Breaking the Wrong (9 page)

My hands are holding the paper, but they’re shaking from Macsen’s words. I clutch the edges until the tips of my fingers turn white. “Nothing is wrong.”

Macsen’s black eyebrows lift. “You’re all ... moody.”

He is wrong. I’m just tortured. Most of the time, I struggle between getting to know him, ignoring the interest I feel, and stifling the anger that rises when I do become interested. It makes my emotions a cyclone that won’t stop moving.

But, right now, I’m feeling amped up from my time spent with Tosha. I nudge my head toward the front page of the newspaper. “What do you think about this?”

Macsen leans close and I feel his breath on my neck. When he looks up, his eyes are clouded and his eyebrows are drawn down. “You want to know what I think of a girl being attacked?”

I keep my shoulders from shaking. “People are attacked, bullied, harmed all the time ... it’s a hot topic.”

“It’s been a hot topic for a while,” he mutters.

“Shouldn’t everyone talk about it? And shouldn’t this guy be held accountable for what he did?”

He pulls his head back. “Yes...”

“This guy put her through hell,” I continue, “he needs to be punished.”

Macsen rubs the skin above his lower lip as he looks at the newspaper in concentration. I can’t stop staring at his thumb moving back and forth
. I look away, feeling sick that I’m thinking of him as anything other than my enemy.

“You feel strongly about this.”

My back goes rigid and I mask my face, trying to look bored. “It’s just wrong. I hate reading this, but I’m glad he’s getting punished.”

Macsen peers at the article one more time and points to a name. “Well, Brandon Reyes will have five years in prison. He deserves it.”

“So you agree it’s wrong, and that he needs to be punished?” I stop myself from lurching across the chair and shoving my face close to his.

He looks insulted by my questions. “Of course. It’s fucked up what happened, she didn’t deserve that.”

My chest is moving up and down, and my heart won’t stop thundering. I can’t catch my breath. 

Macsen looks over at me with concern. “Were you attacked or bullied?” He points to the article. “Help me out here.”

He’s looking at me with genuine worry, like he wants to know what’s wrong. I want to tell him that he’s the reason for my pounding heart and pain.

“No,” I say slowly and take a deep breath. “I wasn’t.”

“So you’re just really passionate about this stuff?” Macsen smiles with one side of his mouth, and I know he doesn’t believe me.

I’m numb. How can he sit across from me and act confused with my anger? To keep my hands busy, I toy with the edge of the newspaper. “I just think it’s a tragedy.”

He agrees. “I think everyone’s been picked on by someone at one point in their life.”

I narrow my eyes slightly, trying to get a clear picture of Macsen. “You have?”

“Sure, I was.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks guarded. “I moved around everywhere. New kids are always the easy target. I had these huge glasses, this tall lanky frame—I kind of made it too easy for them.”

“What happened?” I ask quietly.

“Just a bunch of stupid shit.”

Macsen is trying to be evasive and I don’t push. Not yet, at least.

“And what about high school?”

“High school got easier,” he concedes slowly. “Look, I’m agreeing with you, Emilia. I’m not defending this guy.” Macsen holds my gaze. “Clearly, you’re upset at what happened to this girl, but her abuser is caught. He’s going to jail. There was justice.”

My smile is grateful but just for appearances. Sometimes there really isn’t justice. You have to find it for yourself.

I expect him to leave after my rant, but he stays put. He sighs and looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m learning so much about you.”

“And what do you think you’re learning?” I ask cautiously.

“I don’t think, I
know
.” Those green eyes look at me pointedly and it sends chills down my spine. “You like a William Faulkner novel, and yet, you probably read those lady porn books with the huge buff dude on the front.”

A wide smile is on his face. I open my mouth to object, but he quickly speaks up. “But you are really passionate about things you believe in.” He points at the front page of the paper and watches me with an intense look. It makes my skin burn. “I like passionate people.”

My mind shuts off. I don’t know how to respond to that. I swallow and hope that I don’t look affected by his words or the hot expression on his face. It’s not working, because his lips lift up in a small grin.

Turns out, Macsen Sloan isn’t really cocky. It would be disingenuous of him. He’s intriguing because nothing about him really fits. I want to say he knows he’s good looking, but most of the time he looks more embarrassed than confident. He’s quiet. I never know if it’s because he has nothing to say, or if he’s just too afraid to speak what’s on his mind.

It’s those discoveries that scare me because it shows me that I’m failing when it comes to my plan. I’m trying to shut down my brain. I’m trying to get to know the guy in front of me, and it’s working. But I’m failing when it comes to not feeling.

Folding the paper in half, I place it on my lap and look Macsen directly in the eye.

“Why do you hang out with Chris? You’re so different from each other.”

Macsen shrugs. “I know
… but he’s a good roommate. Other than bugging me about girls … he leaves me alone.” He looks at me seriously. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem like an odd pair, unless maybe
you’re hiding something.” My heart thunders wildly and I watch his every move, waiting for a clear-cut sign that would show his guilt. All I see is honesty.

“No, this is me. I’ve always been this way.”

His words have more of an effect on me than I expect. Quickly, I look away and frown at the floor. “Give me something about you.” He looks unsure. I press forward, trying to find that off button for my feelings. I need to just shut down. “You just saw me freak out over a newspaper article, so make me feel better.”

He’s going to tell me no. I just know it. After a few seconds, that cautious expression fades and he gives me a brief nod. “Something about me...”

“And not simple,” I say quickly.

“Okay...” Macsen sits back and drums his fingers against the chair. “I always have to be on time.”

That confession makes me frown. “That is...”

