Brutal Precious (Lovely Vicious #3) (14 page)

“It’s okay,” She looks up, smiling, though her eyes are waterlogged. “It’s nice of you to say you still like me, but. But I understand. If you don’t really, you don’t have to say I should find someone better. You should just tell me. I know I’m not – I’m not all that ladylike, and I’m weird and loud, and I’m inexperienced, and I know that isn’t your type. And I’ve got a lot of huge dumb issues, so. That’s too difficult for someone to deal with, I think. That night in the hotel was months ago so it’s okay if things have changed. You don’t have to feel bad about not wanting me anymore. It’s okay to just like someone as a friend and not want to sleep with them. We can be friends. Just friends.”

I want you. I want you as more than a friend. I want you in my arms, in my bed, where you’ll be safe and ecstatic and all mine. I want to show you how good a kiss can be. I want to show you life isn’t always suffering – it’s pleasure, too. My brain screams it, but my mouth never moves, condemning me to silence. I have to be stone. The slightest crack, and I’ll spill my every secret at her feet – that I crave her like a parched plant craves the rain. That the only time I feel alive – honestly, radiantly alive - is when I see her purple streaks, the outline of her shoulders, her smile.

If I open my mouth, the darkest spear of secrets would pierce her through.

I love you.
    

But what kind of barbed love could I offer her? I’m broken, shattered like a mirror of lies. She would try to pick up my pieces and only cut her delicate fingers on them. Any love I could give her would hurt her more, when all I want to do is heal her. I want to build her back up, not tear her down with me. She is too important. Any further hurt by a man could tip the scales of her heart irrevocably, and send her into the place of no return, where no light or love could ever reach her. I’d ruin her for good. And I could never live with myself if I ruined her.

Not after Sophia. Not after ruining a girl once before. Once is an accident. Twice is malicious and unforgivable. I’d be no better than Nameless. If I put my own wants and needs above her safety and well-being, I’d be no better than him.
 

So I put my best mask on. The lifeless one. The one Isis practically destroyed. There are only shards of it left, but it’s so familiar I fill in the blanks quickly and make my expression unreadable.

“I apologize,” I say. “For leading you into thinking we were something more than friends.”

For all the things she is miserable at, she is very, very good at hiding her pain. The light drains from her eyes instantly at my words, something deep and bright dying within her. Hope. But she hides it in a split-second, sweeping it under a rug of sardonic exasperation.

“Ugh, stop that. Apologizing looks
so
gross on you.”

“I’m sorry.”

She stands up, putting her hands above her head and stretching, making a satisfied noise. But I can read her easily – it’s a farce. It’s a moment for her to regain control over her emotions, to hide them from me. She turns, and smiles.

“So, I mean, just a casual question between friends is okay, right?”

I nod.

“What you said about liking me…that night in the hotel. Was that true?”

I swallow and form words carefully. “Yes. But something changed, and now –”

“No, I get it.” She laughs. “Really, it’s fine. Feelings change, hormones, experiences, all that good stuff just mixes everything up in our brains. It’s crazy people are stable at all! Shit, sometimes I’m surprised I feel the same way about somebody for more than a week, you know?”

To anybody else, she’d seem fine. But to me, the pain in her offhand words is palpable.

“Isis –”

I get up, and she takes an abrupt step back, holding her arms up.

“Hey, whoa there. I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t come near me right now. It’s night, is all, and you’re a guy, and, you know. It just freaks me out. Nothing personal.”

My throat tightens, something heavy sinking in my stomach. I’m like all the other men to her, now. I’m just another one who’s disappointed her and hurt her.
 
 

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“Again, with the apologies!” She grins. “Get a hobby, or like, a better word for sorry. ‘Pancakes’. Yeah, that’s it. Replace every ‘sorry’ with ‘pancakes’, and watch your life become a thousand times better. Also, fatter.”

