Girl Lost (16 page)

There’s a few seconds—long enough for my heartbeat to stutter—and then pain explodes through my face, so blinding my eyes water. I scream, and Belle makes a tsking noise. She wavers before my eyes, shifting on her feet. Or maybe that’s my vision, swimming through the pain.

“What the fuck?” I shout through the pain, and she laughs.

The little bitch actually
laughs
.

“I don’t like you, Gwendolyn Barrie. And I want you to vanish, so Thief can move on with his life.”

She slaps me, hard, and I shriek as she throws her weight into me, pushing me against the wall. Her arm is braced against my neck, and she’s pushed up on her tiptoes, strained to the tip of her height as she chokes me. “Leave us alone,” she hisses.

“Peter,” I gasp, “Came to. Me.”

Rage washes over her face, and I lash out, catching a handful of short hair and yanking her back. The tiny girl squeals in surprise and then yelps when I slam her head into the wall. She smiles at me through a mess of blood and throws herself at me.

I’m cursing and clawing at her when two arms wrap around me, yanking me away from Belle. Screaming, she punches the AGZ brother who wrestled her away from me. She catches sight of me where I’m being held still, and she screeches, jerking so suddenly, she almost breaks free. The brother curses and yanks her back, lifting her off her feet and spinning to pin her to a wall.

“Calm the fuck down,” Tank shouts. “What the hell are you doing here, Gwen? Did Agreus call you?

“I don’t come because he snaps his fingers, Tank,” I snarl.

He sighs, releasing me. His eyes narrow when I turn to face him, and I wonder how bad I look. For the first time, it occurs to me that I’m going to have a helluva a time explaining this fight to Micah.

“Tiny, he is going to kick your ass,” Tank mutters.

“Get that whore out of my house.”

He growls and jerks her around to face him. “He’s ordered her untouchable. You broke his word, Belle. How do you think he’s going to react to that?”

She sniffs, haughtily. “Thief’s orders are for you and the boys. They don’t apply to me.”

His lips thin. “This one applies to everyone.”

Belle’s eyes widen, and then she shrugs. Twists away from the boys who are still gripping her by the arm, and starts up the stairs. Her expression has settled into disgusted resignation. “What the hell does he think he can do to me?”

There is something very final and bleak about her question, and she gives me one last glare before she turns, stalking up the staircase. My adrenaline is fading, and my face feels incredibly fuzzy and distant.

And hurts like hell.

Tank looks at me and curses softly. “Peter is gonna kick my ass.”

“She needs to go,” one of the brothers says, his voice tight.

“No shit, Jaks. I can’t send her out like that, though. She looks like death. Go get one of his shirts. She can change and clean up.”

“He’ll be—“

“Furious if we let her wander the damn campus looking like this,” Tank snarls. “So do what you’re fucking told and she’ll be gone sooner.”

He doesn’t wait to see if they obey. Instead he jerks me by the arm and points. “Kitchen.”

It’s very odd, being the center of conversation and attention, when the people discussing you seem determined to pretend you don’t exist. But Tank is trying to be helpful, so I follow him into the kitchen, where he wets a rag and grabs a bag of frozen peas from the fridge. “Clean up. Then this on your face—it’ll keep the swelling down. What the hell did you say to her?”

“Nothing. She told me to leave him alone, and then she attacked me.” I pause and glare. “She needs a fucking warning label. The girl isn’t quite sane.”

And I would know.

Tank sighs. A shirt comes sailing into the room, and he grabs it and holds it out to me. “Put this on.”

“I want some answers,” I say petulantly.

He nods. “And you’ll need to talk to Peter for that. I’m not saying a thing.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Because he won’t let me.”

“That is so fucked up,” I spit.

Tank smirks. “You want an escort? It’s getting dark.”

“No,” I say, exhausted suddenly. “I think I’ve had enough of Peter’s brand of crazy for the night.”

He nods and walks me to the door. There is no further discussion, no talk at all. He just waits while I open the door and step out.

And then he lets it swing shut with a loud slam.

Orchid isn’t in our room, which means I can sneak in without questions. With the anger and adrenaline wearing off, I’m left in pain. Blinding, consuming pain.

There were fights, in Pembrooke, and Brecken Ridge before that. Not often—they catered to the elite crazy, and fighting was uncouth in a way that was unacceptable.

Seeing people and islands that don’t exist was one thing. Punching your roommate was quite another.

But they occurred, occasionally. It had been long enough since the last one that I had forgotten how bad it hurt. I yank off Peter’s shirt, and my bloody clothes, and step into the shower, basking in the heat and trying to let the water wash away the pain and the fury over Belle’s attack.

And the fucked up crazy that is Peter’s hold over those frat brothers. Nothing makes enough sense to explain it—there shouldn’t be this kind of sway.

I’m beginning to think Peter and his merry band of psychos have more issues than I do. And that’s a terrifying thing to contemplate.

Someone bangs on the dorm room door. I twist the water off with a sigh. Vaguely, I’m curious as to who is coming to see me.

I pull on some underwear and my robe, twist my hair into a towel to keep it from dripping on me, and open the door.

Micah looks furious and terrified, and his eyes go very wide as they track over my face, taking in the busted lip, the swollen nose. I have a few scratches from where Belle got a good shot in with her nails. One eye is already discolored.

“Christ, Gwen, what the hell happened?”

I grimace, retreating into my room. Micah follows me, pulling the door shut as he does. Sits in my desk chair and stares, pointedly waiting for me to explain.

“Peter has a best friend. Tiny little blonde thing. She’s crazier than I am.”

His eyes widen. “His ex did this to you?”

“I don’t think she’s his ex. I think they’re really just friends. But, yeah. She’s pretty much in love with him. And she doesn’t like me much.”

