Clover
Jackson was heading over.
Not another thought escaped, except one: to cower behind Logan. The only way I could make my legs move.
Logan spared me a glance, confused before he turned to Jackson. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to talk to you about something, but it seems like you have company, so I don't want to disturb."
His eyes shifted to me while my spine tingled. He clearly recognized me, even though we hadn't interacted in a while. The teachers made sure to put us in separate classes so our schedules wouldn't crash. Besides, the last time he saw me, I had blonde hair and a big baby face.
My hand gripped Logan's arm. The other hand went to his shirt, clutching the back of it. I acted on pure instinct.
"Who is this? Your new girlfriend?" Jackson asked, pretending like he had no idea who I was.
Not that I wasn't doing the same.
If Logan only knew what Jackson had done to me, then he would have understood my change of attitude.
Jackson had shaved off half of his hair. He probably did that to make an excuse for his already balding head. He smoked and drank and did drugs too much. No wonder he had health problems. He'd attempted to portray his style as a buzzcut, but it looked hideous. His malicious green eyes could make you lie in wait of horrors. He was also gym shark. His polyester dark green shirt looked like it was about to rip.
"Hi, I'm Jackson," he reached his hand out for a shake.
Oh, hell no!
My skin prickled as I hid further behind Logan. His shirt was going to rip from my nails, but nothing could prevent the alarm bells in my ears.
My dread didn't go over his head, for he slapped Jackson's hand away.
"What are you doing?"
Jackson held up his hands. "Sorry. Just wanted to be nice. She is your girlfriend, right?"
Logan's reached for my hand. "No, she's not."
The first reaction was to step away and leave him. But if you say a bad statement while touching that person, it sure must mean something. Unless he was acquaintances with Jackson's and knew of his tendencies, then he could've been lying.
"It doesn't seem like it."
"I said she is nothing. Do you really want to ruin this for me and keep talking about this right now?"
He held onto me even tighter, and that answered every doubt.
I questioned my next plan carefully before I placed my hand on his back. Immediately, tension freed his muscles until his shoulders slumped.
"Okay fine, sorry. I'll see you later."
After Jackson's absence and the wandering looks from students, I chose to drag him out into a more secluded hallway. We couldn't afford any more attention since someone might've ran their mouth about my past.
"I didn't want him to touch you."
My head snapped up, but he was looking at the floor. "Why not?"
"He's not a nice guy. I didn't introduce you two because I know what he's like. You don't want to know him."
He was literally speaking to the expert on Jackson.
"I don't want to know anyone but you," the words popped out.
Out of nowhere.
Before I could withdraw the accidentally slip, he had whipped his head up so fast.
I expected him to speed away since we'd known each other for a couple of days. Except, he made everything possible. The creator of my dreams.
Since the next second, I was crushed into his arms. His strong embrace engulfing me.
I gasped at the comfort, the sudden ease off my shoulders. His face buried in my hair as my arms hesitantly came around him, head against his face. The rapid pace of his heart pummelled in my ear. And I noticed, for the first time, that his cologne had a mix of chocolate mint ice cream.
An odd but good smell.
I never wanted to be let go. Not by him.
"I need you to promise me something."
"Promise what?"
Logan placed a gentle kiss on my neck. "Promise me you will stay away from Jackson."
"Okay, but why?"
Why does he want me to do that? What could he have against him? What does he know?
My silly question made him pull away a little. I almost screamed at myself. I desired to be back in his hold and remove that cold look off his face. He put his hands on my shoulders, all tense and serious. "He's not a good guy. I can't explain it right now, but he hurts people. Trust me, you don't ever want to be around him. I don't want him around you. Do you understand?"
At that moment, I understood he wanted to keep me safe.
"I promise. I will stay away from him."
"Okay, thank you." He exhaled and rested our foreheads together.
Logan's hand hung by his side and I took the initiative. I moved just enough until our hands touched. Then I wrapped my pinky finger around his.
A small smile sat on his lips.
And it was then that I realized I didn't want us to end. Whatever there was between us, I wanted it to continue. He was the person who crushed every bad feeling and blossomed the good. He'd risen the old, happy feelings that'd gotten lost in the process of being hurt.
I needed him and I figured he was worth taking the risk.