“Weird. I know. That’s why I wear this.” He taps the watch on his wrist. “Everywhere.”

All that shows me is that he’s a control freak. That’s nothing for me to use. Adjusting my skirt, I cross my legs and lean closer. Macsen’s eyes dilate and drift over my legs. When his eyes move back to my face, I know he’s thinking about me in a way he shouldn’t.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “What else can you tell me?”

“I like reading.”

I give him a dull expression. “I know that.”

He smiles at my look and gives me another tidbit. “I hate parties.”

That one makes me pause for a second. I didn’t expect that. “Keep going.”

“I need my coffee in the morning or I don’t function.”

My face scrunches up. “Coffee is nasty.”

“Because you haven’t really tried it. You probably had only one small sip and gave up.”

My expression turns normal, and I shift in my chair to watch him better. “It will always be nasty in my mind. But don’t change the subject. Keep going.”

“I like to swim, but I’m sure the swim trunks gave that away.”

An image of him in only his swim trunks fills my mind. It’s a thought that sneaks up on me and leaves my cheeks red because it’s not a bad thought at all.

I stare ahead and pretend to tighten my ponytail. “How long have you been swimming?”

“I started swimming at eight. Before that, I would stay in the shallow end. I couldn’t swim worth a shit. One time, as a joke, three other boys held me under.”

I’m frantically looking for the off button, because what he says makes me feel a bit of sympathy. Just a bit. But I want to feel nothing.

“That sucks,” I murmur lamely.

“Not really, Emilia.” I look over at him with my brows furrowed and he shrugs. “It scared the shit out of me, and after that, I started taking lessons. The only embarrassing thing after that was being the only eight-year-old in a group of five-year-olds.”

A smile slips through my armor. “I could see that.”

He smiles back and I feel another tiny crack in my defenses. “I just remember how I felt that day and it pushes me a bit further.”

“And that was your payback?” I blurt out.

Macsen gives me a strange look. “I guess ... you’ve never wanted to prove someone wrong, show them what you really have inside you?”

All the time. Every day. I shake my head, even though I want to nod and smile anxiously. “No.”

I swear he knows I’m lying. His eyes narrow for a brief moment. “I do.”

He stares directly at me, past my skin and everything I work so hard to hide. His green eyes hold me in place. My hands have the cushion of the seat in a painful grip, but I still don’t attempt to look away.

“There you are!” Tosha walks up to me, with Chris behind her.

My body pops out of the chair. Macsen slowly stands and blinks repeatedly at me, like his eyes are adjusting to the light. 

“Sorry, I was just...” I search for the paper and find it in my chair. “I was reading.”

Chris and Tosha look at me skeptically. “Okay,” Tosha says slowly. “I’m ready to go. Are you?”

“Yep.” My voice is way too perky.

I grab my bag and move toward the front door without looking at Macsen. He doesn’t let me slip away that easily. “I’ll see you later, Emilia.”

When I turn around he’s standing there with his arms crossed, looking at me curiously. I stare at him with no response and follow Tosha outside. 

“Did you have fun talking to Mr. Macsen?” she asks with a devious gleam in her eyes.

“I wasn’t talking,” I mutter. “I was listening.”

She digs through her purse for her car keys. “No, you were talking. And that’s freaky because I always thought you were mute when it came to guys.”

“I’m not mute.”

“You’re right. You aren’t. You just choose to be.” She stops on the sidewalk and gives me a look. I slide my sunglasses on to protect my eyes from the sun and from my friend who’s trying to figure me out. “Macsen is always quiet,” she tells me with a pointed look.

Adjusting the strap of my bag, I look away. “Is he?”

“All the time. Hates talking to people. But he was talking to you.”

I only shrug my shoulders before I step off the sidewalk and toward her car. When Tosha unlocks the car, I go to open the door but her words stop me.

“Emilia, is there something go-”

“Nope,” I interrupt her quickly. “There is nothing.”

She doesn’t bring it up in the car. We switch to a lighter subject and I’m grateful. Inside, I’m confused and angry. This isn’t adding up. In one hand, I hold what was done to my sister, and in the other I’m discovering more about Macsen.

Is it wrong for me to want to quickly leave and run back to all my comforts in New York?

MACSEN

Emilia scrunches up her top lip whenever she’s confused. I look back down at my book, knowing that when she is completely stumped she’ll ask for help.

When I first saw her, I knew she was trouble.
But the minute she opened the door to the tutoring the room and looked around the room nervously, I couldn’t look away. She looked scared as hell. It intrigued me because she’s nervous in class, but more controlled. That day she just looked frantic. I watched as she talked with Melissa. The two of them talked quietly and I knew that whatever Melissa was saying, it was frustrating Emilia.

I stood up without thinking. I wasn’t the nice guy
, like Thayer. People didn’t expect me to help them, and it made no sense for me to step up and volunteer to help her. But I couldn’t stop myself.

My mind screamed out that I had way too much on
my plate. I should have taken my exit the minute Emilia stared up at me with terror. But that look spurred me to stay put until she agreed to let me tutor her.

If I knew half of what I know now, I would have backed a
way slowly and run like hell. Emilia is more than a quiet girl. 

She proved just that when she lied about Professor Woodell.
It should have pissed me off, and when it happened, it did. I walked into the library ready to tell her to find a new fucking tutor, but she had a mischievous smile on her face that made some of my anger diminish.

Since then, I’ve been trying to figure her out. And I’m still just as confused as the first day I met her.

“Have you worn glasses very long?”

She’s looking at me expectantly. I straighten my back and frown. “Huh?”