Just a Dare

Chapter Three

I narrowed my eyes in determination at the obstacle before me.

Stairs.

I was going to get up to that roof even if I had to drag myself up there on my hands and knees-cast, crutches, and all. I would not allow such a trivial thing as stairs hamper my task. After all, I knew that just up those stairs was Scribner, and there was no turning back now.

So, one step at a time-one slow, painstaking step that would've been a hell of a lot easier to make if I didn't have a cast and crutches holding me back-I made my way up those Godforsaken stairs. Forget the fact that it was at a snail's pace (which was just less than a crawl, really)-when I reached the top, I celebrated because I had done it. I had really just fucking climbed those stairs.

Hell to the yeah I did that.

And no, I was not going to ruin the moment by reminding myself that eventually, I would have to go right back down them.

But as I stood in front of the door, my victory was slowly overcome by the protective blanket of silence wrapped around me. I relished in it, knowing full well that as soon as I stepped through that wooden door in front of me, it would be roughly snatched away.

At the top of the stairs, I was safe. I was sure of myself. But as soon as I went out there, into the warm spring air and gentle breeze, there was the very real possibility that it could all be wrenched away from me. And then I'd be figuratively naked, even slightly vulnerable.

Scribner, as infuriating as she was, had that effect on a person. She could peel away the layers and layers that surrounded your true self with one look. It was one quality about her that constantly kept me on alert around her, because as stupidly good of a person as she was, I didn't trust her. I didn't trust anyone, and frankly, life was just better that way. The less people you let in, the less people you could hurt or could hurt you.

Trust was a weakness, and I despised it for that.

I hesitated as I reached for the door handle, glancing over my shoulder and saw the bottom of the stairwell below me. If I left before opening the door, I could still save my sorry ass before I did something rash, like say something else to Scribner that sent her even more over the edge.

But I knew the truth.

The disturbing image of her watery eyes from that morning needed to be addressed. I had to see her acting like her usual annoying, bitchy self. Not only that, but I had to talk to her to see to it that she got back to class, at least.

For the bet, of course.

That was the driving force behind my actions; the fact that this-all of it-was for the bet. I didn't actually give a damn about whether or not she was okay, because that had to do with feelings, and feelings were yet another weakness. But I guess that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, since I had grown too numb to feel any emotion. I had become a skilled actor when it came to portraying emotions that I didn't feel, but I had locked away anything that could be used against me three years ago.

That granted me with the assurance I needed to go through with what I was about to do, so I took a deep breath and grasped the cool metal handle, turning it slowly. The door clicked softly, and I pulled it open.

I was greeted by a lazy gust of wind, its warm tendrils caressing my face as it blew past me. The sun was hidden behind plump white clouds, its golden rays peeking through them. The sky was a glorious shade of azure, clouds scattered across it in such a random way that it looked like a kindergartener had gone crazy at craft time with the glue and cotton balls. It was beautiful in its own way.