I woke up the next morning in my bed, flushed with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu from the previous night. I drew in a breath and gripped fistfuls of comforter in my hands to fend off the stinging pain radiating from my bruised nose. The memory of Brent shocked me awake, and I slipped downstairs quietly in hopes of finally thanking him.
When I stepped into the living room, however, he was nowhere to be found. The blanket I had draped over him was tossed carelessly to the side in a crumpled heap. The pillows on the couch had large, man-like depressions in them. He had left. I felt my whole body sag in disappointment.
I went back upstairs to get changed when a faint ringing tolled in my ear. I followed the sound to my cell phone, which was hidden in the pile of clothing formed on my floor from the day before.
"Hello?" I answered.
"You bitch."
Laurie's voice was lethal and thick like that of cobra venom.
"I should have called you," I said, scared to say anything more.
"I go to talk to you and you take running off like goddamn Usain Bolt. Next minute I hear you got knocked out cold by Tate? Then whisked away by the guy he was fighting? I knew you've been distant lately, honeybee. I just didn't know you were keeping so much shit from me."
I didn't know how to reply. 'No worries, I just I cheated on my boyfriend and thus set off a chain of events that may or may not lead to the expulsion of a friend'?
"I..." I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "...he's a friend. The boy Tate was fighting. His name is Brent."
She let out an expectant huff. "And? That's it?"
Everything I'd been holding in up to that point tumbled out of me in a rushed breath of words.
"Brent didn't deserve anything," I added once I'd finished. "He didn't deserve some sick revenge just because my boyfriend felt jealous, Laurie."
"Do you like him? This mysterious Brent?"
"Of course."
"No." She cleared her throat. "Do you like him?"
My tongue shifted uncomfortably in my mouth. The word felt strangled out of my throat, cold as it settled over the silence between us. "No."
She paused for a moment, as though she were trying to detect my lie. "I'll take your word for it. But how are you? Seriously, I was worried. Imagine my shock when Harris Tomaszewski runs up to me and starts gossiping like some tween girl about the girl who got bitch-slapped by her beau."
"I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Really."
The line fell quiet for a moment.
"Do you know how Tate is?" I asked, my voice cautiously hushed. She sighed.
"My sources aren't exactly credible," she said.
"What have you heard?"
"Run-of-the-mill junk. He's blind, dead, in a medically-induced coma, etc. I'll tell you one thing though, I saw a glimpse of him being carried into the ambulance, and his face looked pretty Rocky Balboa. Greg's down at the hospital with him now."
"And Greg hasn't told you anything?"
"Nope. You should go down to visit him, though. I bet he's wondering where his girlfriend is."
I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. My breathing was heavy and laborious.
"Can... can you come with me?" I asked, my voice small.
YOU ARE READING
Tourmaline
Teen Fiction"Some people are just simply and utterly unlovable." He fell silent. His breathing was rhythmic and manual, as if he had accidentally fallen asleep. I took a moment to listen to the soft whistle of his exhales, the sound of his fingers tapping a fas...
