The Great Pretender

25: Heartbreak Hotel

Was it possible that she felt a little short of similar to the day she'd woken up after crying herself to sleep over Len? She couldn't believe that idiot boy still had that much of an effect on her. Cherish's body was stiff and sore as she found herself still curled into Delia's lap. The poor girl had fallen asleep hunched over her shoulder.

Cherish carefully wiggled out of Delia's lap, making sure to rearrange her friend more comfortably. She looked at her friend's sleeping face and wondered when she'd gotten so strong and how she had managed to miss it. In essence, Delia was right; she would have to face this. But she couldn't see herself ever actually dealing with it.

That required a whole different set of balls. Ones that idiot had conveniently stolen when he had attacked her.

How would she deal with it? How could she confront and dispel something that she couldn't even bring herself to think of. She recalled the paralyzing grief she'd been overcome with when she thought that Seven was going to ask her about the scratched out head in the picture. She was suffocating at just the threat of it being mentioned, overcoming it seemed like something she'd never be able to do.

And then there was Seven. She was dealing with all of this because of him. Delia had mentioned something about avoidance. Despite her indignant protests the night before, Cherish knew it was true. But... How could she let herself trust someone who would undoubtedly let her down in some way she couldn't even think up yet?

Hugging her knees to her chest she tried to rationalize the dealing with of her issues.

First, she'd been right. Guys only wanted one thing. Seven got her alone and look what had happened. His hand was on her butt for crying out loud! Okay, in light of what had been happening, it was normal for him to assume it was okay. And she had actually wanted and liked all the kissing, but she was clearly not to be trusted. Clearly. You do not let years of resolve melt away because some sexy boy sings to you. No matter what the song. No matter how sexy the boy.

Then there was the fact that, because of Ari, all her friends now knew her deepest and darkest secret, the real one, not the stupid answer you give to truth or dare questions. Cherish had no idea how to manoeuver the situation. Ian couldn't be blamed for the mess; he clearly thought he'd been helping his two friends. The rest of them, well, she didn't think any of them had a hand in Ari's scheme, nor could they be blamed for the repercussions if they had. They would have had no clue.

Ari was the only one accountable, and therefore the only one Cherish could avoid out of anger. She couldn't very well avoid the rest of them just because they knew. And no matter how much she'd like to, she could not avoid them just because of Seven.

Seven... now him, she could avoid out of embarrassment, and shame, and fear, and... well, any excuse would be relevant. Maybe she could claim she was drunk.

In a pair of Quentin's old jeans and Seven's jacket, Cherish crept down the stairs. She froze when she saw all her friends, and her now excommunicated sister, sleeping all over the living room. Juss and Allie were on the couch and Ian was tossing uncomfortably on the recliner, muttering and growling through his not so peaceful dreams. Across the room, Ari's head rested on the dining table and her hair a terrible mess.

But it was not any of them that glued her feet in place so suddenly. It was Seven, sitting against the wall and facing her where she stood in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. One leg was tucked into his body, an arm resting heavily on it, with the weight on his head in his hand. His eyes were closed, but resting on his outstretched leg, the curiously bruised fingers of his other hand were clenching and unclenching.