<only you>
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"You weren't replying my texts, my calls, heck, I even dropped by your house but you weren't there. Are you avoiding me, Cleo?" Brent asked, his fast pace matching mine.
"What?" I glanced at him. "No."
"Is it because I told you I had feelings for you?"
Abruptly, I stopped and almost immediately, he did too.
"I just need you to come with me, okay?" I said, looking at him. "Please. No more questions. And no, it's not because you told me you had feelings for me. Besides, that's in the past. Neither am I avoiding you."
His green eyes held mine in brief uncertainty before, finally, he sighed, his shoulders going slack. "Okay."
I made to turn away from him when, suddenly, he gripped my upper arm, stopping me.
"Hold on a sec," he said, his eyes fixed on my face, a mild frown pulling his eyebrows together.
"What are you—"
"Your eye." He tapped his right eye, letting go of my arm. "It's pink. Bruised. Did you get punched or something?"
For a moment, I stared at him, my lips pursed, and then, without hesitation, I answered. "Yes."
At once, his eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding, right?"
"What if I wasn't?"
"So, you're not then." He stated.
I exhaled and turned away from him. "Let's just get to the homeroom first. I'll explain everything to you then."
I resumed walking. "Mikayla's already waiting for us."
"Mikayla?" he asked, falling into step with me.
I nodded, weaving my way through the throng of students in the hallway.
"Shit couldn't get any weirder." I heard him mumble as we approached the homeroom.
Trust me, it couldn't.
Stepping up to the door and twisting the handle, I pushed it open and walked in, Brent following closely behind me.
Seated on the chair closest to the window at the left of the class and in front, silently observing her nail polish, was Mikayla. As soon as she heard the door close, she looked up, her brown eyes going bright on meeting mine, before averting to a confused look on noting Brent's presence.
At once, she stood up, walked around the table and came over to me. Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around my neck in the tightest bear hug I'd ever had. And, although it made me breathless, I loved it. Wallowed the feeling of calm that came with it, because here I was, about to tell my biggest secret to two entirely different people other than me. It wasn't just a big deal. It was colossal.
"I missed you, Cleo," she murmured, her arms still around me, face buried in the crook of my shoulder.
"It's been only three days," I laughed. "But I missed you too."
"Three years, you mean, 'cause that's what it felt like to me," she breathed, stepping back from me and moving her gaze to Brent.
"Hi, Brent," she said with a smile.
"Hi." He returned her smile with a quick one. "Do you have any idea why she asked us both to be here? At this very time? When I should be doing some other stuff like, oh, I don't know, makeup tests?"
I rolled my eyes. "Quit being dramatic, Brent."
"Don't call me—"
"I chose this time because it's the only time Mrs Wiles leaves the homeroom to see her husband, Mr Wiles."
"Mr Wiles?" Mikayla's eyebrow rose up.
"Chemistry teacher," Brent told her.
Mikayla was in the arts, like me, so I wasn't surprised she didn't know Mr Wiles. Hell, I wouldn't have if I hadn't met him in homeroom earlier this term.
"Well," Brent said, sauntering over to a desk and perching on top of it, his arms crossed, eyes trained on me. "What did you want to explain to us, Cleo?"
My gaze darted to Mikayla. She'd gone back to her seat, staring at me with expectant eyes.
This was it. I was doing it. No going back now. Yep, too late.
Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I started. "It'd seem weird if I went MIA for two . . . three days, and all of a sudden, I show up and tell you I just came back from attending my grandma's burial, which wouldn't be true 'cause my grandma died years ago. Crap, I'm going off."
I paused. Recollected my thoughts for a second before starting over.
"What I'm trying to say is, I have a reason for my sudden absence. A real reason. Also, there's something I've been hiding. Keeping from you both."
I moved my gaze to Mikayla. "Mostly you, Kayla."
"Me?" Her right eyebrow rose up.
I nodded. "Yeah. Two years ago, my mom left us, her family, for two reasons. One, she'd found another man, and two, she couldn't stand my father anymore . . ."
I told them of how slowly but surely, my father changed from the relatively bearable father Dante and I were familiar with to a completely different personality. Told them of how he'd started drinking heavily. Of the first night he beat us up, Dante and I, with his belt, and how he was probably the cause of Dante's last convulsion that led to his untimely death. Told them of the last encounter with my father before he died, how Stephen had helped me out, and how I'd been staying at his place ever since.
When I was through, the silence that ensued lasted for nearly a minute.
"Jesus," Brent said finally, uncrossing his arms and getting off the desk. "This is sick. He's the one that did that to you?
He nodded toward my face, at my right eye.
"Yeah," I replied.
"You could've said something to me, Cleo. You didn't have to carry all that on your own," Mikayla said, standing up, her expression a blend of hurt, surprise and empathy.
Quickly, I walked over to stand in front of her. "Believe me, I know. Regardless of my reasons, I should've—"
She cut me off then, literally knocking the breath out of me, with—for the second time today—a hug.
Brent crossed over to Mikayla and I, stopping about a foot from us. "You went through all that. On your own. And still, somehow, you managed to look okay. I respect you. And I'm sorry that your dad turned out to be a stale piece of shit."
"Yeah," Mikayla said, letting go of me. "Honestly, this might sound cruel, but I'm glad he's dead now."
I smiled at them both. "Thanks guys, for not taking my keeping it a secret the wrong way."
"We got you," Mikayla patted my shoulder lightly.
"There's one more thing." I looked at Brent. "And it's about the deal."
"The deal?" His eyebrows furrowed at once.
