Dangerous: A Marcel Styles Fan Fiction

13: Bloodthirsty

13: Bloodthirsty

   When I got to school the next morning, mind still flustered about everything I’d witnessed the past few days showcasing the new Marcel, I entered the building through different doors than usual, making the walk to my locker longer and more unbearable.

   The majority of students stared at me or whispered with their friends about Marcel and I, even though – though it may seem there was – there wasn’t anything going on between us. We were just friends!

   “Veronica!”

   If it were called by anyone else – preferably someone I could actually tolerate – I would have answered the yell of my names. One look over my shoulder revealed it to be Lionel Phillips, the lesser of the three in Kevin’s posse. I rolled my eyes and continued walking, but this didn’t stop the jock. It just made him run to catch up with me.

   “So, I heard you’re sleeping with Marcel,” he remarked tauntingly.

   I stopped in my tracks and whirled around to face the jock, who stood a head taller than me. “Oh,” I purred with wide eyes and a fake smile, “Who told you? Georgia Rose?” I picked up my pace again after I spoke, dropping the act from my face. I heard his loud footsteps still trailing me and justified, “It was a onetime thing, okay?”

   “Of course it was,” Lionel continued in an obvious tone. I already didn’t like where this was going. “Step up from a boy, V. You need a man!”

   “Marcel is a man,” I defended. “Exactly how long was Kevin in the hospital after that fight? I thought I heard twenty-six hours.”

   “Well, Kev’s a pussy,” Lionel argued. He stepped around me, and put his arm on the wall to my side, blocking me from walking forward and giving me only one choice of listening to him and staring judgementally into his stupid brown eyes. “I am a man.

   “Piss off,” I spat with an eye roll. I proceeded to step around him.

   Lionel, being the idiot he was, didn’t take this first rejection easy. As I stepped to his side, he grabbed my wrist tight in his huge hand and slammed me back against the bank of lockers, bringing his nose less than an inch away from mine. Each of his hands were gripping so tight around my forearms I was nearly certain my fingers were turning purple.

   “C’mon baby,” he purred with a sinister grin, “You need a man, not a boy.”

   He didn’t give me any time to object. Lionel made sure I was pinned against the lockers under his weight extremely well before going in and pressing his lips to mine roughly.

   I didn’t let shock take over me and, instead, used a mechanism of defense. I stomped the heel of my shoe on his foot, making him stumble back away from me.

   “I said fuck off,” I stated.

   Leaving Kevin’s moronic friend behind, still moderately surprised at what I’d just done – as typically I was just a quiet little girl who went with the flow – I strutted away down the twisting mazes of halls until I found my locker with my blonde friend leaning against it.

   “Whoa, where’d you get the bruises?” she asked.

   I followed her hazel eyes and looked down to my arms. Lionel’s fingers had left lines of purple on my tanned forearms. They weren’t terrible though. I’d get my skin back in a week.

   “Ignore it,” I told her. “Lionel was just being an ass hat.”

   “So we’re back into our old routine?” she asked with a slight laugh as I pried open my locker door. I looked back at her, but, before I could nod in agreement, her mouth opened again and spoke the words, “Sort of.” Her gaze was focused on something passed me and I knew the meaning of the two syllables. For the first day since the fight, Marcel had shown up for classes.