I Hate you More Than Tacos on Thursday

3: Lies

French class is the bane of my existence.

Every girl is constantly glaring at me, making it harder for me to hide under my hood. Why are they glaring? Ask the dumbass Bad Boy sitting next to me. I just want to be left alone. Anyone would think that after Adam saw my bruises he would stay clear of me, but no.

He sneaks a glance at me from out of the corner of his eye. He's been doing this for the past five minutes, and it's getting on my nerves.

"What?" I finally growl under my breath.

His gaze snaps back to the front of the classroom, as if he was never looking at me in the first place.

"Adam, you've been peeking at me from out of the corner of your eye for entirely too long for me not to notice." I whisper, not wanting to get seen by the teacher.

He stays quiet.

"Fine, ass wipe." I grumble, trying to pay attention.

"What happened to you?" He finally asks, fists clenching. "And why are you being so pissy?"

"Because of you."

He gives me a droll stare.

"You really wanna know what happened, do ya Adam?" I growl, swallowing down the truth wanting to crawl up my throat as I continue. "I got fucking mugged for my bike coming home from our little 'meeting'. The guy hit me so hard I fell to the ground and cracked my head on the sidewalk. Hence, my head has been pounding like a bitch all day. Then, he choked me out. I woke up on the fucking concrete, Adam.The fucking concrete. I had to hurry home before school started, change my clothes, and take my other bike all the way here, aching. So yeah, I'm fucking pissed."

Guilt shadows his face as he tries to change the subject. "I don't think I've ever heard the word 'fucking' so many times in one breath before." He attempts to pull a smirk on his lips but it ends up looking like a grimace.

"Well, fuckity fuck fuck fuck." I glare, pulling my hood over my head.

He tries to talk to me several more times, but I ignore him throughout the rest of the class. I'm really not up for his shit today.

-

Anxiety twists in my gut as I pull open the door to Taco Bell. It's been exactly a week since my father had beaten the living shit out of me, and I don't want another repeat of that. But apparently I can't skip out on Taco Thursdays, rain or shine. If I do? Well, I don't know the consequences of that action. I should probably ask.

Adam is waiting for me at the same exact table that we sat at last time.

I sit down in front of him, my face void of emotion, crossing my arms. "What happens if I break one of the rules?"

"Oh, so now you're talking to me." He responds, glaring.

"Yeah, now I'm talking to you. That's the whole reason we're here, isn't it?" I ask, not really up for his shit today. Or, ever, for that matter.

"If you break a rule you have to kiss me." He suddenly says, disregarding my snarky attitude.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask in disbelief, raising my eyebrow.

"You, James Aldrich, have to kiss me if you break a rule."

I flinched at the use of my last name. I hated it. It was my father's last name and he gave it to my mother who gave it to me. I hated anything pertaining to my father. Pretending I didn't hear it, I asked the question that seemed relevant after his response. "And what happens if you break a rule?"