Two Sinners Make a Right {+18}

8. Broken Inside

Enjoy! 

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     I walked into English the next day, not knowing what to expect from Easton. I still wasn't entirely sure why he did what he did last night. Yeah, he'd scared the shit out of me, but the intention behind it was good. And he'd followed me home as if to make sure I got there safe.

     When I saw Easton already seated, I froze. He was wearing a navy t-shirt and fitted jeans, and he looked so good. His usual chain sat around his neck and his bare arms let me see his tattoos fully and allowing for me to fully appreciate how good they look.

     His eyes met mine when I lifted my gaze, and I saw concern there, taking me by surprise. He was probably wondering if I was still pissed at him because of last night. Maybe I was.

     I didn't say a word as I took my usual seat by the window. Usually, if he showed up first, he'd deliberately sit here, but today it was like he knew I needed to sit here, to look out the window and forget the classroom for a while. It was small, but I appreciated it.

     I thought he hated me but now I wasn't so sure.

     "Why are you doing this?" I asked out of nowhere.

     Easton arched a brow at me. "Why am I doing what?"

     "Treating me like a person all of a sudden?"

     His eyes flashed at that, and then he pretended he didn't know what I was talking about. "You're being delusional."

     "Easton, I'm being serious. Why the change?" I wanted him to be honest, and I hated feeling like he hated me all the time. I'd done nothing wrong.

     He exhaled a sharp, long breath and looked at me. "Because when I looked into your eyes yesterday, it was like looking into a mirror."

     "What do you mean?"

     He looked away, gathering the right words, and then his eyes were on me, and it was the most vulnerable look I'd ever seen. "You looked broken. The kind of broken most people don't see."

     I didn't confirm it, but I didn't deny it either.

     He was right, though; I was broken. Why was he?

     The class continued, but we didn't say anything else. There was this silent understanding between us that neither of us wanted to explain what made us so broken. I was curious, but a classroom wasn't the place to ask someone those kinds of questions.

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     I walked across the footpath to Nick's front door and knocked twice. It was five in the afternoon, and I had changed into some comfy joggers and a matching grey jumper, choosing comfort to do our project in.

     Nick opened the door with a big smile on his face. "Please tell me you are feeling better today."

     Now that I had a clear head, I felt guilty about how I treated him at lunch yesterday. "I'm fine. Sorry for being so distant yesterday. I—"

     "You don't need to explain. Everyone has days like that."

     I wanted to disagree because I hadn't met anyone else who shared the same fears and triggers as me, but I went with an easy smile Instead. I handed him a coffee and a brown paper bag. "I got you a treat to say sorry."