Shut Up And Kiss Me (gxg)

16. F*ck School

        STUDYING WITH MONROE WASN'T so bad―at least, for the first twenty minutes.

        On Monday before school, Monroe and I met in the library again. This time, I'd declined her offer to drive me, even though it meant taking the bus.

        I'd met her at a table behind a stack of books, and side by side, reading A Farewell To Arms by Ernest Hemingway was actually going well.

        Until she looked at my face.

        Yesterday, I'd woken up to see navy bruises on the side of my jaw. The homeless man must have gripped my face harder than I'd thought. And although I put on makeup, from up close . . . the mark was undeniable.

        Which was why I'd pretty much been ignoring Cody and Skylar the whole weekend.

        But now, as Monroe's eyes slid to me, I realized we were so close―too close. She could see what the foundation couldn't hide: the splotch of a blue-black bruise, shaped like a fingerprint.

        Within a second, she shut the book.

        And her fingertips were so light, so gentle, as she tilted my face towards the light. I don't know why I let her, but I doubt I could have stopped her anyway.

       Twenty minutes. It had been going along just fine.

       Monroe's green eyes darkened to the colour of the Mediterranean. "Who did this to you," she breathed.

       Not a question.

       "Nobody!" I snapped. Too loudly. 

       From somewhere behind the shelves, I heard the librarian give us a warning. But I barely registered it, barely even noticed.

       "Who did this to you," she repeated. Her voice was cold and dark and merciless.

       "I fell. Down the stairs. Clumsy, right? Come on, let's keep reading A Farewell To Arms."  I opened up the book to a random page.

        Monroe closed it and said, "Tell me who did this to you, Talia."

        I let out a breath. "You can't just―go around hurting people. You know what that makes you? A psychopath. Are you a psychopath?"

       Judging from what I'd seen―the two fights in shadowed parts of the city―she might have been.

       But it didn't look that way now. Not as heaven and hell burned like twin flames in her green eyes. Not as something in her expression hardened into barely concealed fury.

       "Let's just keep studying," I urged, opening the book again.

       This time, she slammed it shut and pushed it out of my reach.

       "Not until you tell me who hurt you."

       "Why? It's not like there's anything you can do about it."

       I swore I heard her say, "Try me,"  under her breath. But I might have been imagining it, because all she asked was, "Who?"

       It was stupid to just keep resisting. Besides, what could she do about it anyway? If she hated me as much as I hated her, maybe she'd even give the guy a pat on the back.

       "Aaron and everyone, we all went downtown Friday," I said. "I went walking alone for a little. Some homeless man and his friends grabbed me. All he did was put my hand on my face―" I made the motion, covering my mouth with my palm just like he'd done. "And that's it. Not a big deal."