2.3 | Notorious ✓

10 | envious

1 0

e n v i o u s

The afternoon sun was scorching, while the light breeze cooled my cheeks, it did nothing to soothe the heat that beat down on us relentlessly. But it wasn't the weather, or the bunch of kids talking far too loudly in the corner of the parking lot that caught my eye.

It was the two boys deep in conversation that did. It was merely a cursory glance I threw in their direction, but my heart clenched at the sight of it - Greg saying something to Callum and laughing raucously, the latter simply nodding, his face expressionless.

Unconsciously, my steps slowed, and I glanced at them again. I wondered if he felt the same way I did; lost, confused, a feeling of entrapment so strong it was almost crushing. Perhaps I stopped to stare for a moment too long, for Callum glanced up abruptly, as if he had felt a pair of eyes on him.

Our gazes interlocked - and I felt like if gazes could be measured in distance and time, he was the starting point, I was miles away; he was a single millisecond, and I was infinite. Thus was the unspeakable width and depth and breadth of the void that separated us, in which lay nothing but oblivion.

Feeling a rush of embarrassment as he'd caught me staring, I hastened to my car. But I heard footsteps behind me, fast, swift ones that trailed in my wake and closed the distance between us. Before I knew it, his fingers were sliding across the skin on my wrist, and he gently pulled me to a halt.

"Scout."

I stilled. The warmth of his hand seeped into my skin, his touch both alluring and - as I had come to know - dangerous.

"What happened?"

His words surprised me, and I turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. Over his shoulder, I saw Greg leaning against his car, a lazy smile on his face and one hand up in a mock salute as he watched us. Even though Greg and I stood on different ends of the spectrum, there was no doubt that he still found me, found us - Callum and I - amusing.

I returned my attention to Callum, who wore an expression that was an odd mix of worry and hesitance.

"What do you mean?" I asked, flatly.

"Your expression's a dead giveaway."

I was beyond surprised - in fact, I was rendered speechless by his words, because how had he known, how had he seen? My encounter with Marcel and her friends earlier that day had shaken me more than I liked to admit, yet no one had observed it, no one - not even Greg or Henry, both of whom I had lessons with - had seen it, but him.

I felt like I could fall apart in his arms. I was fragile, you see, weak, not strong like the others. Words hurt me more than actions ever could, and Marcel's words about my parents had hurt in a place where no physical abuse ever could.

And just as the urge to fall apart came, Alexia's words also came to mind. It was not a light-bulb moment, one that enlightened me, but it was a moment of understanding, of finally realising what I needed to be.

So I said, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

His eyebrows furrowed, and as he slid his fingers up my arm, I couldn't help but flinch. Not at his touch, but at the contact his skin made with the scratch marks Marcel had left behind. His eyes widened, and he glanced down. "What the hell is this?"

"That's irrelevant."

His eyes narrowed. "This isn't funny, I swear if I find out - "

"You won't."