I think of Theodore's face, it makes me feel all fluttery. Even though he's an ass, he's stupidly attractive. I feel extra stupid when I turn and look for him. He did say he had to come every week, and I didn't see him.
"Looking for someone?" a familiar voice asks behind me, practically materializing out of nowhere.
I gasp, and there Theo is. Sans the leather jacket. Instead, today he is sporting a plain but expensive-looking black t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair is still messy, but not as much, and he's not sporting a blunt, nor does he reek of alcohol. I curse the tingling that spreads throughout my stomach at the sight of him.
He clucks his tongue. "I didn't think you would be one to scare easy," he comments, eyeing me up and down.
The way his eyes linger over my body definitely does something I don't like to my insides, but I also don't shrink away from his gaze. It's not hungry, nor does it make me feel gross. It's like he's looking me over for anything he missed.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
His appearing behind me out of thin air has made my mind go blank. With the way he is standing in front of me now, I'm surprised I couldn't feel him before he announced himself. He has a very powerful, attention-commanding presence. Intimidating.
Theodore smirks, and one corner of his lips raises in a lopsided grin. "My stepfather makes me. Remember? We talked about that."
Ah. There it is.
The asshole.
Instead of responding, I turn to walk away.
"Hey, wait! Where are you going?"
Theodore reaches out and grabs my arm, and I freeze under his grip. He instantly loosens it but leaves his fingers wrapped around my arm. For some reason, I don't immediately shake him off. I don't say anything either. We both stare at each other, neither of us saying anything.
Just when I am about to say something, Cody appears over Theodore's shoulder. "He giving you any problems, Sophia?" he asks, glaring at Theo.
Theo rolls his eyes. This time instead of a smirk, he breaks out into a full-blown grin. Which only makes Cody's eyes narrow more.
"We're good," I blurt.
Cody's eyebrows raise, and Theo turns so that his grin is directed towards me. Perfect, straight white teeth. Of course.
"Are you sure? He's regularly here causing trouble."
Theo mockingly scoffs. "Me? Causing trouble? I think you've got the wrong person, Chase."
Cody's expression darkens. While his lips snarl, Theo's only spread into a wider grin. "It's Cody," he spits out.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I will definitely pencil that down for next time," Theo taunts.
"Why do you come if you're just going to be a nuisance and destroy property?"
Theo shrugs and chuckles. "Ask my stepfather. Now, if you'll excuse me, Sophia and I are in the middle of something."
Even though we are definitely not in the middle of something, I don't contradict him when Cody turns to me. He is still shooting daggers at Theo as he adjusts his messenger bag over his shoulder and heads out of the library. Theo doesn't back down from the stare.
"I should get going," I say, trying to move away.
Theo's grip tightens, but just slightly. For some reason, I don't object to that either. Something in the way he's looking at me makes me stay rooted there. Every part of my brain is screaming at me to go. Nothing good is going to come from hanging around him or waiting to hear about whatever's possessed him to hold me here. He's the same asshole from last week who spoke the way he did about Hunter.
"I want to walk with you," he says.
He seems genuine, which is even more confusing. "Why?"
"We started off on the wrong foot last week, and I want to get to know you more."
"Why?"
He smirks. If Hunter were here, she would slap me. Hunter would pull me to the side and lecture me about what a beautiful man Theo is and that I should take him up on his offer. And then give me a flirty, playful wink and tell me that it might lead to other types of offers later. The thought makes me miss her. I realize it's just another area of my life that I depended on Hunter so much.
Theo must be able to see my falling face because he loosens his grip on my arm. But, instead of breaking contact, he runs his fingertips around the spot his hand just held. It sends shivers down my spine and brings me back to the present moment. Not that that's much better.
"What are you thinking about?" Theo asks.
His eyes are serious and unwavering from mine, and for some reason, they compel me to be honest.
"Hunter."
"You want to walk and tell me about her?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"And why is that?"
"Because of what happened last week. I'm not really in a place where I can take on assholes right now."
"Well, then I won't be an asshole."
He says it so casually that it makes me grin. Theo smiles back. Though, a large part of me is not convinced. I'm sure that Theo is so used to getting what he wants, and for some reason, I'm that thing at the moment. He's probably just pursuing it because I'm not fawning all over him like he's used to.
Theo sees my hesitation. "Or, I could give you a ride, if you want?"
