My Darling Arrow Page 11

  It is love.

  It has been love for years. For eight miserable years when I’ve cried in my pillow, written him secret letters, pined for him, longed for him, watched him.

  Because he was in love with someone else. He was in love with my sister.

  But he’s not with her anymore, is he?

  I know I promised myself that I’d stay away from him and keep him safe from my advances.

  But he’s the one suggesting it and he’s in pain and…

  And then, I’m not thinking anything at all because he’s touching me again.

  The thumb that he was moving back and forth on my belly is now on the corner of my mouth.

  Arrow uses that rough thumb to trace the curve of my lower lip that’s started to tremble. My whole body starts to tremble when he tugs my lip, making me part my mouth.

  Making me arch my back and get pulled toward his body.

  “Not to mention, this could be your revenge.” He tugs harder at my lip and I go up on my tiptoes. “I know your relationship with your sister is complicated. Has been for years. Maybe you could get even with her. We both could. All you have to do is say yes.”

  He’s still swiping his thumb back and forth, still looking down at me with blazing eyes, and my body is still straining toward him like a lovesick fool.

  Maybe that’s why it takes me a second to understand his meaning.

  Revenge on my sister. For having a complicated relationship with her.

  Being a distraction for Arrow could be my revenge on my own sister.

  As soon as I understand that, something flips inside of me.

  Something that gives me so much strength that I raise my arm and knock his thumb away. Not only that, I use that palm to smack him, his harsh cheek.

  And I don’t do it just once. I do it twice. I do it so harshly that my palm burns with the impact.

  But on him, there’s hardly any effect.

  Except for the flare of his nostrils and the tic of his jaw, he looks unaffected.

  “You’re a pig,” I tell him with a vibrating voice. “You know that? You’re an asshole. I can’t believe you said that to me. I can’t believe you would… I’ll never do that to my sister, you understand? Ever. It hurt me, it actually hurt me that you guys broke up. Because you guys are being stupid and stubborn and I wanted you to get back together. I wanted to help you guys get back together. God, I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” I shake my head. “Stay away from me. And stay away from my sister. She is better off without you.”

  My palm still burns.

  It’s been twenty-four hours and I think it still shines scarlet, the heel of my palm. With which I touched him.

  For the very first time, no less.

  Yeah, the first time I really touched the guy I love, I smacked him. Not once but twice. And he deserved it by the way, for saying those horrible things to me.

  I’m not going to pretend that I’m some kind of a saint, a good girl. I have committed the crime of falling in love with my sister’s boyfriend.

  I have committed the crime of wanting him and craving him and watching him while he was with her. I’ve always considered myself dangerous, a ticking time bomb.

  That’s why I was running away that night. That’s why I will run away when I get my chance again.

  But not once, not in my entire life, have I thought despicable things about my sister.

  If I’d blown up like a bomb that I am, I would’ve done it for love. I would’ve done it because my heart got so swollen with wrong cravings and secret longings that it burst out of my chest on its own.

  Not for revenge. Never for revenge.

  And I won’t let him think such despicable thoughts either. I can’t let him be that angry and hurt and miserable. So miserable that he’s thinking of hurting someone else.

  So, I’ve come to a decision. It has two parts.

  The first part includes getting him to apologize to me.

  Yes, I’m forcing him to apologize and be nice. Because I can’t live in a world where Arrow Carlisle is a grade-A asshole.

  I cannot accept the fact that the guy I’ve been in love with for eight years is mean and cruel. So I’m going to force him to be decent.

  And the second part is ending his pain once and for all.

  I know my sister has asked me to not interfere. I know that.

  But I’m going to.

  Because he’s hurting and she must be hurting too.

  Breakups are tough and if I can do something to curb their pain, then I will. Besides, this is the least I can do after betraying my sister in secret for years.

  Although I’m not sure how I will accomplish this big feat. But I’m working on it. For now though, I need to make him apologize to me.

  I look for him all day at school but I don’t see him anywhere. He’s not in his office either; I went and checked. I even wanted to ask Coach TJ about him but I stopped myself lest I appear overly familiar and step over any more of my boundaries.

  When school is done and night falls, we sneak out again.

  This time it’s my idea.

  Because like a fool, I think I might see him again at the bar like last week. I might find him there, looking for his next distraction.

  My chest squeezes when I think that. When I think of him looking for a way to get rid of all his anger.

  Will you be my rebound girl, Salem?

  I wanted it, didn’t I?

  God, how badly did I want it.

  I would’ve said yes. I was going to say yes. I was going to say yes to becoming his distraction, an object that he uses, just because I’m so crazy in love with him.

  If only he hadn’t said those words. If only he hadn’t been a giant fucking asshole.

  Anyway, we’re at the bar now.

  Like the last time, I have lipstick on. It’s called Dream Broken Darling, a melancholic and dark shade of coral and brown, which suits my mood perfectly.

  Just like the song that’s playing overhead: “Sad Girl” by Lana Del Rey, the queen who makes music for doomed and heartbroken girls like me.