***
Love brings with it all bounds of torture. Let it be emotional or physical, but at one point, you'll feel drained.
I expected it to happen with Logan instantly. But I never expected him to be such an easy person to be around. When we had our movie nights, he smoothly put an arm around me, make a tension-breaking joke when we ran out of things to say, so it was smooth sailing from then on, he held my hand whenever I got stuck on a question with homework or immediately got into action on how he could possibly help. Whenever I didn't enjoy talking about a particular topic, he switched it so easily.
It was easy to fall for him.
But no love can be smooth-sailing, and we already had our obstacles. Take it for example the notes and my hesitance for physical touch. Any public affection was out of the question. Logan didn't like that. He seemed like the type of boy who wanted to show me off to the world.
Other than that, it was good. Perfect.
Thursday had started off on a roll of sunshine since Ned wasn't in a sour mood, no comments from him, Zoe chatted away about her crush on Sebastian Hart, and Logan texting me good morning. But sunshine always diminishes and night takes place.
As it did with my day when I opened my locker. The blue note slid onto the floor as I hurried to pick it up. If anyone saw, my life would be over.
Tick tock, where's the knights?
You think you found him until he throws a fist and let the purple bruise be a reminder. He'd ditch you aside if he learned. Let one cock in and another won't fit. It's bound to end and your wrecked, humiliated pussy won't matter. That's all you're good for anyway. And who says he won't be the
"Hi."
Tension revolted through me at the sudden intrusion of the arms. They embraced my upper arms fleetingly as I managed to wiggle out in time. Crumpling the note and throwing it back in the locker, I turned to find him there, arm stretched to hold my hand.
"You can't do that!" I whisper-shouted, frantically searching if anyone had seen.
"You're my girlfriend. I wanted a hug."
Being with Logan was easy, but being with me wasn't easy for him. Not with the strict boundaries I set and the lies.
"I don't want you touching me in public. Look –"
"Who was that note from?"
Colour drained from my face. "No one! It was just for homework."
A flicker of darkness passed in his pretty, kind eyes. Now though, they didn't look so kind. No, he seemed dangerous, abnormal, like about to have a fit of rage.
"Is there someone else?"
How could he possibly accuse me of this?
But come to think of it: if I saw him with a secretive note, I'd be pretty mad too.
"No... there isn't. Look, can we just let it go?"
"I don't want to." He crossed his arms, biceps bulging out under that black shirt. "Who was that from?"
Perhaps my defence mechanism kicked in, a response to his accusatory tone or a real reflection of past mistakes. I jerked back from him so violently that he did a second take. "And what gives you the right to pester me about any of this? We're just dating, that's all."
As I came to learn his devastating, sorrowful, regretful expression, I would've traded my words for just about anything, anything to return that cheerful smile and the earlier affectionate touch.
But I didn't get the chance. I got disturbed by a girl in our class with a perfect slender body, cat eyes, and a tight blouse. She sauntered up to Logan like she owned him while glaring at me, her full, red lips in a pout.
"Hi, Logan."
"Miranda."
What a stupid name. Sounds like a rich bitch.
Great, now I sounded like a bitch for my thoughts. I sounded like one of those bitter housewives who critiqued any woman who was a threat to their marriage.
Startled with anxious worry, he looked at me as Miranda put her fingers on his bicep. The arm I hung onto as we watched horror movies. The arm I let my fingers graze over when in deep thought or needing his attention. The arm I kissed whenever I saw he'd fallen asleep during the movie. But he never stayed the night. I'd often have to wake him, so he'd go home. If we both slept, what might go through his mind?
"I'd really like to see you there."
See him where? Great, I'd missed part of their conversation.
And her slender, long fingers were still on his arm, trailing like a prize. My prize. A burning sensation settled in my gut, clawing its way to my heart. Blood turned hot, clammy.
I'd never felt such vivid jealousy before.
"What do you say? Come to a party with me?" Miranda squeaked out like a little bird, her claws in him.
But he was eyeing me, searching for any doubt in me, perhaps even waiting for a denial to her request. Was he waiting for me to claim him?
Well, he could dream on it. I wouldn't fall to this stupid tactic.
Yet the more she murmured to him like a child, making her voice sound small, and let her fingers linger on his arm, the more the rage pushed forward. It pulsed vehemently in my veins.
