Handling the Harling Boys

Fit For a Queen *5*

If it weren't for the buzz I felt every time I got even a little close to Jackson, I would want nothing to do with him. He wasn't like the other boys. Mainly Grayson. Grayson's sweet and romantic. He loves to show you he cares. Jackson on the other hand was a bipolar jackass who was so egotistical he couldn't even tell when you wanted him to leave you alone. He thought everyone wanted him and that he was irresistible. At least that's what I got out of his actions.

"Bae. Are you ok?" he whispers, circling my back with his fingers.

"I'm fine. You know, I'm just crying because it's fun. You should try it sometime." I really hated it when people asked you if you were OK when you are clearly crying. Obviously you're not. Not at all.

"You don't have to be sarcastic with me. I'm just asking. I want to help." He says, pressing his fingers harder and making smaller circles on my lower back. He makes me shiver involuntarily. He wants to help? What does he want? Does he want to pitty me? Does he think that if he pretends to listen to what I have to say that I'll have sex with him? Does he think I'm easy because I'm broken. Because I lost everything that I loved. Because I lost my home, my family, my friends, and everything I once called home. Is that it? He's just like the rest of them.

"I don't think you do," I hiss sitting up. "In fact, I think you're lying. Don't play that game with me. You won't win. Don't touch me ever again." I can hear myself. I sound vicious. "Don't even look at me." His eyes look sad for a moment, then anger ripples through them.

"Fine. Then get out of my house. You don't belong here anyway girl." He spits. Get out? Into the rain. Into the thunder and lightning?

"Fine!" I scream and run down the stair. The door swings open before me. Did I open it? It slams against the wall and I stalk out. The minute I walk out from underneath the porch awning I regret it. I am chilled to the bone in seconds. My clothes are soaked. I look back at the warmth of the house. Of the home. Jackson smirks at me in the doorway and shuts the door. I imagine I can hear the deadbolt.

"What the hell!?" I scream, looking up at the sky. My face stings and I look at the ground. It's coming down in hard sheets. It could be hailing and I wouldn't notice the difference.

"I hate him." I mumble. Then I turn back towards the house before setting out to the much larger one. Full of people who I wouldn't mind loving me. Full of people I wouldn't mind hating.

* * *

I'm probably walking aimlessly for two hours in the garden. I have no clue where I am going. At one point it hurt to walk, it hurt to clench my fists. Now I'm just numb all over. If I'm still shivering I don't notice. My teeth chatter, but I only hear it faintly. As if it is a ghost sound. I'm almost positive my fingers are a blueish-gray and look dead. Only it might be my mind playing tricks on me. The rain lets up and I finally see the entrance of the Garden, next to the golf cart we drove here. I get in and turn the keys he had left in the ignition. How lucky am I?

Apparently not that lucky, because the engine wont turn over. Which confuses me for a minute, because aren't golf carts electric? Then I realize, this isn't a regular golf carts. No. This is one of those off-road vehicles. The one's that run on gas. I keep turning the key, but all I get out of the engine is low gurgling sounds. I have to walk. I have to walk all the way back to the house. I try one last time at the key. The engine sputters...then starts! Without even thinking I press my foot to the floor and turn in a half circle. I go strait for the house at sixty miles an hour, something a golf cart could never do.

I look at my fingers gripping the wheel. They are white and blue and gray. I don't feel them. I don't feel anything really. All my extremities are numb with the coldness that seeps through my clothes. The rain, driven by the wind, whips me in the face. I keep my head up and my eyes trained on the house. I'm so focused that I don't notice the mud I'm about to run into. So focused in fact, I don't notice I'm still four miles from the house.