CHAPTER 13
Walking next to Ingrid through the throngs in the hall when lunch period started was downright painful. Being jostled left and right made me have to bite down on my tongue so hard I swear I tasted blood. And with every involuntary, nasally, whining mewl that crawled up my nose, I could see Ingrid get angrier. At me, the jostlers, or at the pain I felt, I couldn't tell, so I tried to bite down harder and retreat deeper into my hoodie like a cloak of armor.
And that was when the throng paused, took one collective breath and parted.
He was everywhere, and it was starting to piss me off, a lot.
Vice principal Mercer walked along side him, her cheeks rosy and her smile much larger than usual. Even she was not unaffected by him.
"... Parent teacher association wanted to have a professional take a look at it, and I had heard that you were back, and I thought, well why not?"
He chuckled- my hair stood on end and the skin between my shoulder blades crawled, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. I wanted to hit him with the canvas Ingrid was carrying.
"I am not a contractor, Mrs. Mercer, I'll just take a look at the structural integrity and look for the cause."
"Oh," she blushed. "Its Miss."
That caused me to look heavenward, jaw open and throw my arms out to the sides as if telling whatever higher deity was being amused by my life that I gave up. Everyone else was enthralled by Matthew Cavalier. My face screwed up into a scowl.
"It is very odd that the windows would just shatter so." Her voice reached me from down the hall, and that caused my head to perk up from where I'd been glaring at the floor.
The windows. Glass raining down for no reason. What the hell was this circus that had become of my life?
The second he was out of sight, the buzz began, and it didn't stop when we got to our picnic table; Ingrid was just as fascinated by the man as everyone else.
"He's here again! He's so, so, so super-duper-uber sexy, can I please just tell you, babe." she almost vibrated with enthusiasm. Her lunch today involved tuna salad and crackers. I had my apple.
"Honestly, I wish I was here faster. Just to like, enjoy that. And you need to hear the stories, babe, the chicks are trying to get to him. All I've heard is no-one's winning." the last part made me focus on her words and sop pressing my long fingernails into the apple skin with satisfying snaps.
"What do you mean?" I asked. Something bubbled at the back of my neck.
"The girls," she said through a mouthful of tuna. "They've been all over him. I heard Amanda Byle paid your brother three hundred bucks to get his, like, paper route so she could have a totally legit reason to like, be at his place. Pretty smart from a cheerleader." I cocked my head. Her words annoyed me for some reason.
"Oh! Oh, look!" she sputtered, cracker bits flying. I looked. There he was, walking out of the building, cell phone to his ear. A blue checkered flannel button down, sleeves rolled up, over a white shirt and black jeans. He looked very good, and it pissed me off more. Hushed squeals and chatter came from behind me, and when I turned I saw the face of almost every female and half the guys staring out the windows.
Honestly. The town was little, I understood that, and Matthew was wildly attractive, I understood that too. Also, yes a fireman and very well built and mysterious, and yes, our little town rarely had any excitement so a new face was always entertainment. But this was ridiculous. We were treating him like he was a god, but what was he? He was just human. A bad human. A human with a gun, and guns kill people and he was going to kill me. He was a bad persona and all they could see was his face, his stupid face.
Rage, the extent to which I'd never experienced before clawed my heart and stomach. White hot burning slices that cauterized the flesh as its claws ripped my insides apart. My jaw locked and my teeth ground together and I felt so angry, so upset. I felt, for the first time in my life, violent. I felt dangerous.
My nails dug into the apple, hard. Flesh split around my fingertips as they reached inside, tearing apart skin until the core suddenly snapped and the apple was split in half, my fingers covered in juice and the flesh of the fruit decorating my nail beds and stuck under them.
When I looked, he sat in his car, phone still to his ear and looking right at me. He had no right.
I stood and the first step I look was toward him, my fingers and fingernails arched and stretched into claws- ones I somehow intended to rake across his face. The second, though, involved a pivot that turned me around and walked me back to the school, fingers twisting instead into fists. What the hell was happening to me?
Thankfully, he seemed to vanish for a few days after that. I'd had a weekend to relax, to rationalize. To suppress everything. Everything was normal. It was fine. And when Matthew Cavalier left, everything would be put back together. So he was a murderer that hadn't gotten around to actually killing his victims yet when he attacks them; that was ok I guessed. I mean he wasn't a rapist or an actual murderer, that made it ok right? Like buying the dress and not going to prom; you still didn't GO to the prom even if you've got the dress, right?