"Uh, I've actually got..."
"Leave these plans. I'm sure you can find something more fun –"
That's it!
"Logan!" I said too loudly, running on instincts, but it gained his alarmed attention. "I've got to see the nurse."
"What? Why?" he asked, breaking out of Miranda's grip.
"I've just had this headache since this morning..."
"More like STD's –"
In a jealous rage, I grabbed his arm, ignoring Miranda's crude comments. Logan followed me down the hallway like a lost yet frantic puppy. His bicep strong under my hand, and to think she'd had her stupid hands on him – it hurt.
Once we were in a clear hall with no audience, I let go even if it pained me to do so. Rapid, enraging emotions engraved themselves in me, almost pistoling me to the wall. I couldn't think with him so close. He made me lose certain parts of myself, and I couldn't even tell whether they were good or bad. In such a short time, we'd gone down dark roads, but I was already falling. How much more could I fall before this relationship collapsed down on us?
"That's not the nurse's office, Clo. Are you feeling hurt?"
"Oh, I'm much better now." Stupid, think of something better so you don't sound like a lunatic of a girlfriend. "So that girl, huh? Miranda, was it?"
To fuel my anger, a smile tipped on his lips. "Are you jealous, Clover?"
"No." Even I was surprised at my confidence, but he didn't seem so. That hurt expression was back.
"Is that what this is then? You want us to not be exclusive? For me to fuck around and for you to?"
Please don't.
"That's not what I said –"
"Then what the fuck was the note? Pretty sure I read the word cock there." In horrified shame, my cheeks tinted, hating all the wrong timings in the world. The world doesn't cease punishing us with wrong timings. It's as if it's just punishing us to tell our secrets. "Tell me right now: is it just us or someone else?"
In a short period, he wanted more. More than I could possibly offer. If I answered no, he might enquire further about the note, even scour through my locker in search of it. He might even find old ones and see the truth.
Suppose I waited longer to reply because the silence was all he needed to walk away. To just shake his head and leave me there. I didn't even get to grab him or shout my wants, my protests, as all the words in the universe died in my throat. It died like my heart half a year ago.
That afternoon in the cafeteria, I listened impassively while Zoe and Bella chatted away. They threw fries and each other and Zoe talked about this medical TV series, fanning over hot doctors and the problems with the brain. Our future neurosurgeon. Bella yawned in boredom. No, she was interested in bigger yet simpler things like numbers. She was the smartest in class in Calculus. She'd even attended many Olympiads. At the last one, she'd gained third place, going against hundreds of school.
While I daydreamed and cried over the boy who I'd let walk away. He wasn't even in the cafeteria. Maybe starving was better than seeing me.
At home, Jane enquired about my sour mood when I refused to help with dinner. She knocked on my door for five minutes straight when I ran there, overwhelmed with the day. I couldn't open and let her know. She'd not understand. She might even side with him, ask herself about the notes. None of them would understand. They weren't living my life, not with the way I lived it as if behind a great wall of lies and secrets and shame.
I was ready to pick up my diary when the whine of my window opening threw me off guard. In fear of expecting the worst, I backed against my desk, ready to scream. Until under the glimmering moonlight popped up the mop of black hair, tousled with the wind or from running his fingers through it. He climbed in like he'd done it a thousand times, grunting as he slid through the small gap since the window wouldn't slide all the way up. It wasn't the newest of houses.
"Logan!" I whisper-shouted, running to push him back out, but he wouldn't budge. "What are you doing? My family's home!"
"Can we talk?" He was irrational and barbaric, but oh so sweet. And I was ready to fall a thousand times over and over again. Although with the slur of his words and the wobbly feet, the hesitation drew in. Where exactly had he come from? Had he taken the girl up on her offer and was now just feeling guilty?
"You're drunk." And in my bedroom. Yes, Jane was asleep in another room on this floor, but how fast could she get here? Would she even do anything? It didn't help that I was in my pyjamas: short, cotton pants and a tank top, no bra.
At the cross of my arms, he smiled again. What was it with him being happy while I was angry? "You look pretty when you're mad."
"You walked away today." He wouldn't get away with it so easily. He'd just about broken my heart and maybe gone to someone else. If he did, he certainly had washed himself after since he smelled like himself – addictive with a touch of whiskey.