I’m trying to piece together the right words for her, words that won’t hurt her, but I can already tell I have. There’s no taking what I said back. The damage has been done. Isis, always the faster one, smiles and salutes me facetiously.

“Alright, I think I feel sleep coming on. Going on, actually. I’m sleepwalking right now. You’re talking to a not-awake person. Ooooh!” She makes a creepy noise and then coughs. “Uh. Right. So. I’ll see you around, James Bond. Try not to shoot anyone you don’t have to. Shit hurts.”

“I could walk you to your dorm, if you’d like.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Ears like a hawk. Except hawks don’t have ears. Do they? I dunno! That’s why I’m in college. Goodnight.”

Isis leaves, and I remember, with painful regret, what it’s like to be cold again.

3 Years

50 Weeks

0 Days

People are way too dramatic all the time.

Just look at Hollywood – there’s drama around every corner. And kale. Hollywood really loves kale. And like, babies. God forbid science ever makes a baby out of kale within five hundred miles of Los Angeles, because then it will be war, with Gucci guns and heavily armed limo drivers and I would put all my betting money on Vin Diesel and The Rock, who would obviously team up and become the ultimate kale-baby rescue team, with me as their outfit coordinator slash witty sidekick.

“Isis, I feel the need to inform you you’re being weird out loud again,” Diana says, picking a daisy and putting it in my hair.

“Having friends who love you for who you are must be so cool,” I muse. Diana laugh and picks another daisy, weaving together a chain.

“I’m just glad you’re talking to yourself again. You seemed kind of down the last few weeks. Even Yvette noticed it.”

“No,” I act shocked. “Our very own block-headed, emotionally-stunted goth grump? Noticing how I feel? Preposterous.”

“You haven’t been eating.”

“Debatable. Some very enlightened yoginis consider air food.”

“You stay up all night.”

“Studying! For mid-term!” I protest. “Unlike you, some of us have to prepare to get our asses kicked.”

“And you’ve been hanging around with –” Diana frowns. “Well, with people who don’t really seem your type.”

“Oh pish posh,” I wave. “Ryan’s a perfectly nice guy.”

She stares at me expectantly. I throw my hands up.

“And John, and Tyler, and Kieran, and Erik! They’re all nice guys!”

“Nice guys you’ve been making out with.”

“Can you blame me?” I ask. “I mean, seriously, can you? Have you even seen John’s abs? And Kieran’s Ducati? A freakin’ Ducati,” I lean in and whisper seductively. “
Duuuucaaattiiii
.”

Diana frowns. “I just thought…what happened to that guy Yvette told me about? Model McFarter, or something. The one we saw you talking with at the concert?”

“Who?” I ask airily, inspecting my fingernails.

“You know who,” She glowers. “Dark blonde, really neat blue eyes, tall. Made you laugh.”

“I had a flu in my throat,” I correct. “That was coughing, not laughing. Remind me to never take you to comedy club.”

Diana sighs, and puts the finished daisy crown on my head. “We’re just worried, that’s all. You’ve done a total one-eighty, and it’s…it’s just scary. I mean, if you
like
going to the frat parties and making out with a new guy every night, be my guest. More power to you, girl. But…”

I smile and slap her back. “It’s nice of you to be worried about me. But look at me! I’m a big girl. I’m
huge
. I can take care of myself.”

Diana knits her pretty lips together, but before she can say anything Yvette comes up from behind her and pounces, wrapping her arms around Diana’s shoulders.

“Surprise, motherfuckers!” Yvette crows, then looks around to make sure no one is watching before pecking Diana on the cheek. “Hi, sweet thing.”

Diana flushes. “Hey, you.”

I keel over in the grass. Yvette sniffs under her armpits.

“I don’t smell that bad, do I?”

“I’m dead,” I rasp hoarsely. “From the cuteness.”

Yvette goes red. “Shut up! You wouldn’t know cute if it bit you on the ass!”

“It’s true.” I laugh. “I’m not all that cute!”

