Tourmaline

Chapter Sixteen

This chapter took exceptionally long due to rewriting it a lot more times than I'm proud of. At one point I went Othello and killed off everybody.

That isn't the one I chose to publish.

***

"You thought it was fucking funny? Planting drugs in my locker?"

"No. I thought it was hilarious."

Brent threw his head back and let out a low, menacing laugh. "You're getting yourself into a situation you don't want to be in, Myers."

"I can handle myself, gritter trash."

I struggled to fit through the throng of students, weakly pushing people out of the way.

I heard that laugh again, Brent's laugh. The crowd was dense but I continued to helplessly push my way through. At one point, someone yelled at me, "Get your own spot, bitch!" as I made my way past, but I hardly heard him. All I could think about was the damage to come.

"This isn't about me, now is it?" Brent's voice rang out. "You're scared, Myers."

"Of what?" Tate said through presumably clenched teeth, his voice strained.

I felt myself getting closer. Their voices grew louder.

"Because you can't even get your own girlfriend to like you."

And louder.

"That's it, you--"

"I wouldn't do that."

I heard a sickening crack, followed by Tate's wounded cry. The sound made me nauseous. Trembles shook my body, though I kept going. I could finally see the center of the crowd, the small circle devoid of fascinated students.

Brent and Tate's figures appeared before me. Tate, who was nursing his wounded eye, slowly straightened himself to face Brent. Brent gestured him forward in reply, a lethal smirk on his face.

"You want to try that again?"

Tate turned and began to walk away. For a fleeting moment, cool relief flooded me.

Unfortunately it was a fake-out, and he whirled around just fast enough to slam Brent in the cheek, making him stumble backwards. Brent recovered swiftly and returned to full attack-stance. I knew I had to get involved.

I just didn't know how.

Do something. Do something. Do something. The words attacked me from all directions.

"Stop!" I called out. I thrust myself in front of Tate, shielding him from Brent's suspended fist.

Brent looked at me as though I were a fly swarming him, annoying and without purpose. His teeth were clenched together and the skin underneath his left cheekbone had faded to a dull purple. I was surprised to hear his tone cold when he replied, "Get out of here, Tourmaline."

"No," I said, panting. Curls hung in front of my face, flashing my vision with violent streaks of red.

Tate's hands coiled around my waist and pulled me back, making me briefly lose my footing. My back collided with his chest, and I felt his breath pulse hot on my ear.

"Baby, it's time to go. This is man's work."

"No," I repeated, this time louder.

"This isn't your damn fight," Brent chimed in through ragged, pained breaths.

Were they both really targeting me?

"Leave, Tourmaline." Tate's voice tore through me, the small gap between us filled with the throbbing venom of his words.