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✯ E V E L Y N ✯
Two days, ten hours and fifty-six minutes.
That's how long it has been since I've seen Lio. That night, when she showed up as high as a kite, she slept over because I didn't like the idea of her walking home at midnight. We talked and laughed and got tipsy on red wine until we passed out in each other's arms (cheesy and cliché but cute).
But the next morning I woke up to a headache and an empty bed.
I expected to see her back at school, but she isn't there. I figured I probably didn't see her because she's a year ahead of me - with our different timetables - but I haven't even caught a glimpse of her. Nothing.
My shoulders cave in as I shove books into my locker, preparing for my next class - Portuguese. I hate languages with a passion - I'm not even that good at English and it's a language I grew up with - but Eva's grandparents are Portuguese, and, naturally, she knows Portuguese. When I was a child she'd speak it around me so I'd have to learn it. Not to mention I was born in Brazil and I spoke more Portuguese than English. I'm maintaining a B+ in the subject, which isn't all that bad.
I stow away my books and slam my locker shut, ignoring the intense gazes on me. The hallway isn't too crowded, but it's mostly filled with the populars who make a reputation of not turning up to class. I know they'll mock me from afar but won't actually approach and strangely the thought is settling. Maybe they're scared of me.
The second I turn around to head to class early, I catch sight of Jesse and my heart jumps into my throat.
I haven't seen him in over two weeks - ever since the party.
I couldn't face him. I couldn't face the reality of what had almost happened, and I didn't want to tell him, or anyone. So I holed myself up in my room, feigned a flu to get out of work, left the house to go on walks on the other side of town so he wouldn't know where I was.
And now here he is, approaching me.
He hasn't had a good sleep in ages; that much is obvious by the dark circles under his weary eyes. His clothes are rumpled, a gray leather jacket carelessly thrown over his shoulders and sneakers on his feet. His face has a pale hue to it, and the second his eyes latch onto me, I see anger and relief swirl in them.
Before I have time to react, he pins me against the row of lockers, my spine narrowly hitting against a combination lock. His hands are on either side of my head, and I can smell strawberry gum off his breath as his slate eyes narrow. "Where the hell were you all this time?"
I swallow nervously, not liking the attention we're attracting. "I-I was at home and out," I stutter, which isn't like me because ever since he befriended me I've made it especially clear to voice my opinions. But the way I'm cornered, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly as if he's trying to contain his anger, scares me.