Diana frowns. “You are plenty cute.”

“Well,” I fluff my hair. “We’ll let the ladies and gentlemen at the Phi Omega house tonight decide that.”
 

“You’re going to another party tonight?” Yvette sighs. “Shit. Remember to be safe, dumbass.”

“Remember to eat my ass.” I pause thoughtfully. “I take that back. I’m not into that. I don’t even actually know what I’m into yet! But I’m pretty sure eating poop is not one of the things I will be into in the foreseeable future.” I see Yvette glaring and throw my hands up. “Okay! Okay. I’ll be safe. I promise.”

Hanging with Yvette and Diana is fun, but there always comes a part where they stare into each other’s eyes a little too long, or their fingers lace together too tightly, and I instinctively know I should leave. So I make a little excuse about getting ready for the party, and wave as I head for my dorm. They are obviously in love. Even Yvette’s paranoia at being found out doesn’t stop them from being publicly and purely in love. Diana seems less paranoid, but is careful just for Yvette’s sake. It’s cute and a little gag-worthy but most of all, painful to watch. Every second I watch them touch is every second further the darkness drills into my head. No one will ever look at me like that. No one will feel that deeply for me. No one will treat me that tenderly. No one will ever love me like that.

Ugly.

Ugly ugly ugly.

 
Not even Jack.

Not even the boy who got the closest, the farthest through my bitter shell. Not even the boy who stood in the doorway of my heart could bring himself to take that last step.

Something made him turn back. Something in me. Something wrong within me. And I’ll never know what it is, because I can never ask him. I don’t even see him often, anymore. I catch glimpses of his face in the hall but that’s all I permit myself to look at, and for mere seconds. Anything else is dangerous. Anything longer would mean a closet, and quiet, and tears, and more darkness, more holes I tear in myself so the darkness can crawl inside and live there like it always has.

My mirror makes me look a little taller. It also makes me look like I’m about to cry, and I really don’t need that again. I put a smile on instead and rummage through my closet. I pick a black skirt and long black socks. My fingers glance over the pink blouse, and I pull back like it’s lava.
 

The memories are the worst part.

Jack’s smile, his voice saying I was beautiful, the way he wrapped his arms around me in his bed, his breath on my neck. His smell, mint and honey. His rare, sonorous laughter. Our conversations, our fights, our kisses, the way his hand grabbed mine under the fountain water for the last time –

I swallow nausea and bury the blouse under a hoodie. I pull on a slinky red shirt instead, and brush out my hair.

He came so close.

But in the end, he ran away. Like they all do.

I pucker my lips, applying pink gloss. It’s my fault, really. I was stupid for thinking Jack was different from any other guy in the world. They want things that are easy. They want girls who are cute and fun and experienced. None of this angry, bitter, sarcastic, virginal nonsense. Who I used to be was just too much work for Jack – for anyone! I don’t blame him at all for turning tail. I certainly wouldn’t want to be faced with the daunting task of loving someone that difficult.

So I changed.

Correction: I’m chang
ing
. Change doesn’t happen overnight, except when it does, and I’m trying my hardest to make sure it looks like it does. I can’t stand the thought of being that bitter, stupid girl one more second. I want to be easy. I want to be happy and have fun.

“
God
,” I laugh through applying another coat of lip gloss. “She was so stupid.”
   
    
  

I check my eyeliner one last time, ignore the fact my foundation doesn’t cover my dark eye bags entirely, and make sure no tags are sticking out anywhere, especially not on my new radical tiger-print panties. I grab my phone, and stuff a twenty down my bra in case I need to take a cab home.

My phone vibrates, and before I take it out I pray it’s a text message from a certain icy someone.

But it’s Mom. Calling. I brace myself.

“Hey.What’s up?”

“Hi, sweetie. How are you?”

“I’m…” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m a bruised skeleton with a bit of meat on her. “I’m fine. How are you doing? How’s work?”