one year earlier . . .
Screams tore through the halls. Everyone was running, but not away from the screams - toward them. A few people brushed past me in a hurried frenzy, almost knocking my backpack off my shoulder. Whatever was happening, everyone was eager to watch it go down.
Against my better judgement, I readjusted my backpack strap and followed the wave of students.
I slowly rounded the corner of the hallway and stood on my tiptoes to gaze over the growing crowd of bobbing heads. They were all whispering, gawking at something that I couldn't quite see yet. I ducked under a few arms, trying to ignore the potent scent of hormonal teenagers who hadn't learned the importance of deodorant, and steadily pushed my way to the front.
Something - my conscience - was telling me to turn around, to not get tangled up in whatever was happening a few feet ahead. But something stronger was pushing me forward into the thickening swarm of students. I kept ducking and nudging forward.
Then I saw him.
Pummeling another boy's face in.
Dripping in sweat and blood, Grayson Maddox didn't seem to notice the audience growing around him and the scene he was making. His white shirt was torn, likely by the other guy's failed attempt to stop him, and was hanging limply across his body. Dark blood ran from his torn lip and busted nose, down across his chiseled chest, staining his ruined shirt.
His fists were puffy and red as well, repeatedly reeling back and punching the other boy's face. The fury - the aggression - in his strikes were borderline animalistic. I'd never seen anything like it.
Teachers were circling frantically, yelling, wanting the boys to stop but too afraid to physically stop Grayson's fists. But their pleas to stop were barely heard over the jeering crowd, majority of them yelling Grayson's name cheerfully. As if this was a show put on just for our entertainment.
But it wasn't just a show - this was personal for Grayson. I saw it in his eyes.
Amid all the chaos, screams, and sickly strong body odor, it was his eyes that held my attention. The primal urges behind his irises. Trained on his opponent, his grey eyes held a certain focus, an intelligent desire for pain and suffering. If you weren't looking carefully, you'd think Grayson had simply lost control. But Grayson was in full control of every wound he inflicted, every contraction and release of his lean, muscular body. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was ferociously and mercilessly attacking the boy in front of him.
His eyes lusted for pain and he was going to draw it out of this boy in the form of violence and blood. Looking into the depths of his eyes, I felt pure fear, as well as another unknown emotion deep in my chest.
I lost track of time, paralyzed by the thought of this boy in front of me draining the life out of another human being. I didn't know how much time passed before three policemen - not the puny high school security guards - had their bulky arms wrapped around Grayson, visibly struggling to pull him away. He was giving them a run for their money, but they managed to remove him from the other boy.
As paramedics tended to his opponent, I got a good look at the Grayson's victim. I recognized him from my fourth period. Tyler Herring, a boy who lent me notes after I was out sick with the flu and once made a joke about our teacher's receding hairline. He was a human being I knew and interacted with, who was now receiving CPR.
I looked back at the monster who did this to him and sneered at the sight of him standing nearby, acting as if he hadn't almost murdered Tyler. Just as I was about to look away, he caught my stare. And he held it.
Again, one feeling told me to run away and never look back, while another gave me the courage and nerve to stare right back at this monster of a boy. I watched as he dabbed a wet towel over his bloody face and I kicked myself for the thoughts that his bloody face evoked. His perfectly straight, aristocratic nose was dripping blood and boasting a new bump on its perfect slope. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop myself from glancing down as the deep Cupid's Bow above his full lips, now puffy and thick with blood as well.
Even with a split lip and crooked nose, he was strangely beautiful.
His eyes were giving away his emotions again but, this time, I couldn't decipher the feelings swirling in those eyes of his. But even as he looked away, the feeling of his eyes on me, seeing deep inside me, lingered in my mind.
♔
author's note
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Dear rereaders: DO NOT SPOIL ANYTHING IN THE COMMENTS OR YOU WILL BE MUTED (meaning you will not be able to view this book at all). If you are considering commenting something and find yourself wondering it if could be considered a spoiler, just don't comment it :) And yes, commenting "#rr oh no" or "#rr this chapter doesn't end well" IS a spoiler. So keep it to yourself.
Be courteous and do not ruin the reading experience for first-time readers. It actually makes me angry. Very angry.
If you see any spoilers in the comments, PLEASE feel free to DM me to tell me what chapter and paragraph the spoiler is in. I will promptly delete the comment and mute the commenter. I want the reading experience to be fantastic as possible for all you first-time readers. With that being said . . .
Hey y'all! Here's a little snippet of Grayson and River's history - I hope you'll stick around to find out the rest of their story. Thanks for giving my book a shot - I have big hopes for this book and I know y'all will grow to love these characters.
Also, please trust that this book gets better as it goes on. The beginning is a bit rocky with issues that I'll get around to fixing eventually, but please give it a chance and stick with me for the ride :)