Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 26

Anna

The back of the school was quiet in that hollow, forgotten way cracked asphalt, chain-link fence rattling faintly in the wind, the distant thump of a basketball from the main courts barely carrying over. No one came here unless they had wheels or a reason to disappear. I'd picked it on purpose after the locker stunt yesterday. Space. Air. A few minutes where no one could film me bleeding red syrup or watch Billie turn my life into performance art.

I kicked the tail of my skateboard up into my hand, the familiar wood thwack against my palm steadying me. Then I heard her sneakers on the pavement slow, deliberate.

She stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, hoodie zipped to her chin against the late-afternoon chill. Same gray as yesterday, same loose swagger. Same eyes that made my stomach do stupid flips even when I wanted to hate her.

"What do you want now?" I asked, voice flatter than I felt.

She tilted her head. "Kill you"

I snorted. "Hilarious"

A small shrug. "Seriously. Just wanted to say you look cute in that beanie" She stepped closer before I could retreat. Her hand lifted slow enough I could've dodged and tugged the knit down a fraction, then dragged her fingers through the hair at my temple, ruining the careful tuck I'd done that morning. "Messy suits you"

I opened my mouth to snap something back, but her other hand was already on my chin—gentle, thumb brushing the corner of my lip like she was memorizing the shape. Then she pulled me in.

The kiss landed soft at first. Almost careful. Her mouth was warm, lips parting mine without force, just enough pressure to make my knees remember every time she'd done this before. My skateboard clattered to the ground; I didn't care. One of her hands slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, cradling my skull while the other pressed flat to my cheek. She tasted like mint gum and the faint cherry of whatever lip balm she'd stolen from my bag last month.

I should've pushed her away.

Instead I leaned in.

She felt it the surrender in the way my mouth opened wider, the tiny sound I couldn't swallow—and that was when she deepened it. Her tongue slid against mine, slow and claiming, coaxing until I was chasing the rhythm. She bit my bottom lip light at first, then harder drawing a sharp hiss from me. The sting bloomed quick, metallic on my tongue. She licked into the hurt like she was soothing it and making it worse at the same time.

My back met brick gentle, controlled, like she'd planned every inch of the push. One thigh slipped between mine, pressing just enough to make heat coil low in my belly. Her grip in my hair tightened, tilting my head so she could kiss deeper, filthier, swallowing the small, helpless noise I made when her teeth grazed again.

When she finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. A thin thread of spit connected our lips for half a second before it broke. I tasted blood mine and licked it away instinctively.

"Nothing's changed" I said, voice wrecked. "I don't like you anymore, Billie"

She studied me for a long, thumb still stroking the side of my neck where the skin still remembered every hickey she'd ever left there. Her fingertip pressed down right on the faded purple mark and my pulse jumped under it like it recognized her.

"You like me, Anna" It wasn't a question. Just calm certainty. "You just wish you didn't"

I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the truth was sitting heavy in my chest: I hated how right she was.

She stepped back, hands sliding into her pockets again. The space between us felt colder than it should've.

"I figured out how much you missed my lips" she said quietly, almost soft. "That's all"

Then she turned and walked away shoulders loose, steps unhurried like she hadn't just kissed the fight right out of me.

I stayed pressed against the wall until my breathing evened out. My lip throbbed. My beanie was crooked. My skateboard lay a few feet away, wheels still spinning lazily.

I whispered into the empty air, so quiet even I barely heard it:

"I hate you"

But the words tasted like a lie.

And the worst part was I didn't know if I was lying to her anymore, or just to myself.

I picked up the board. Kicked off. Rode home with the wind stinging my bitten lip and her taste still lingering on my tongue.

Tomorrow would probably be worse.

But today, at least, I'd let myself feel it.

All of it.

Even the parts that hurt.