Whitewashed

No Pain No Gain

Chapter 11: No Pain No Gain

“Ozzie, c’mon,” POGs’ voice reaches my ears through the din of the crowd, but it sounds like he’s talking to me from a distance. He tugs at my sleeve so I follow, but it’s not a conscious action. It’s more mechanical than anything.

“A-are we going back to the warehouse?” I manage to stutter out as soon as we break through the throng.

“Well, Prints is takin’ ya. I got some things I gotta take care of,” he leads me back to the large white truck that I came here in. “Jus’ stay here an’ he’ll be back soon.”

“Thanks,” I nod, not knowing what else to do.

POGs gives me a pat on the shoulder, the gesture’s meaning evading me, and walks away, shoes crunching the dried grass beneath his feet. The blades aren’t exactly dead, simply parched. This gives the grass a spongy, springy feeling. It also kicks up a hay-like smell. I concentrate on this instead of the turmoil I feel on the inside-

Don’t think about him.

The sky is rather gray. It’s covered by a thick layer of clouds. No light escapes the dense mass of water vapor, so the only illumination comes from the angular beams of the fifty or so cars’ headlights. But the brightest thing in this place is the light from the prized motorcycle which is shining directly at me-

He’s not worth your thoughts, Brooke.

The trees that surround me… maples? Their branches reach high and far, weaving a thick covering overhead. The only reason I can see the sky is because the field in front of me is so vast. Is it big because of the race track? Or was the race track put there because of the field-?

DON’T think about him!

Of course, the instant the command pops into my mind, his face flashes behind my eyelids. Green eyes, dimples, and all. Hate is what sears through me first. Hate and anger and irritation and betrayal.

It pierces me like a hot iron poker stabbing through my stomach.

Why am I angry? I have no right to be. He didn’t know because I didn’t tell him. He is also an adult and fully capable of making his own decisions regarding what to do and who to, erm, have relations with. We are friends and there’s nothing that ties me to him that merits-

I have feelings for Haz.

THERE! I admit it, but the thought is involuntary. I can’t take it back and I can’t hold it off. I have feelings for the stupid curly haired guy with dimples. And now that it’s too late, look at me! Here I am, feeling sorry for myself and crying- crying?

That is when I notice my hand is pressed against my mouth, keeping back the overwhelming feelings.

Liam. I love Liam, but there’s no denying Haz’s words.

There IS a connection.

I want to deny it. I want to badly. I want to with all my heart because every practical person would choose safety and stability. Every practical person would choose Liam. Every practical person would leave, call the police, and never come back.

But am I practical?

Have I just been lying to myself this whole time? How long have I been keeping this-?

“Ready to go?” Prints interrupts my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I wipe at my eyes with my wrists, hoping he won’t say anything. Luckily, he doesn’t.

I try to forget, but the image of Haz and the two girls is burned into the front of my mind. It isn’t the concept of what they’re probably doing right now that brings bile up into my throat, but the thought that he only did it to spite me.