Bitter Sweet Blaire: Teacher/Student Romance

Chapter Fifteen

15.

a/n: I know I only just updated, but I figured nobody would be complaining, so here you go!

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I hated that car.

And I hated this spanner.

It was the one Christian had used.

"Whoa, Blaire! What are you doing!" The voice that belonged to Christian, who was running across the road to where I was. I held my arm up, pointing at him with the spanner. All the tears I had managed to push back were leaking into my voice.

"I hate this car!" I told him, and I sent the spanner that I hated as well into the driver-side window of Ryan's rusty, good-for-nothing car.

"Blaire, stop!" Christian exclaimed, grabbing my arm as it was raised in the air, a pendulum at its peak about to strike again.

"I hate this car," I repeated, but I still let him take the spanner from me. He threw it onto our lawn and placed his hands on my biceps, turning me so I was facing him.

"What are you doing!" Christian exclaimed. I didn't look him in the eye, just peered off into the distance, trying to locate something I could use to inflict further damage. What I wanted more than anything was an axe, but Christian would easily overpower me before I could get my hands on it.

"Did Ryan tell you whose car that is, Christian!" I yelled, finally turning my angry eyes on his kinder blue ones. He didn't respond. "Did he tell you!"

"I don't know what you're--"

"It was Jake's," I cut in. "He and I were fixing it up together. Ryan should never have brought it here!" He shouldn't have brought that thing here. He shouldn't have.

"You can't do this!" Christian responded. "This is your brother's car now."

"It sure as hell is not and it never will be!"

"Blaire," said Christian, "I think it's his way of staying close to Jake."

I sighed. Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Don't cry. "Well, that might be hard, considering the fact he's dead."

"Blaire! That's enough!"

"No, it isn't! Everybody ducks when I talk about him! He needs to be talked about, or we're all going to forget who he was!"

"Can't you see that's what your brother is trying to do?"

"By keeping the car that our brother was killed in!" I growled. There was a kind of finality in my tone. Perhaps it was because Christian hadn't been told how my brother had been killed; or maybe it had something to do with the fact he'd been working on a car somebody had died in.

Christian sighed. "Oh I... I'm sorry, Blaire, I didn't know how he...and that this was the car he..."

"My father has tried to get rid of it. My mother won't even look at it. And Wyatt has nightmares about it. I hate this stupid car!" kicking the hub cap on the rusty car. It instantly fell off witha clang, and I grabbed onto my foot, hopping around and trying to nurse my freshly wounded foot.

"I don't think you have a problem with this car in particular," said Christian. " I don't think you like cars in general."

It was time. I needed to be honest with him. "Are you surprised? My brother died in a car accident. I watched my brother die. And so did Wyatt and Thea. You don't just come back from something like that!" I bellowed, and before I knew it I was vommitting by the curb. Like a malevolent creature crawling and crawling, never ending, a combination of red oblivion and the tears I refused to cry. I told Christian to stay away, that I was fine and I didn't need to see the look on his face to know he didn't believe me.