His smile fell. "I was jealous before. I started thinking of you with another guy and I acted out, which wasn't right. I just want you with me."
"What about you? Do I get the same courtesy?"
That earned a carefree laugh. "I haven't kissed another girl in a very long time. I told you before you're all I see. It's crazy, but I've never been attracted to anyone like I have with you."
"And the girl? You weren't attracted to her? Were you with her tonight?"
"No. Today when she, uh, flirted with me, I wanted you to say something... as stupid as that is."
Confused, I asked. "Why?"
"Maybe so you'd lay a sort of claim on me." Shocked, my eyes widened. "It sounds barbaric, I know. But everything about this, us, you, ties me in knots. I want you in a way I would've thought insane before."
"So you want serious?" Unable to help myself, I grinned. He hadn't run like I expected him to.
"God, yes," he said, stepping forward. "I can't think of you with another guy without going ballistic."
"Logan, I'm not an easy person to be with." At the abrupt vibration of my phone, our attention trained on it. The notification of a message. I snatched it out of the way before he could look.
And there it lay. A text from the bitch Miranda.
Miranda: I knew I know you from somewhere. Little Miss STD. What will sweet Logan say when he finds out what you've done? It's no secret how many times you like to take cocks in one night.
The rest of the words blurred into slow motion as I watched the confusion draw in on that handsome face. If he saw it, it was over. I'd be shamed in front of everyone, all in all by him, my one remaining hope for the future.
Maybe I was too reckless with my behaviour. But I couldn't think of anything other than to kiss him. I kissed him like I'd never kissed him before, forcing my tongue in his mouth, and tasting the liquor breath. Somehow, it added to his masculinity, to the mystery he kept alive. All the while kissing him, I led him to the bed until he fell on it. Quickly, I climbed on top of him, encouraged to erase any questioning thoughts. I felt his hesitance slip away as his fingers threaded in my hair, pushing on the back of my neck to bring me closer.
His groan vibrated through me, sending me into a turmoil of bliss.
Although as always, it was going well until the slip of his hands down my back. Until he began to toy with the hem of my tank top, ready to free my breasts and feel them in his big palms. If intimacy was as easy as it seems, I would've had sex with him by now. I would've had sex with him on our first date, let him take me from behind in the restroom, maybe even grip my hair like they do it in porn. Have a two-minute run of sex with him like normal people my age do.
But when intimacy is sudden shred from you into tiny fragments and you flinch whenever someone touched you, it's not as easy to fall back on track. Especially with forwarding images of manipulative hands in certain vulnerable places, of violent hands held captive and the hot, taunting breath above you.
It's why I slapped his hands off so crudely, then collapsed on my side, unable to witness that baffled face. Zoe was a virgin, so Bella talked about her sexcapades, and I often wondered how it could be so easy. How she could just let go of the tension in her body and let someone else enter. Some days, I wanted to make her shut up about her stories, but I couldn't do that. My friends had earned their right to speak so freely and laugh about the stories. It's not like I hadn't given them the green card. But often, I wanted to be the one to tell the stories without wincing like I'd been set on fire.
"You really shouldn't be here..." I whispered, breaking apart at the end.
The flinch came automatically when his fingertips danced on my arm. His touch retreated as quickly as it'd appeared. "I thought we could have our movie night."
And the smile came as naturally as the flinch. We settled on top of the covers, the blanket thrown over our legs with the lights dimmed, my laptop perched open in front of us. Through a website, we found Friday the 13th, the new version. He slung an arm around my shoulders, settling in comfortably while I made myself as small as possible. As a sex scene came on halfway through the movie, I stole a glimpse at him despite any control.
He watched it like any other scene, unbothered, but didn't ask to fast-forward it or skip it all together, didn't cough embarrassingly. Or didn't ask to rewind it again, put it on pause. These thoughts ran through my brain like a disease, always wondering, always contemplating everything around me while I hated the world for putting me in this position.
I must've started too long for he glimpsed at me. Ashamed, I turned back to the movie, but not before I saw that shy smile. His arm also tightened around my shoulders, plastering me to him like we'd already had sex.
The thought ran in my head again: already had sex.
Already. Had. Sex.
The mortification of the impact was thus strong that I wanted to cry.
***