  My mind is on the song and my hips are already swaying to it, and probably that’s why I don’t see the obstacle in front of me until I’ve crashed into its back.

  It’s Wyn.

  Who in turn crashes into Poe, who bumps into Callie.

  Coming out of my melancholy, I frown. “What’s up? Why are we stopping?”

  Wyn shrugs, rubbing her shoulder. “Because for some reason Callie has turned into a statue and won’t move.”

  We’re standing just a few feet inside the door almost in a line and Wyn is right; Callie, in the front, has stopped moving. The rest of us break away from our formation to go stand beside her.

  “Callie, what’s up?” I ask, touching her elbow tentatively.

  “Nothing,” she says, her eyes focused on something, her lips barely moving.

  “Then why aren’t you moving?” Poe asks.

  Callie mumbles something indecipherable and I follow her gaze to find myself staring at a guy.

  At a gorgeous guy, actually.

  For the first time since yesterday, my mind is thinking about something else. And that something else is this guy that Callie is staring at.

  He’s got dark hair that’s kind of spiky and messy at the top, as if he has a serious habit of running his fingers through it. And dark-colored eyes.

  Gosh, those eyes are so sparkly and uncanny. Like black gems.

  He stands directly opposite to us, among a group of people. From what I can see, this guy seems to be at the center of it.

  Everyone – mostly guys and a couple of girls – is somehow talking to him at the same time. Everyone is looking up at him at the same time, as well.

  Probably because first, he’s taller than everyone in the group, and second, because he looks bored. Or maybe that’s his resting face, looking arrogantly bored by everything around him.
r />   Well, not everything.

  Because in a matter of seconds, his dark-colored eyes have fallen onto the one thing that does interest him.

  My friend, Callie.

  His smooth features change. They buckle and morph to show slight surprise before a frown appears between his brows.

  He clenches his smooth jaw too – much smoother as opposed to his messy hair – with what I can only describe as disdain.

  Confused, I look away from him and back to Callie, and when I find the same expression on her face, things suddenly click.

  “Is he… the guy because of whom you’re at St. Mary’s?” I ask her, remembering the story she told us about how she ended up at St. Mary’s.

  So one night, over dinner, they all shared their stories of how they ended up at St. Mary’s.

  Wyn, who lives in a rich neighboring town called Wuthering Garden, was sent here by her parents because she had a fight with them about applying to art programs when the time came. And she got so angry that she drew graffiti on her dad’s car. Although, I can’t imagine Wyn ever being angry with her silver eyes and soft voice. She’s a pure artist. A girl who dreams.

  Poe, who’s from Middlemarch, another neighboring town, was sent here by her guardian because she’d prank him and he got really tired of slipping on banana peels and finding frogs in the middle of his bed. I can definitely see Poe doing something like that. She’s a girl who loves trouble, and I say that with all the love in my own troublemaking heart.

  Then came Callie’s turn.

  “Well, my oldest brother sent me here. Conrad. I’ve got four older brothers by the way and we live in Bardstown. No parents. Anyway, he sent me here because I stole a guy’s car. And drove it into the lake,” she said.

  When I asked her why, all she said was, “Because he lied to me.”

  Then Wyn jumped in. “Don’t waste your breath. She’ll never tell the whole story. We’ve asked a million times.”

  Poe nodded. “Yup. All we’ve ever gotten is a name, a very sexy name: Reed Jackson.”

  So now at the bar, Callie stiffens at my question but jerks out a nod.

  Poe is next to speak up. “He is Reed Jackson. Wow, I didn’t realize how…”

  “How gorgeous he is?” says Wyn, picking up Poe’s trail.

  “Exactly,” Poe exclaims. “Gorgeous.”

  “That’s the word, yes,” I breathe out.

  “Yeah. He’s gorgeous,” Callie says the first words since we all saw him, standing there acting like he owns the place.

  Then she breaks the intense stare-down and looks at me. He, however, keeps the connection and friction in his gaze well and alive.

  “And a liar and an asshole. So he’s basically a villain. A gorgeous villain,” she says with a tight smile. “Oh, and he’s here. Fantastic. So I’m gonna need a drink before I go over there and drown him in the lake. Fuck Will, the bartender, I’m stealing his whiskey.”

  And then she marches away from us and toward the bar.

  “What just happened?” Wyn asks.

  “I think we might need to keep an eye on this guy,” Poe says.

  “Yeah. And on Callie too,” I say and make to follow my friend.

  But Poe stops me. “I don’t think you should go after her.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. You’ve got other things to worry about,” Poe says, raising her eyebrows.

  Wyn looks over my shoulder. “Yeah. Something like him.”

  Him.

  They don’t have to tell me anything more than that. I immediately know who him is.

  In fact, I feel him.

  I feel the skin on the back of my neck prickle and heat up. My entire spine prickles and heats up.

  “You should go talk to him,” Wyn continues. “We can take care of Callie.”

  “Yeah, give him hell,” Poe says fiercely.

  Again, I didn’t tell them what happened. But they guessed that something awful had occurred back at the library, when I came out all red and shaky. And then he came out, a few minutes behind me with his jaw gritted, looking all arrogant and aloof as he left the building without sparing anyone a glance.