"Yeah," I nodded.
"What deal?" He asked and then in a whisper, "What the heck are you doing? Mikayla's here."
"I already know," Mikayla butted in.
Brent's gaze flew to her. "What?"
"Yeah, she does. I'm guilty," I said.
"What about the 'no telling'. Hell, you couldn't even tell Stephen, so how could you tell her?"
"Duh. 'Cause I'm her best bud," Mikayla smiled.
"She kept it a secret anyway," I said to Brent. "But that's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"I'm calling off the deal. Today."
He blinked. "Toda—"
"Brent," I cut in, my gaze steady on his. "We have feelings for different people. You've realized you're still in love with Bree and I love Stephen. The longer we keep this up, the slimmer our chances would be."
"I know," he said. "I mean, I was the one who'd asked for the time to be shorter but so suddenly?"
"Along with the truth about my father, I've decided to tell Stephen the truth too. I can't just let him go on thinking we're a thing while I've been at his place for three days and counting. Don't you think if I don't tell him now, soon enough he'd figure it out himself?"
"And his reaction?" Brent asked, running a hand through his hair quickly. "What do you think would be his reaction?"
I looked away from him then. "I don't know. Of course it won't be good. I just hope it's not too bad."
Mikayla's hand rested on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'm with you girl," she said. "All the way."
To be honest, that was all I needed to hear. Not what ifs.
"Hey," Brent said and I moved my gaze back to him. "Me too, I guess. Since, clearly, there's no stopping you."
Then he held out his hand to me. "It was nice doing business with you, Cleo."
A small smile forming on my lips, I took his hand and shook it. "Same goes for you, Brent."
"So, you wanna do it now?" Mikayla asked after I'd let go of Brent's hand.
I looked at her. "Yeah."
"Right now?" Brent asked.
"Why not?"
"You go, girl," Mikayla whooped, grinning.
"Whatever you say, ma'am." Brent held up his hands. "I last saw him in the field. On the bleachers with some other guys. He's probably still there."
"Thanks." I started towards the door, a newfound burst of optimism and positive energy coursing through me.
"Wait." Brent stopped me. "We still have to make our breakup official."
"When I'm done, we'll think of something." With that, I pulled the door open and stepped out, leaving Brent and Mikayla behind in the room.
As soon as I walked out onto the field, I spotted Stephen in the midst of a group of jocks, sitting on the bleachers. In his hand and tipped up to his mouth was a water bottle, the liquid ready to slosh down his throat when suddenly, his gaze flew to my direction, and his eyes fell on me.
In an instant, my lips went dry, my palms going sweaty and my pulse rising up by a notch. Impulsively, I waved.
He waved back immediately, took a quick gulp from the water bottle, set it aside and hopped down from the bleacher. A couple of quick jogs, and he'd gotten to me.
"What's up? Wanna go home?" He asked on reaching me.
Stephen had driven me to school this morning in his mom's red sedan. He probably figured there was no way I was getting onto his bike. Not while I was still sane.
"N-no. Uh, no," I said. "There's, just, um, there's something I wanted to tell you."
My mouth now had gone dry. All that optimism and energy had vanished into nothingness and I dreaded seeing Stephen's reaction.
He shifted his weight to his right foot, a hand on his hip, his brown eyes steady on mine.
"Yeah? What is it?" He asked.
"It's, uh," I swallowed, "it's about . . . um, see, it's kinda like the truth about, uh, I mean, I-I wanted to tell you. A long time ago, honestly, but . . . I couldn't, b-because—"
Suddenly, he reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. His eyes not leaving mine, he said, "I want you to take a deep breath, Cleo."
"A deep breath?" I stared at him.
He nodded, a small smile stretching his lips by an inch. "Just do it."
I did. Inhaling, I filled my lungs with cold air.
"Now, let it out."
Slowly, I exhaled.
"Feel better now?" He asked, dropping his hand from my shoulder.
"I guess," I said, almost smiling. "Yeah. How did you—"
"Marion. A friend. He taught me."
The name sounded faintly familiar in my head.
"So, what was it you wanted to tell me?" Stephen asked, crossing his arms across his chest.
Just take a deep breath. And let it out.
I looked up at him. His brown eyes—the golden streaks in them clear now because of the soft glow of the mild sun—held mine, waiting.
"Brent and I," I began, "we aren't really dating. It was only a deal we had because then, I desperately a Calculus tutor, while he wanted to get back at Bree for cheating on him. None of it was real. The kiss, which happened only once, was purely platonic. That was what I'd tried to tell you back then, Steph. I was going to tell you. I wanted to, but . . . but, what I'm trying to say is, the deal is off now. And . . ."
I paused, moving my eyes away from his for a brief moment.
Looking back at him, I said, "I like you, Stephen. I always have. Only you. Not Brent. Not anyone else."
During the course of my speech, Stephen had uncrossed his arms and was staring at me, eyebrows furrowed, brown eyes going a darker shade. After I was done, he didn't say a word. Not a single word. Just kept staring at me, his gaze so piercing, it felt like a hundred pins were being pushed into my face.
"Stephen," I reached out and gingerly placed a hand against his bicep when I couldn't bear the silence any longer. "Please, say something."
He stepped back from me then. "This is bullshit." And then he turned around and began walking away.
Once again, like before, Stephen had thrown me offguard with his reply. It would've been way better with him yelling or just doing something else. But, "this is bullshit"?
With all my might, eyes trained on his back as he stalked into the school, I held back the tears that tended to break through.
So much for optimism.