Lilac's Lies

8

I sighed in frustration when I recognized the voice. It was unmistakable, his deep voice. The way it rang out into the night, clear and calm.

He just had to be here. Just like he had to be the owner of the car that Clara crashed her car into, just like he had to be the one who I ran into on Saturday night. Why was he everywhere, when he used to be nowhere?

He shouldn't have interrupted us. Now instead of me trying to quietly pacify Jesse, which I knew I could do, even if I received a couple of bruises in the process, there was going to a fight. Maybe not physically, if Roman was lucky, but Jesse knew how to fight with his words better than anyone I've ever known.

Jesse also didn't hesitate in throwing punches, especially when it came to guys who tried to talk to me. I've witnessed it more times than I could count. He said he was protective of me, but it was just jealous. A nasty, poisonous jealousy. Jesse was pretty big, and even though Roman was taller, I bet he didn't have the anger issues that Jesse did.

I didn't turn to face him, judging by the sound of his voice, he was standing right behind us. Jesse's eyes travelled over my shoulder, and I instantly recognized the look of anger that crossed his features. His eyes had already been dark, but now they were pitch black. Like in the darkness of the night in the middle of the forest, no hint of any brightness. Black, and freezing cold.

"Lilac?" Jesse spat out at Roman, his eyes returning back to my face so he could give me a look of suspicion. It was a look that caused a pit of dread to form in my stomach. "That's not her name."

It should have surprised me that my boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, of many months had forgotten what my actual name was. It should have surprised me; trust me, I realize that. It didn't. It didn't surprise me at all.

Jesse put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to turn around so I was facing Roman. He was standing a few feet away, and I was once again taken by surprise by just how good he looked.

He had changed from the clothes he was wearing earlier, and he wasn't wearing the leather jacket that I had begun to associate him with. Roman was wearing a black hoodie instead, with black jeans and a black beanie over his dark hair. It was so much black, and for a second, I wondered why. Why was he wearing all black? Was it his favorite color? It would be sad if black was his favorite color.

Those blue eyes that I had remembered so well were laser focused on me. I couldn't read his expression, just like I couldn't read it the other times we had met. He looked serious, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips tensed, like he was trying to prevent them from displaying a scowl. There was emotion in his eyes, though. It looked like he was concerned for me,  and I couldn't figure out why he would care. He didn't know me, so why would he?

I could see Samuel behind him, leaning back against a different car than Clara had hit earlier, this one was white and sleek. It looked brand new. He was gazing over at us, a lit cigarette in one of his hands, and the other hand in his pocket. Samuel looked like he was waiting to see whether he needed to join Roman in his interruption, like he was waiting for a call for backup.

I wondered whose car he was leaning on. I wondered if it was Samuel's, or someone else's. Did they come here alone, or did they come here with other people? I wondered if they had a large group of friends. I wondered if they had girlfriends, and they came here to do the same thing that Brett and Jesse had intended to do. Show them off to all of our classmates, parade them around like they were for show. I wondered if they were the type of boys to do that. I wondered how they treated their girlfriends, if they had them.

And then, I wondered why I was wondering about them so much.

While all these questions were bouncing around my head, Jesse's voice infiltrated my eardrums. I hadn't realized that while I was standing here, eyes glazed over while I was deep inside my thoughts, it had gone quiet in my head again. I blinked a couple of times, trying to focus back on the words that were being exchanged.