Well, it made sense in my head.
I'd begun to heal quickly- I could walk without limping and the bruises on my face only looked slightly purple. I'd always been a freakishly fast healer and my dad liked to joke that my birth parents were probably half alien. Probably ironic- after all, that was the day it was all going to happen. Go wrong, I mean. Or right. I'm not sure anymore.
It was pure luck that I dressed the way I had that day. My silver studded biker boots and worn but tight and amazingly fit charcoal-grey jeans. My favorite emerald green long sleeved and formfitting hooded cotton shirt. Truth be told, I'd felt good for the first time in a long time. For some reason, I'd looked out at the cloudy sky and thought it was going to be a good day. I had even, for the first time in a long while, donned contact lenses and make up; eyeliner and mascara, clear lip gloss, the whole toot.
I was totally prepared for the day, and I was certain it would be a good one. The radio station had played only good music, mostly consisting of my favored rock al the way to school when they usually played the latest bubblegum pop. I even chimed in out loud. The hallowed presence of dark and heavy clouds only brightened me further- overcast weather threatening rain had always been my favorite.
I got an A on the pop quiz in history and a B+ on the biology assignment I'd thought I'd failed.
That was where my luck ran out. I remember it with perfection in its clarity.
Our biology professor had been so impressed by my admittedly fantastic results that I'd been let out of class five minutes before the bell. So, I walked out of the room with a smile on and my head up.
The halls were empty- and then they weren't.
Matthew was right there in front of me. And - typically, cliché-ly - I crashed into him. But I didn't go tumbling to the floor, I just stayed right there in that space, chest to chest with Matthew Cavalier. I was staring, and I'd admit it; part of me was frozen in fear. The other part could only comprehend that he was really, really sexy. "Kat-" he started and froze, seeming as trapped by me as I was by him.
"What..." somehow my voice was low and silent and, well, pretty snarly. I wanted to rejoice. "....the hell are you doing here?"
He blinked and cocked his head. "Joey left his lunch at home." he was lying, and it was obvious. And he was- he was sweaty?
I jerked my head back for a second, narrowed my eyes and looked closer. Generally perfectly put together Matthew Cavalier was... ruffled?
"What's going on?" I deadpanned. "You look- what happened?" suddenly I needed to know, and it was imperative. "And why did you call me a cat?"
He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, and looked left and right, nervously. Nervously. What in the living hell was this? The Twilight Zone?
"Has anything weird happened to you recently?" he asked. His voice was admittedly spectacular. It was low and it crawled up your spine like a hot mist. I wanted to bask in it.
I pressed my lips together and raised one brow, giving him the unbridled sarcasm of "Are you really asking that?"
"Aside from me." he said.
It was insanely weird- I should have been afraid. And well, honestly I was. But in the cocktail of shaken not stirred emotions I felt, fear was not the most paramount of them. I was confused and fascinated and definitely attracted to him. But more than anything I wanted to figure him out. His eyes weren't hard or angry or molten, they were folded caramel, soft and supple and pliable and open. They were focused on me, but he wasn't looking into mine in the way I'd begun to associate with his name. It was- rather perplexing.
He hadn't shaved in a couple days and the stubble made my mouth water. His shoulders were imposingly wide and standing directly under them made me feel dwarfed- but not horribly so.
The man pointed a gun at you, my brain shrieked at me. He covered you in bruises and scratches and tried to kill you in cold blood. Are you so whacked up psychologically as to forgive him for that simply because you're in some kind of heat? You idiot! My cerebral cortex contemplated the level of my stupidity while I stared at his face. The dark hair on his head was stylishly angled in a messy tumble, longer on top than on the sides. He wore a t-shirt and a brown leather jacket that looked worn but taken care of, and his steel toed safety boots had made an appearance. He looked very good, very masculine, very sexy.
"Why did you call me a cat?" I snapped again. He snorted and shook his head. "A cat!"
"What?" I asked, my frustration becoming obvious.
"Nothing. Are you going home?" he took a step back and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was adorab- My God, I was loosing my mind.
"Yeah, I got let out early."
"I'll walk you to your car."
This was so damn weird. As we walked, he kept his head on a swivel the whole time, and it was starting to make me antsy, especially considering the awkward silence. Finally, at my little green hatchback, I could take it no more.
"Why did you try to kill me?" I asked, staring him directly in the eyes and demanding the answer. He leaned against the car.
Matthew was incredibly sexy, and I felt like I couldn't really deny the fact that the attraction was there.