  My friends asked me if they needed to do something about it. If they needed to prank him or if it was serious enough to go report it to someone. I told them I could handle it. That it was between me and him.

  And I was right.

  I am going to handle it because it is between me and him.

  Still feeling him at my back, I exhale a breath. “Okay.”

  They both give me smiles before squeezing my shoulder and taking off after Callie.

  At last, I turn around.

  My palm stings as soon as I catch sight of him.

  He’s in the same corner as before. The one he was bursting out of. The same vintage jacket too that makes him look like a daredevil. A bad, rebellious boy. And the same cap, hiding the top of his face and his dirty blond hair.

  Like the last time, he also has a girl by his side. This one is a brunette. She seems pretty interested in him, and why wouldn’t she be? I bet she’s counting her lucky stars that she gets to talk to a superstar athlete, The Blond Arrow.

  Besides girls find him irresistible, don’t they?

  That’s what he told me last night. And he’s not even wrong about it because they do.

  I do.

  And I am crazy for him. Crazy and stupid and sad. All for him.

  But I’m also going to give him a piece of my mind, and he probably knows that. Because it’s all reflected on my face, my tipped-up chin and heaving chest. And unlike the last time when I found him engrossed in the girl, he is engrossed in me.

  Yeah, he’s watching me with his shining, flaming eyes.

  The eyes that I stupidly waxed poetic about.

  I fist my hands at my sides and strangely, those eyes shine even more. Like two beacons on his shadowed features.

  A hot shiver runs down the length of my body and I move toward him.

  He watches me make my way through the drunken throng with an inscrutable look while leaning casually against the brick wall.

  I’m about to reach him when he bends down and whispers something in the girl’s ear. He does it without taking his eyes off me and she leaves him with a nod.

  I feel her pass me by but I don’t pay her any mind. My eyes are still glued to him and his to me.

  When I reach him, he drawls, “I thought we were staying away from each other.”

  Ignoring him, I ask, “Did you humiliate her too, like you did the last girl? To make her leave so quickly.”

  He flicks his bright eyes over my face. “No. After you showed me the error of my ways, I was nice.”

  “Oh, you were.”

  He nods slowly. “I just told her the truth.”

  “The truth. Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t wait to hear your truth.”

  He studies me a beat, something rippling through his sharp features. “I just told her that a crazy groupie is headed my way. And she’s got a bad habit of getting jealous when I talk to other girls.”

  I clench my teeth and a few lines of amusement deepen around his mouth. “You wish, you asshole.”

  “You sure? Because you look a little…” He searches for the word. “Flustered.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. I’m very, very sure.”

  His eyelids flicker and go down to my darkly painted lips. “That’s too bad then, because I was kind of looking forward to reminding you that you’re just the little sister.”

  It takes me a few moments to gather my thoughts.

  Mostly because I’m remembering the touch of his thumb on my lower lip. The roughness of it, the heat while he was flicking it back and forth, almost playing with my flesh.

  And I was letting him.

  I was letting him play with my lip, with my witchy heart. With me.

  But not anymore.

 
“You can keep your reminders to yourself because I’ve got something to say to you,” I snap.

  Even though he hasn’t moved away from the wall, I know he has lost all his casualness. It’s in the way his eyes flash and his jaw clamps.

  “And that is?”

  I take a step closer to him and stab my finger in the air. “What you said to me last night was horrible. It was awful and completely uncalled for and you know it. You fucking know it. You treated me like shit and that’s not cool. Actually, no.” I pause and take a deep breath, and then say all the things that I didn’t even know were bubbling up inside of me. “You’ve been treating me like shit since you arrived, when I’ve been nothing but nice to you. I don’t deserve your assholishness and cruelty and your public humiliation and your stupid propositioning. So apologize to me. Right now.”

  When I’m done, I’m breathing hard and I’m sweating like crazy. My finger that still hovers in the air is trembling.

  That could also be because he’s looking at it.

  He’s staring at my finger and he does it for a second or two before looking up.

  But even then, he doesn’t look into my eyes, no. For some insane reason, he’s staring at my nose. He’s staring really hard at it and I don’t know what to think.

  I’m about to speak up when he finally looks away and up into my eyes, tipping his chin at me. “You’re right.”

  “I’m right?”

  “You didn’t deserve it.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  I stare up at him, my neck craned, my finger tired and shaking, still pointed at him. “So you’re apologizing. You’re saying you were wrong.”

  Was it that easy?

  He straightens up then, his chest expanding on a sharp sigh. “You want to get your finger out of my face and move?”

  I curl my finger into my hand and bring it down to my side. “Why?”

  His cheekbones thrum with irritation. “You don’t want to be my distraction, do you?”

  I swallow as another shiver rolls down my spine. “No.”

  “Then stop wasting my time and get out of my way.”

  I do the opposite.

  I plant myself in his way. I widen my feet and stand my ground.

  Slowly, very slowly, Arrow glances down at my soccer cleats, and I tighten my muscles. I watch as he grits his teeth once, twice. Three times.