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"Why did you just do that?" I yell, running the back of my hand across my lips in disgust.
"You wouldn't shut up!" Kaleb yells back at me, a smug look crosses his face. "But don't act like it wasn't...
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Song: Scars by Boy Epic
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I'm standing in my kitchen now, gulping down a bottle of water. Relief that I'm free of Bash and Kaleb washes over me. I know it wasn't necessarily Kaleb's fault, but I was still mad at him. They were both acting like they had the right to own me, to make my decisions, to say what's best for me.
Suddenly, my door slams open, hitting the wall. I step into the hallway to see who it is, my heart hammering in my chest. Kaleb Nixon stands in my door way, chest heaving and eyes wild. "Greer."
"Kaleb?" I say, but my voice comes out a squeak.
"You can't just run away like that." He shakes his head and his fists clench.
"Kaleb how did you get here?" I ask him.
"That's not important." He shakes his head and closes the distance between us. I stay where I'm standing, my knees too wobbly to carry me away from him. Even if I could walk away, it's the look in his eyes that keeps me rooted in place. "You can't run away like that."
"You're bleeding." I whisper, bringing my fingers to touch his face.
He tenses under my touch, "Yeah, pretty-boy actually has a mean right-hook."
"I'm sorry he did that." I bow my head and play with the hem of my shirt.
Kaleb's fingers go under my chin and force me to look at him, "Hey, that wasn't your fault, okay? Pretty girls can make a man go crazy." He gives me a charming smile that instantly makes me feel better.
"You think I'm pretty?" I can feel my cheeks blush and I know I sound like a little school-girl.
Kaleb laughs, "That's not what we were talking about."
"That's what you said though." I shrug.
He studies me for a moment, the smile unwavering on his face, "Pass."
"What?"
"I pass on that question." He tells me.
"You can't pass. We weren't playing the game." I balk.
"Still. Pass."
"You're impossible." I groan and spin around to walk away from him.
He walks after me, "where are you going?"
"Just shut up and go get the rubbing alcohol out of the medicine cabinet." I snap.
He laughs, but listens to me. I push open my bedroom door and stop in my tracks. My heart comes to a skidding halt for a moment. A lump forms in my throat and chills work their way up my forearms. I take another few unsteady steps to reach my bed. There, sitting on top of my mattress, is a single black rose.
