The Vituperator (NaNoWriMo 2015)

fourteen \\ sitter

"TONIGHT AT JACQUES'; you should go with us," Bryson leans on the locker next to mine, hovering over me as I sort textbooks back and forth. I don't answer, I just keep to my locker.

Bryson's presence has become more complicated than usual; learning that he was an abusive boyfriend changed something. After reading about those ordeals, I can't just act like the reluctant friend (or confidant?) I am all willy-nilly. Not anymore. Before, I had to learn to adjust to him being around — if I couldn't stop it, then so be it — but now I truly want him away from me.

The issue to this is that I can't exactly cut him off without cutting off the group entirely. I need them all together, nothing separating them any more than already. I've come too far — I'm hooked, so to speak, on the whole story of why Alona left. Before, I just wanted to know, just a gist of it, whatever I could get. Things changed. Now, I know I have an in, I know I can find out everything, it just takes time.

Unfortunately, patience is not my forte. But I will try. Valiantly.

"I don't know," I reply, because I really don't know at all. Going to Jacques' will mean that I'll have to spend more time with Bryson, but it also means that there will be alcohol, and the whole group will get a little loose. Who knows what I can coax out of them. "I'll have to think about it."

"Sorry Olive," he says sincerely, "I need an answer, like, now. We're all taking Nick's car and we need to coordinate who to pick up when."

"Okay," I shut my locker, still not looking at him, "I'll go."

"Great," he smirks, plucking my bag out of my hands before I can slip the straps back onto my shoulders. "We'll pick you up outside your place at 9."

"What the fuck!" I make a grab for my bag, but he just slips a strap onto his shoulder. Just taking things from me, my own bag, that is such a no. Nope, I think I'm going to scratch him, leave a big ugly scar on his face. His grandchildren will ask him about it when he's old and he'll give them a long, elderly speech with morals at the end about not taking things without permission.

"Relax," he puts a hand on my shoulder, as if it's some kind of reassurance. I shrug it off. "We're both heading to the science labs, and you just shoved too many books into your bag."

"It's for class, dumbass," I practically growl, trying to make a grab for my bag again, but he lands another hand on my shoulder, restraining me. I probably wouldn't have been able to reach the bag anyway. Damn height difference.

"I'm taking a load off your shoulders, just till we reach your class," he shoots me a smile, it feels patronizing. "I owe you."

"For what?" I blurt, suddenly perplexed. He starts to walk ahead.

"For being here."

The dodge hums quietly outside my house. Dressed in some black jeans, and a nicer-than-everyday blouse underneath my jacket, I shut my front door and start walking to the car. Nobody has opened a door or rolled down a window to greet me or even call out some lame are you ready to party?!?! (Nick is usually quite proficient at that). Which is odd, because they usually have something to say.

I tap on the window and slide into some kind of chaos when the door opens.

"Olivia! Hey!" Tae grins sheepishly, "Don't mind everyone else, they're arguing about something stupid, I don't know."

I sit next to Sasha in the backseat, while Bryson sits on her other side.

"I'm just saying, babe," Nick says from the driver's seat — oh, we've started moving — adjusting the rear view mirror to look at Sasha, "If you didn't want to go, then you didn't have to."