And in some sort of way, I didn't want to.
The bell rang then, but I was transfixed. He was going to answer my question- finally. I felt like I waited for the answer for days, I stared at him so long. He had his gaze stubbornly set straight ahead of him, shoulders held up and back and proud and strong. In one way I knew his gaze was aimed specifically to avoid mine, and I wondered why it was. In the other way, I knew he was thinking. His face was interesting to watch. His right eyebrow was quirked almost imperceptivity and dropped to furrow ever so slightly next to his left. The position of his brows made his eyes darken and I could tell he'd taken a tiny bit of cheek flesh between his right canines and was shifting his hard, square jaw left and right lightly. His lips were pursed just a bit, jaw muscle ticking slowly beneath his cheekbone. He folded his arms, hands open on his biceps- large hands with clean, short nails on long, strong fingers and heavy knuckles. They were attractive hands, somehow. And the biceps beneath them strained the fabric of his shirt deliciously.
"I didn't try to kill you."
I blinked three times, as if I was pulled out of a trance. "What?" I blurted.
He sighed and pressed his fingers through his hair, back to front, before turning his body to look me straight on. His eyes locked on mine. Burgundy, amber and honey.
"I didn't try to kill you." he said it slowly.
Irritation flared. "Yes you did!" I yelled. "You pointed the gun right at me!"
Ridiculously, I made a finger-gun and poked him in the chest with it. A very solid chest.
Amusement crinkled the corners of his eves and the side of his mouth quirked and yes, it was god-damn gorgeous. My scowl hardened.
"No. I leveled the gun at you. I did not and would never try to kill you. That would go against everything I've done with my life for the last fourteen years, and that's a fucking long time." He said. The words weren't venomous, they were honest, and that terrified me.
"What, the hell are you talking about." My voice was angry. And I wanted to know. We glared at another for a few seconds before we both seemed to hear it simultaneously.
Gasps, whispers.
Shock, horror.
In our stare down, we'd dangerously encroached each other's space. So close were we that I could see his individual eyelashes and they fascinated me. So close I could see the fibers of gold in his iris. So close, I could detect his nostrils ever so slightly flare. So close I could smell him, and taste that scent on the tip of my tongue. Like ice cold seawater, fresh lavender and some kind of dark, masculine spice. Clean, mysterious, fresh and dark. It was a contrast, much like Matthew himself. And I wanted to breathe it directly off his skin. Worse, I wanted to breathe it off mine, and that made me want to bang my head against the roof of the car.
Matthew Cavalier and I pulled away from each other in confusion and looked for the sound, wearing a matching scowl.
They'd gathered on the grass lined up like spectators, eyes wide and indignant outrage painted thickly across their expressions. "Shit." I hissed.
He chucked and I sent him a boiling glare. "This is not funny. That's going to be my newest life problem." I snapped.
"And I'll leave you to face it." he began walking away. Fury clawed at me. I spun on my heel and grabbed him by the lapel. "Why the hell do you keep dropping the most ambiguous, mysterious comments in the world then leave. What is going on?! I want an answer!"
He chuckled and leaned down, closing the space between us and bringing his face close to mine. His hand closed on the one I'd had on his lapel. It was huge and his skin was exceedingly warm on my fingers which had been numbed by the coldness in the November weather. I'd never admit it but his skin brought welcome relief from the cold. My entire hand was dwarfed inside the secure wrap his long fingers had on mine. It was the first time Matthew directly touched my skin- that is, when I could actually feel it and wasn't paralyzed by fear. It felt good. Very, very good.
"You'll get one. But do you really want it in your high school parking lot with all your little friends watching?" he said, smirking down at me. "Your bruises are clearing up nicely;" He continued, smirk deepening. "-you're a fast little healer, aren't you?"
"Don't patronize me." I hissed and ripped my hand back, before pulling open my door, and stomping into the car. Without a look at the gawking onlookers or him, I flew out of the lot.
I drove badly and fast, brain screaming. So preoccupied was I that I didn't notice the person standing in the middle of the road till the last second. I swerved hard, and the little green hatchback's wheels skidded on the thick carpet of dead leaves on the side of the road when I slammed the breaks. I was out of the car at lightning speed, the remaining anger at Matthew Cavalier, the new anger and the new adrenaline making a violent martini in my bloodstream.
"Are you freakin' crazy?!" I yelled, but the closer I got, the more I realized I was in trouble.
And when he said "Gotcha" I knew I was dead.
***