Playing The player

Chapter 22

The punch hurt mainly because I hadn't experienced it for a while. It was like that expression, absence makes the heart grow fonder, except I wasn't fonder of the hit, it just affected me more. But apart from that, it hurt because I knew I could've avoided it.

  I saw Dylan's face, contorted in anger just before the blow hit, and in that split second, I wondered what went on in his head. What it was that made him so angry that he would actually resort to hitting girls. I was definitely not one of those people who believed that girls should just stand in the corner, letting guys walk all over them, but violence against women was just wrong.


  My jaw went slack as his fist collided with it, and automatically, I blinked back the tears and grasped at my jaw, kneeling over in pain. Sure, it might've only been one hit, but let's not forget the fact that I did not approve of fighting, and let's not forget the fact that Dylan was actually crazy.


  I touched my chin gingerly, wincing when it stung. Great, now it would leave a bruise. We'd go back to the old days, where I'd cover each mark with lots and lots of foundation, be called a cake face at school, and just get talked to behind my back constantly. It's funny how people think that girls who wear make up don't need to use the bathroom, well guess what? They do and they can hear every single word you're saying about them.


  It was funny in a way as well, because you hear people saying all the time about how you shouldn't judge a person by their cover, but there they were, acting as though they knew me, and they were always either sucking up or just complaining about how much of a s-word I was.


  "Ow," I whimpered softly, just as another blow landed on my right calf - I had no idea why he would kick there out of all places, but he did, and it hurt like there was no tomorrow. One hand clutching my jaw and the other clutching my leg, I tried to wriggle out of sight. I knew he would find me, he always did, especially since I couldn't get too far, but as President Snow said in THG movie, there was only one thing stronger than fear, and that was hope.
 
 
  And if there was even the slightest chance that I could put this all in the past someway or another, then I was willing to let all this happen.


  I braced myself for another hit that never came. I slowly opened my eyes, and gasped at the sight of Blake using Dylan as a punching bag. Knowing he had a bad reputation was one thing, but seeing it play out in action was another. He looked so brutal, so animalistic.


  I ran my hand through my hair as I tried to control my breathing, standing up and wobbling slightly as I hobbled my way over. I didn't like Dylan at all, but seeing him getting beaten up wasn't something I was willing to experience.


  "Stop - Blake, stop," I gasped out, holding out an arm to stop him. He didn't pay any attention to me, glaring at Dylan with murderous eyes as punch after punch made his nose bleed and his jaw slack. "Blake, please."


  Blake stopped throwing punches for a second, holding Dylan out like a dirty sock. "Say sorry to her."


  Dylan spat out a bit of blood before raising his eyes to me. "Sorry babe," He smirked.


  Blake let go off Dylan's shirt and he stumbled back a few steps, his expression slightly bewildered. "If you ever fucking touch her again," Blake said quietly, venom in his voice, "Touch her, talk to her, even look at her, I will fucking make sure you regret it."


  I couldn't deny the gushy feelings I felt when I saw Blake jumping to my defence, but honestly, it was so not necessary. I would've been able to handle it myself. In fact, I would've handled it perfectly, in a mature way.


  Although if Blake hadn't handled it, Dylan wouldn't be hobbling away now with a bloody nose, swearing under his breath.


  And as much as I hated violence, it made me smile.


  Blake turned to me, his expression worried. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?"


  I shook my head; I was completely fine .There would be bruises tomorrow morning, but nothing was broken. "No," I started, "I'm - "


  "Get in, quick," Blake panicked, pushing me gently towards his car. "I think your leg is broken."


  I rolled my eyes as I walked calmly to his car. It was cute that he was this worried over nothing, but all his logic and common sense had flown out of the window. "Blake, if my leg was broken, I wouldn't be able to walk right now. Look at me, I'm completely fine."


  It was like I hadn't spoken. "You might need crutches, don't worry Hails, we're going to get through this, I'll carry your books and - "


  I zoned out for the rest of his little panicky speech, getting into the car just to amuse him as he was practically trying to carry me into the passenger seat. As he was about to start the car, I faced him and put my arm on the hand that was on the steering wheel, forcing him to look at me.


  "Blake. I'm completely fine," I gave him a reassuring smile. "My leg isn't broken, nothing's broken, I'm okay, stop worrying."


  He stared at me for a second. "Completely fine?"


  I nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. So can you just take me home? We'll bomb the school bathrooms with toilet paper another time."


  Anger replaced the concern on his face as he pulled the car into reverse. Out of nowhere, he slammed his fist into the steering wheel, letting out a breath of anger in the process. "You obviously didn't tell me the whole story about Dylan and you, what, did he hit you or something? Because I'm getting sick of all this lying, it's pissing me off, I don't know why you won't tell me but it would be nice if you just tell me that you don't trust me instead of lying about it."


 I lowered my eyes to my hands, which I had dropped into my lap. He was right; and he had every reason to be annoyed. "I trust you, Blake," I said quietly, hating the way it sounded so cliché. Seriously, he probably thought I was going to confess my undying love for him now.


  Oh hell no, girlfriend.



  "Then why can't you tell me?" Blake swerved violently, muttering something under his breath at the old woman who was giving Blake the finger. I resisted the urge to laugh since it would probably just make him even more angry, but really, it was an old woman giving Blake Carter the finger!


  "Dylan," I started hesitantly, sobering up, "Dylan and I used to go out. He was like, this popular jock and I was just a normal teenager who liked to cause trouble. It was like a cliché high school romance." It was embarrassing to say it aloud, for some reason. I didn't want Blake to hear this, but I ploughed on. "I became really popular after he asked me out, I was really happy with him and things were going really well.


  "But then things got complicated. His dad was pressuring him to dump me because I was distracting him from his studies, but he didn't dump me." I took a deep breath as I prepared to continue. My eyes were still glued to my lap; I didn't want to see Blake's expressions. "His fathers' pressuring became more intense, and Dylan had this idea that if I was the perfect girlfriend, then his dad would stop, you know, talking about it. It wasn't completely Dylans' fault, he was under so much pressure, but then he started to like, demand me to stop swearing and concentrate really hard on my own studies, and when I told him that it wasn't his place to make decisions for me, he got really angry, and I think that's when he started getting a bit violent."


  I finished my speech, my throat dry as I looked up. Blake had stopped the car - we were already at my house, that was fast. He looked at me cautiously, and I looked back at him cautiously. Was he going to explode? Why was he looking at me like that?


  "Are you going to say anything?" I asked lightly.


  "If you want to, you know, cry or anything," Blake said uncomfortably, "I'm a hundred and ten per cent okay with it."


  I looked hopefully at him. "Really?"


  He nodded slowly, as though he was already regretting what he had said. "Yeah."


  My face screwed up as I unbuckled my seatbelt and practically pounced on him, digging my face into his shirt as I pretended to sob, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. I expected him to say something soothing, something typically Blake, but instead he patted me on the back.


  He really did suck at comforting girls.


  I raised my eyes to his face, and leaned forward a little as though I was going to kiss him. "You're so nice to me Blake," I whispered.


  He didn't say anything, his eyes locked on mine as he unconsciously moved forward.


  The corners of my lips raised up in a satisfied smile as I looked at his dazed eyes. "You may be a player Blake, but you just got played." Without saying anything else, I opened the passenger door and walked up the steps to my front door, satisfaction coursing my veins.