He snorts. “Clearly.” I grin at him, and he sobers. “This isn’t good for you.”

“Micah,” I say softly. “Don’t.”

“I have to. It’s my job to worry about you.”

I shake my head. “It’s not. It’s your job to be my idiot little brother. And you do a kickass job at that. But it’s time to quit trying to take care of me.”

“This is what happens, when you take care of yourself,” he says dryly.

I wave a hand. “This was a fluke, and we both know it. Most men have crazy ex-girlfriends in their closet.”

“Peter apparently likes crazy.”

I laugh, and Micah sighs. I realize, abruptly, that I’ve missed this, my brother when he isn’t furious with me or fighting the expectations that were put on him so young. When he’s just Micah, lazy and funny and carelessly concerned.

“Watch a movie with me?” I ask, holding my breath.

His eyes narrow. “Do I get to pick?”

“Of course.”

He grins and settles onto my bed as I stand, rummaging through my dresser to find some clean PJs. While I get dressed in the bathroom, he pulls up a zombie movie on Netflix. I toss a bag of cookies at him and grab two Cokes before crawling onto my half of the narrow bed. I jostle him, and he elbows me, until I’m giggling and we’re both comfortable, cuddled together like puppies.

The last knot of tension unravels in my belly as I soak in the unique sense of safety I find only in Micah’s company.

The movie is starting.

“Do you think you like him because he’s crazy? Does it appeal to the part of you that has flirted with the edges of sanity?”

I side-eye him. “I didn’t flirt with it, Micah. I was full blown, batshit crazy. But to answer your question—no.” I hesitate. I haven’t said this out loud, not to anyone. Not even Grayson, although we flirted with it. “Peter looks like him,” I whisper. Micah stiffens next to me, suddenly, and then forces himself to relax. I can feel the tension, vibrating through him.

“Have you told him that?”

“I haven’t told him everything.”

“But you don’t believe he
is
the Boy.” He makes it a statement, and I shake my head vigorously.

“No. Because Peter is real. I’m not slipping, Micah. It’s not that odd, that I would meet someone who resembles the Boy. I mean, green eyes, freckles, and red hair. It’s not an unheard of combination.”

Micah pauses the movie in the middle of the opening sequence, apes screaming furiously in their cages.

“You’ll tell me if that changes, right, Gwen? If you can’t separate delusions from reality.”

He’s trying very hard to keep the worry from his voice. I nod once. “Promise.”

Relief makes his body sag, and he reaches over, stealing the cookies as we watch the apocalypse.

The next few days are strange. After Orchid returns to the room and we go through the ordeal of explaining what happened, I think we’ll get past it. Except that we don’t. I get wide-eyed looks from other students on campus. Lane watches me in tense concern from across the caf.

A few professors actually approach me, asking what happened and making discreet noises about domestic violence.
That
is incredibly awkward and fun to deal with.

I don’t anticipate the sheer rage from James. I’m in the Bitter Brick, waiting for my tea and leafing through a book, when he nudges me with one shoulder. Its two days after the attack, and the swelling has started to go down, but the bruises have blossomed into a vibrant purple that is far more shocking than it is painful.

“What did you say to Orch—?” His voice stops abruptly as I look up, his odd blue eyes going wide. His nostrils flare, and his lips form a thin line. The hand on my wrist tightens, painfully, and I yelp. He jumps and drops my wrist.

“G. Barrie!” the barista yells.

James wheels, stalking to the counter and snatching my drink from the barista. There is another drink sitting there, and he sniffs it experimentally, then stalks back to me.

“Outside,” he snaps, pushing past me. I trail behind him, more for my tea than anything else.

“That isn’t yours,” I say, pointing at the cup he stole.

“Shut up,” he says absently. He puts the drinks down and takes my face carefully into his hands, turning me to the light. His thumb probes at my bruises, a clinical touch. Which is the only reason I don’t flinch away from him. There is nothing remotely sexual about it.

And his voice, when he finally speaks, is harsh with anger. “What the fuck happened?”

I sigh. I don’t want to go through this again. But something has shifted between me and the pirate. So I do. As briefly as possible. He steps back halfway through it, seemingly content with his appraisal of my face.

I lean against the table and recite the events, and, finally, when the whole thing has been laid out, I take a sip of my tea. It’s bitter—he rushed me out before I could add honey or cream.

“And what did Peter do?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing? I haven’t seen him since that night, when I saw you in the boat house.”

“I’m going destroy that girl for this,” he seethes.

I can see the anger lining his face, and I sigh. “Let it go, James. I have. She’s furious and threatened and she lashed out.”

“But Peter’s been very clear he wants AGZ to leave you alone.”

I nod, and he makes a face. “That whole frat is weird as fuck, Gwendolyn. Are you sure about this kid?”

I nod again. “I am. Even if he’s avoiding me.” The truth—the whole truth—is there, on the tip of my tongue. Not for the first time, I want to confess everything to James. His gaze is sharp, probing. I bite my lip and offer him a weak smile. Change the subject. “What’s going on with Orchid?”

His eyes widen. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing. To sort this shit out. You’re both being utterly ridiculous.” I take another sip of my tea and make a face. It’s cool and awful. Dammit.

“She came over last night. She’s still furious. But we talked.”

“And?”

He shrugs. His eyes are bright, for the first time in weeks. He smells clean and crisp. What a difference a single conversation can make.

“We have a ways to go—but she actually talked to me, and she refused to do that even three days ago. Progress. And I know it’s your idea. So thank you,” he says awkwardly.

James being grateful is amusing. I smile and filch his drink. An experimental sip proves it’s still hot and something I can tolerate. I toss my tea and point at him. “Don’t fuck this up, James.”

Then I leave him standing there, laughing and yelling after me, “You stole my drink!”

I wave it above my head, ignoring him as I stride away.