Thorns

16 - Whitney

"I never thought you were actually... amusin'."

"Amusing?"

"Yeah... You know... it's nice... talkin' to you, and all" He said, shuffling in his seat.

"Is it? And you thought it wouldn't be?" I smiled, thinking that I found quite amusing that he seemed nervous.

"You're a rich, good lookin' cheerleader." He said, laughing "How could I expect you'd actually be a normal girl?"

"Gee. Thanks." I grumbled, "That's racist, you know?"

"No. It's prejudice" He amended me, and actually had the nerve to wink.

"I know what it is!" I snapped "So, now you see I'm very common and ordinary. What now?"

"You're not ordinary" He assured me, and I felt my belly tight.

Damn it... Why do cute guys make girls feel like that? It should be forbidden for a guy to have that cocky grin and to make me feel this stupid.

"I think you're actually special. I mean" He quickly added, like he was embarrassed, or something "you're different. And different is good."

"Oh...?"

"Look... I got it all wrong, ok? I know when to admit I'm wrong." He assured, looking straight at me like he didn't want me to get it wrong "I just thought your family... Well... that you were... weird. Sorry, but gay couple is just... Yeah..." He sighed and shoved one of his long hands through his hair "Look. I'm sorry, ok? I'm really sorry about... the all writing on your house and that shit. I didn't think you were actually a normal person, and-"

"Writing in my house?" I interrupted, frowning "What do you mean, writing in my house?"

"You know... Those words..." He said, looking cautious.

"The words." I repeated, and when he nodded I couldn't help to let out a shaky laugh "The words... What about the phone calls in the middle of the night? The threats? What about throwing rocks at our windows? What about making my family feeling shitty and scared?!"

My voice went up, and people were staring, now. Like I cared.

"I said I was sorry," He said, sighing.

"Sorry? You're sorry." I repeated, and he frowned "Do you have any idea what we've been through? Do you have any fucking clue – or is it too hard for your little brain to wrap it around – how many times I heard my Daddy cry himself to sleep? Do you know how many times my sister got so stressed out that it made her sick? Do you have any God damn clue of how low, how repulsive and degrading that is?"

He kept his mouth shut, and I could see his fists tight over the white linen towel.

"You're disgusting." I grumbled, opening my purse and tossing a bunch of dollars over the table; he wasn't paying for my dinner "It makes me sick."

***

"Hey, Bumblebee."

"Hi, Daddy" I sighed when I walked into the kitchen; he was doing the dishes.

"You're home early. Bad date?"

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Ouch. That bad?" He asked, wincing.

"Just glad it's over and done with it." I sighed, holding on to the counter so I could get my heels off "What's for dinner?"

"You didn't eat?" He asked, opening the big stainless fridge.

"Not enough."

He took some food to a plate and warmed it on the black microwave over the counter.

"Bon appetit!"

"Can we just stick to English, please?" I moaned and chewed on a wonderful mashed potato and lean fish.

"Wow. What's up with you? Do I have to hunt down some guy and neuter him?" Daddy asked, his green sweet eyes turning so small that I actually shivered.

"No, Daddy." I assured him, grabbing a sip of water "It's fine. He was just... boring."

"Well, you'll have better dates." He assured me, kissing my forehead "Now, you're gonna study or read?"

"Just calling Portia, first."

"Of course." He smiled, as he grabbed my dish and put it in the stainless dishwasher "Just don't forget your midnight snack."

"Won't" I assured him, as I went up the white stairs, sighing.

When Portia heard about my date, she called Rai so many names that I actually thought I had been easy on him. In the end, we were both glad it was over.

But, now that I think about it, alone, over my big sea foam bed, I understood I actually didn't hold up to my part of the bargain, did I?

"Oh, shit" I whispered, quickly sitting straight in my bed.

I still had my dress on.

"He's not gonna tell." I assured myself, in front of the blue bathroom mirror "He's not. Look, here's a whole bunch of reasons why he won't tell. Number one: I would kill him. Number two: Darren and the football guys would make him a quadriplegic. Number three: Dad and Daddy would tight him in the garage and torture him. For decades."

So, he's not stupid. Not by a long shot. He won't babble.

"I'm almost sure of it..." I whispered to myself, knowing fully well I would be checking every single social media app on my phone for Rai Vega's posts.