Outcasts

Bad girls cry too

CHAPTER SIX

BAD GIRLS CRY TOO

CHELSEA

"Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?" Nestor asked her, genuinely preoccupied by her gaunt demeanor.

She wanted to laugh hysterically, how low could she really be?

Befriending— well, flirting with— a Ferrer.

Nestor Ferrer was replaying the fore happenings in his mind's eye, trying to think what could have possibly gone wrong?

Chelsea shook her head, finally allowing herself to unleash the gurgling laughter that unwillingly escaped her mouth, she lost her composure. Her efforts to remain straight-faced were ruined by the giggles and the wheezing sounds of her awkward laughter.

Nestor crossed his arms, his biceps hunching up in effort, thick veins throbbing with masculine virility.

He wore a black sleeveless t-shirt and pants and a nice pair of black Jordan's.

Chelsea's laugh died little by little, as she remembered the real reason why she was here.

With a final glance at Nestor, she reached for her satchel and sauntered toward the exit gate.

A hand clasped her around her shoulder, she flinched instinctively.

Mentally preparing herself for the landing of a blow to come only to remember the hand didn't belong to her abusive father. It belonged to a brown eyed young man, looking perplexingly at her.

"Where are you going? We haven't even started the session and you're leaving?"

Chelsea shrugged nonchalantly. "I changed my mind. This wasn't like I supposed it would be."

Nestor looked at her, really looked at her.

Brown hair pulled up into a bun, disoriented hazel eyes and bruises around her wrists, behind her neck. The way she flinched when he had dared to touch her confirmed his suspicions of an abusive relative. She looked like one of those rich girls he used to hang around with at school.

It was more than obvious she could afford to attend to a more suited gym, perhaps she had a membership in New York's most expensive gym.

So what she was doing in Brooklyn?

"What were you expecting? Tell me, maybe I could help you. What I mean, it's you don't have to waste your money, two hundred bucks are two hundred bucks." He granted her a charming smile, an almost sweet friendly smile.

"Believe me, I can afford to waste two hundred bucks," her smile didn't reach her eyes.

But curiosity got the best of her.

"If you're a Ferrer, why are you working in a hellhole like this? Mr. Ferrer is said to have an immense fortune, filthy rich."

Nestor's smile faded, his hand rubbed the back of his neck as if he was nervous.

"Here's the catch, if you stay I will tell you what you want,"

Chelsea wasn't usually the snooping kind of girl, but well a little gossip couldn't possible hurt, right?

Curiosity killed the cat, silly.

"And why exactly would I be concerned about it enough to stay?"

"Well, the fact that you are still here battling with yourself whether or not to leave is enough for me,"

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came, finally closing it after a few seconds.