Royce doesn’t pay them any mind, though, he uses the moment to put his skills to use.
He studies me, considering what I said about a boyfriend, my answer about the asshole on the ground, Franky’s response and question, and somehow finds the truth within it all.
And not just my truth, but Franky’s too.
I don’t have a boyfriend, but Franky wants from me what a boyfriend might get, even if he would never admit it and likely take it only in secret. We both know I’ll never give him what he wants, so he gets it from Ciara instead. It’s sad, but it’s true.
Royce brings a knee up, driving it into Franky’s spine and his shoulders bow with a low growl.
Royce steps around him with ease, and with a confidence not many possess as he turns his back to the boy he just made a fool of, complete confidence his friend will watch it for him should his senses fail him.
He slips right in front of me.
As if he can see beyond the impenetrable lens of my glasses, his eyes lock on mine, screaming play with me, but I’m not dumb and he isn’t the one stuck with these people on a day-to-day basis.
The fire in Franky’s words a few minutes ago was an indication of what I already know—Royce won’t be here forever, and soon I’ll have to answer to the ringleader on the ground.
I must stand still too long because the decision is taken from me.
From behind me, Mac’s arms fall, only for Royce’s to replace them from the front.
Royce is standing at his full height, so his hands barely reach the belt loop on my pants, but that doesn’t stop him from curling the middle fingers of his left hand through one as his right comes up to my neck.
I have no idea why I let him.
I should crush his windpipe, jab a finger between his ribs... something.
I don’t.
I don’t breathe either, officially a board piece in his little game of humiliation.
“That’s right, my man. I’m new to her,” he mocks Franky, making a point of tilting his head a bit, his attention locked on me. “But not for long, ain’t that right, baby girl?”
He twists his wrists, dragging his knuckle along my collarbone, and doesn’t stop until the pads of his fingers meet the reddened skin where Franky grabbed me.
That’s when I snap out of it.
I jerk my arm away from him, leaning my body as far away as possible and he frowns, his teeth clenching.
Before he has a chance to do whatever the heck comes after all that, a really annoying and unpleasant voice is shouting from somewhere on my right.
“Are you serious?!”
Here we freaking go...
My shoulders fall, a heavy exhale escaping, and Royce releases me, shifting toward the obnoxious voice breaking through the crowd.
Ciara shoves people around until she’s in the center of the mess Royce created.
Her jaw drops as she spots Franky on the floor. Guessing this has something to do with our odd little morning, she whips around until she finds me in the crowd.
She pushes forward, and with each step closer she grows, Royce takes one too, but not forward. He shifts to the side, shadowing my body with his own like a big bad bodyguard would his weak little patron, but he’s not needed nor wanted here, so I move as he does and then she’s right in front of me.
“What the hell, Brielle?!” she yells, glaring at Royce when he flexes on Franky who finally makes it to his feet. “What, you brought him here to try to show off?”
“Because that’s my style.”
“Why the hell else?”
“Ciara, chill—”
“Don’t tell me to chill! Tell your little friend to get out of here,” she cuts me off.
“Why don’t you, you know him better than me, right?”
Her eyes narrow, and she pushes against my chest. “Do it, Brielle.”
“Get out of my face,” I tell her calmly.
“What are you gonna do about it, cousin?” she taunts.
My jaw flexes and a sick gleam of satisfaction gleams in her eyes.
She knows I’m on a tight leash, one I clipped to my very own collar because not a soul in this place is worth falling into darkness over.
A mocking laugh follows her little taunt, and then her hands come up to knock my glasses clear off my face.
So I knock her on her ass, her eyes shooting wide and she stumbles into a group of people behind her.
As fast as she’s out of my space, Mac’s got her by the wrist.
People stare, wide-eyed and tripped out as this isn’t something they’ve seen before.
I can pretty much hear their internal gasps.
Did little Brielle Bishop claw out of her casket?
Ciara growls, growing red with embarrassment, but gets one good look at my swollen eyes, and quickly finds her way to win.
“Aw, look at you.” She fake pouts with a vile gleam in her eye. “All swollen and red. Guess you cried yourself to sleep again last night, huh?” She smirks, doing her best to paint me weak and worthless when she knows the truth behind is far from her childish taunt.
She also knows I won’t rebut and instead let these people believe whatever the hell they want.
Bitch.
I bend, reaching for my glasses, but find Micah has already picked them up, and is bent at the knee a few feet away, holding them out for me. With a thankful twitch of my lips, I grab the cheap frames and straighten.
I give Ciara a small shrug, and force myself to her level, even if it is a crappy place to be. “You wouldn’t know, since you spent it in Greg’s bed.”
Low laughter spreads throughout the courtyard, and her eyes widen.
I instantly feel like dirt, but I need this over.
Franky pushes to his feet, his eyes meeting mine briefly before looking away.
“Let’s go,” he says to no one, yet everyone.
Ciara shakes her head, jerking in Mac’s hold and when he realizes she’s only trying to walk away, he lets her.
She pushes on Franky’s chest, and thankfully the bell rings, ending this midday nightmare.
While the crowd around us takes slow steps to make sure they don’t miss anything juicy, I do the opposite. I spin and hightail it as quick as my sore ankle allows in the opposite direction.
I make it a whole three feet before Royce falls in line beside me.
“Campus security or the principal will be out here any second, how they weren’t at the start of your little head honcho showdown, I don’t even know.”
“Fuck ‘em.” He slides in my path, halting my escape.
I stop walking.
“That’s easy for someone who doesn’t go here to say,” I tell him as I turn my head away, but he grips my chin, bringing it right back.
He takes in every inch of the puffy red skin surrounding my eyes.
He studies me for a long, unnerving moment, and slowly, small creases form along his forehead, but then he blinks.
With the single flick of his eyelids, his mood changes, and a slow grin pulls at his mouth. “I was bettin’ on brown.”
Despite being a little embarrassed and a lot irritated, a small chuckle escapes. I slip my glasses back on, but he quickly pushes them up on my head.
“Yeah, well.” I roll my eyes playfully. “I’m pretty good at disappointing people.”
“Who said I was disappointed?”
I cross my arms, fighting a grin as I shake my head. “Don’t you think you should go now, or did you not start enough trouble to feed your rebelled soul?”