𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 3

Chapter Three

Beck

Willow. Willow. Willow. She's the most amazing, brave, strong, beautiful girl I know, even if she doesn't think so. She also gets herself into some of the most unnerving situations. Then again, most of the time, it isn't her fault.

She's had a difficult life, starting from when her dad walked out when she was six. I met her not too long after that happened. She was so quiet, sad, and broken back then. Sometimes, she still looks that way, her big eyes so crammed with pain, sadness, and the stress of a difficult life. All I want to do is hug her, which I try to do as much as she'll let me.

But the touching thing is becoming a real problem lately. For me, anyway.

Somewhere along the road of friendship, I started seeing her as more than a friend. Way, way more.

After we get into my car, I drive toward her house, taking subtle breaths to try to calm the fuck down. I'm normally a fairly calm guy and prefer talking things out instead of throwing punches. But when I heard that guy trying to coax Willow into opening the door, uncontrollable anger blazed through me. Then I pulled up and saw him running to his car, and I lost any ounce of calm I had left. If Willow hadn't stopped me, I don't know what I would've done. Probably rammed my fist into his face until my knuckles broke. I should feel rattled by that, but thinking about what that guy probably wanted to do to her ...

I open and flex my fingers, sucking in an unsteady exhale.

"Are you okay?" Willow fixes her big eyes on my hands. "Why're your hands shaking?"

"They're just having a spasm," I lie, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. "Too much typing up assignments, I think."

She gives me a dubious look. "Since when do you even do assignments?"

I press my hand to my heart, mocking offense. "Are you saying I'm a slacker?"

"No ... but you did get away with only taking tests during our senior year."

"Hey, it's not my fault the tests were so damn easy. And if I can ace them without doing the homework, then why do the homework?"

She shrugs. "I don't know ... I guess I can kind of see your point. Although, I could never get away with doing that."

I reach over and lightly tug on a strand of her hair. "Of course you could. You're the smartest person I know." I offer her a lopsided smile. "You're just an overachiever."

Her face scrunches. "Sometimes, I wish I wasn't, though."

"Since when?" I search her sad eyes, wondering what's bothering her tonight.

"I don't know ... since forever, I guess." She shrugs, picking at her fingernails. "I just think life would be way easier if I wasn't always trying so hard and just didn't care."

"It's not," I tell her. "Trust me, I know."

She gives me the look, the one that means she's about to defend my slacker actions and stroke my ego. "You're not a slacker. You just don't like wasting time by doing stuff you don't like. But you work so hard and always do what you love." She sighs, resting her head against the window, dazing off into her own little world. "I wish I could spend my life having more fun and being less stressed out."

"You could." I reach out and place my hand over hers. "You just have to stop worrying about everything so much."

"Yeah, but I don't have just me to worry about," she mutters, her hand twitching underneath mine, but she doesn't pull back.

We sink into silence as Willow stares out the window, lost in thought, probably stressing over her car, her mom, school, bills. At eighteen years old, she has more responsibilities than most people have in a lifetime. I wish I could take some of the burden away for her, but she rarely accepts my offers to help. I love helping her. I wish she'd stop being so stubborn and let me fix her car so I wouldn't have to worry about her getting into another situation like tonight. Until she does get her car fixed, I'll spend my nights worrying about her safety.

Then again, at this point in my life, I should be used to it. 

Ever since grade school when we first became friends, I felt a need to protect Willow, like when other kids teased her because she wore old clothes and glasses that were too big. Plus, she was so shy and rarely stood up for herself. That quickly became my job, and I spent many recesses warding off anyone who dared come near her on the playground. During middle school, though, my warding off days diminished, mostly because Willow changed.

So did the way I looked at her.

I remember the moment clearly. My mom had dragged me to France with her for the entire summer, and I didn't see Willow for three months straight. By the time I returned, I was excited to go back to school, to return to normalcy, to eat a cheeseburger, and to see my friends, particularly Willow. Partly because I wanted to check up on her, and partly because I simply missed her.

I didn't get a chance to see her until the first day of school, but a couple of our other friends, she, and I all agreed over the phone to meet out front so we could walk in together.

Wynter showed up first. She looked pretty much the same as she had at the beginning of summer. Her blonde hair was a little longer, and she was wearing a dress like she usually did.

"Hello, Beckett. Long time no see." She plopped down beside me on the short wall that ran down the side of the stairway that led to the school.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that." My lip twitched. I hated when she called me Beckett. My dad used my full name when he yelled at me, telling me how much of a screw-up I am. Wynter knew I loathed the name, but she loved getting under my skin.

"Why?" Her eyes sparkled mischievously in the sunlight. "It's your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but you know I hate it."

"Which makes it even more appealing."

I blew out an exasperated breath, keeping my lips sealed. It was too early in the morning to argue with her, something we did a lot. Some of my friends said we acted this way because we were so much alike. Perhaps that was true. Wynter came from a wealthy family like me, and our parents could sometimes be neglectful. But they made up for their absence by showering us with gifts. Still, I thought Wynter acted more spoiled than I did.

She crossed her legs, fiddling with her diamond bracelet. "So was Paris any fun? I bet it was. I wish my parents would take me there. They hate taking me on trips with them, though. You're so lucky your mom takes you places sometimes."

"Yeah, I guess so." I didn't mean to sound grumpy, but going on trips with my mom meant sitting in a hotel room while she went shopping. The only reason she brought me was because my dad didn't want to be responsible for me.

I sat back on my hands and stared at the people walking up and down the stairway in front of us. "The food kind of sucked, though."

"Whatever. I bet it didn't. I bet you were just being ... well, you."