Grayson Snaps

Chapter 7: Choices

Chapter 7: Choices 

"Hey, why don't you get your man-whore bitch brother a leash?!" Tristan sneers as I make my way from the sidewalk and onto the grass.

I don't make eye contact with him; he's with a group of his sports buddies around the end of a vehicle.

"What a freak," one of the guys says as I make my way past them. They start laughing hysterically, but my concentration is set on a whole other problem.

Grayson is currently sucking on Cheyenne's neck. She is pressed up against the passenger's side of her car, moaning loudly. Grayson's really getting after it too, grabbing at her hips, hands sliding over her thighs; just, you know, touching her. One of Cheyenne's hands is tangled in his hair, the other grabbing at his shoulder. She balls the material of his jacket into her hand like she's trying to tear it off. Her eyes are closed in complete ecstasy, her head tilted back. Her cheeks are flushed a deep pink yet it's not from the chill in the air. They're like a B-rated porno. Grayson's sucking like crazy. I can't stop from cringing. A couple weeks ago Grayson wouldn't have touched Cheyenne with a nine-foot pole if you paid him, now that's all he seems interested in. That, and being doucebag of the year.

"Grayson, a word?" I say. Grayson stills at the sound of my voice and moves his head away. Cheyenne blinks-a flutter of thick, black eyelashes as though she's just realizing where she is-and just looks at me. Her neck is littered with bright red splotches. I can tell the moment she recognizes it's me and then she's fingering Grayson's jacket like she doesn't want him to stop.

"Is it sorry?" He replies. A smirk is tugging at the edge of his mouth. It's one I'm contemplating punching right off.

I have nothing to apologize for. If anything, it's the other way around. I haven't been the one disregarding him; sure, I think I've made my distain for the whole thing between Cheyenne and him pretty clear, but I haven't said anything.

"No." I bite out. And I feel that invisible wall between us again. It's like he's closing himself off. I hate it.

"Come on, Cheyenne. Let's go." He says contemptuously, like he doesn't want me anywhere near him.

"Oh, yes," she practically squeals. She moves around to slide into the driver's seat. He yanks the passenger's side door open and slides inside, slamming the door behind him.

"Grayson," I say, loudly.

I knock on the window. I'm thinking about how much trouble-and how much pain-I'd be in if I threw my fist at it.

But he has his head turned to Cheyenne who is saying something. He gives her an arrogant smile. It's like I'm not even here. The people behind me are laughing hysterically. I probably look like a weirdo right now. A needy, desperate weirdo. Maybe I am. Maybe...but...no. No, I am not. They don't know the things I know.

I don't get to try to get Grayson's attention again because Cheyenne starts the engine and I step back.

I feel the harsh ping of hurt in my chest-deep and unforgiving-as Cheyenne screeches out of the student parking lot. I watch as they leave. I can feel the edges of a panic attack in my chest-my heart is pounding and my hands are sweaty. I feel completely and utterly alone.

"See you freak!" Someone yells behind me as I turn, breaking into a run. I want to be anywhere than this parking lot, anywhere than the putrid smoke of exhaust infiltrating the air. Anywhere but here.

"Bye, bye!" A girl laughs.

-

Grayson hasn't come home yet. The night has already fallen, the streetlamps have clicked on, and I'm sitting at the kitchen counter on the tall bar stool. The whole kitchen has that sweet scent of banana nut bread to it, and in the distance, I can hear one of the neighbor's dogs barking.