The Ripmender

Chapter 9

I stared up at the shifting patterns of sunlight in the tree branches above me. All those years of hoping that Nathan would miraculously ask me out, and now it was just a bitter disappointment. So much for thinking that if I had him in my life, my life would be perfect.

I was still thinking mournfully about my shattered dreams when we walked back to our res. I didn't notice that the other girls had stopped suddenly, until I bashed into the back of Aldytha.

"What?" I gasped, rubbing my nose.

"Cathy ... " Aldytha turned and gave me a wide-eyed look.

"Freaky," whispered Tenley.

He was wearing a black suit and dark glasses, and looked just like the bad guys from The Matrix.

"You, talk," he said, motioning behind him.

My organs jerked in a panic-filled spasm. The Matrix guy was Nathan's scary bodyguard. I didn't think that my body could survive many more jolts of fright; they seemed to be coming thick and fast the last day or so.

"I'd rather not," I said firmly.

I could see Nathan in the distance, and could guess what I was being told to do.

The bodyguard fixed his black stare on me. "You go," he said. "Or else."

I swallowed, and wished I could press a rewind button, and choose to draw anything but that blasted tree.

"You have to tell him about your boyfriend," Aldytha said.

"He wants to ask you out. You can't just leave him hanging without telling him why," Tenley said. Her voice was filled with compassion.

Of course, my behaviour would look cruel and cold-hearted to them.

Just when I thought my plan had been so clever ... I would have to pretend as if I was having some sort of conversation with him, or my new friends might decide that they didn't like me, and I would be left unprotected.

"Okay," I said. "But I'll talk to him right here. Please stay nearby."

They teased me, but promised to remain close. The bodyguard stood aside, and I walked slowly towards Nathan, every step increasing my dread. Only the thought that my friends were within eyeshot made me go through with it.

He was leaning against the outside fence, looking like any poster I had ever seen of him. Muscular torso. Broad shoulders, tight jeans. Oh my gosh, his hair was gorgeous. And his eyes.

Focus, Cathy, damnit!

"What is it?" I snapped, as I stood in front of him.

"We need to go somewhere private," he said in an undertone.

"So you can try to kill me again? No thank you," I said.

Didn't he realise that I had grown up on CSI, NCIS, Law and Order and Without a Trace? Surely Americans knew that South Africans watched the same shows they did, even if we were a bit behind.

He glanced around to see if anyone was in earshot.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"Then what was that purple flame thrower you turned on me yesterday?" I asked, my voice getting a little louder.

"Shh ..." he said, looking around again. "You have to keep your voice down. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I was trying to make you forget that you saw me."

"Oh, so I wouldn't go and blab to everyone about your drug habit," I said. "Mr Clean needs to go to rehab."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.