“Then let's finish what you started.”
My hands on his shoulders, barely pushing him to sit back, was easier than I thought. He was doing what I was demanding for once, and the power was something addictions were made of.
I straddled his lap the same way I did earlier, except this time he wasn't leaning back, and there was no gap between my chest and his face.
“I'm not a throne you know.”
I looked down, puzzled at his words.
“You can’t just storm the castle, demand a crown, and sit on the king like a throne.”
He was teasing me, and I was going to tease him right back. I unzipped my hoodie and shook out of the arms, letting it pollute his already trashed floor. A cropped tank top and strapless bra were the only material between us.
“Doesn't every king need a queen?”
He smirked at me before his hand pulled me by the neck into him even more. Our lips crashed together, and I swear I felt sparks crackle against my lips—sparks that I knew were a warning sign for something even more combustible.
His open mouth poured arousal into mine as our tongues laced together, trying to taste more of each other than possible. His hands dropped down to my waist keeping me stationary on his lap. We both knew every movement I made only spurred him on; that much I could feel below me, against the crotch of my jeans.
The sparks crackled along my lips as his pulled away. “No strings... just friends... okay?”
His words were full of strained breaths. Nothing matched, his words slowed down my motivation, but his hands were grabbing at my hips in such a famished way.
I didn't know how to take what he said—compliment or insult?
Just friends? No strings? What was he really saying? No king makes rules without thought, normally to protect the people, but from what?
Even his lips against my neck and collarbones felt like raw energy tickling my surfaces that crackled even after his lips moved to a new patch of skin.
“Just friends?”
The words slipped out before I could catch them; the rest of me was distracted, basking in the energy. My question hung between us, heavy, as he ignored it.
His trailing kisses got lower, kissing my breasts through my bra and tank top. I repeated my question, and this time, I demanded an answer, instead of a shaky previous voice distracted by his full lips. This time I got creative while repeating myself: “Just friends…? What if I want more?”
I pushed him from lust to annoyance with one question, just like that. He pulled away fully, leaning back on his hands and looking bothered by the world, as he normally did.
“I don't do more. Hard limit.”
Now I knew how to take it—insult.
If it hurt, then it was always insulting.
“I'm different.”
I meant to sound confident, instead it just landed as cocky.
“Different doesn't prove shit, Arianna. It doesn't prove loyalty.”
So he wanted loyalty. His rulings were to protect himself and promote loyalty. Good thing I grew up with American pride. That shit was poisonous and prideful.
Bolton's phone buzzed against the balled up, wrinkled, covers on the bed next to us. It lit up with another girl's name, and suddenly loyalty seemed like something he should learn to practice before he preached.
I got off of his lap. The mood was passing, and my panties were drying up.
His fingers typed away, replying to the mystery girl with the name I wouldn't forget now.
I fetched my hoodie out of the sea of black fabric on his floor and headed for the door without warning. The worst part was that he didn't stop me. I pulled the door open only to be met with a girl I hadn't officially met yet.
I remembered her from Austin’s introductions and had seen her face in our history class.
Cheyanne. One half of the twins.
All goth.
All sour.
All intimidation.
She looked like someone you shouldn't piss off, and I knew when to be quiet. I slithered by her, hoping she'd ignore me all together. The strong judgment in her eyes didn't ignore me; it burned like holy water on a demon.
Maybe there was more to Bolton than I realized. I only looked back once to witness their exchange. He handed her his hoodie, and my uncertainty rang even louder in my ears.
Why his hoodie? Who was she to him? I made it clear I don't kiss and share.
I purposely walked slowly, hoping I would catch another glimpse of the mystery girl with mean features and meaner mannerisms. She didn't need the fishnet and piercings to look hard; it was more obvious than her choice of jewelry.
I kept walking slowly with no reason to rush. Bolton didn't come after me, and apparently she wasn't leaving anytime soon. I gave up at the same time I arrived at the girls’ dorms.
I had a habit of holding out hope for longer than it was healthy.
When my mom passed away, I was convinced it was a cruel joke and held out hope for some miraculous return. It's embarrassing to admit I held onto that same hope until I hit high school before I realized hope didn't change shit.
Hope was a pipe dream, a placebo, a castle in the sky… one hundred percent fake.
No matter how real you were, hope seemed unavoidable. Desires grew from hope; crushes grew from hope; all the good emotions we craved came from the counterfeit feeling named hope.
It made me wonder what was real and what wasn’t. Is hate really all that bad? At least it's real, authentic, more tangible than a castle in the sky…
Hate was a throne in hell.
Still a throne.
I lost hope for Bolton. Every ounce of hope that I had almost let grow again quickly turned into hate for him. I hated Bolton and his games.
Kate, Luna, and I were sitting in the quad, which was basically a huge patch of grass with benches and a willow tree that provided a type of ambience I praised. All my textbooks were sprawled out around me, all open to chapters I still needed to catch up on. Transferring a few months into a school and learning at a college level made my brain pulse with frustration. I was so studied out that everything looked German.
I let my body fall back onto the grass, arms spread wide, and the temptation to make a dirty snow angel crossed my mind. I hadn't been anywhere with snow yet. Dirt angels were the next best thing.
Kate was reapplying her lip gloss, like she did every ten minutes. “So you and Bolton...”
She wasn't asking anything specific, so I kept ignoring her until she grew claws long enough to sink into the truth—the awful truth she wanted to know.
Luna playfully shunned her, even though I'm sure she wanted to know too. Her good girl charm and big heart couldn't stomp out good gossip.
Kate's eyes widened, and her voice made a strained type of sound meant to capture how annoyed she was. “Well, Arianna, what happened with Bolton? He never hooks up.”
I didn't bother to sit up, keeping my gaze on the willow tree now upside down. “He's kind of a dream, but there's something about him that makes me hate him.”
Luna laughed, clearly well versed in assholes who you tend to love anyways. She had personal experience with Nyx, at least that's what the gossip pointed to.
“That's why no one tries to get with him.”
“Thanks for the warning, guys. He should come with labels.”
Kate sipped her overpriced coffee and scrolled through social media, no doubt, when she spoke. “He does. His face is angry and filled with hate. He wouldn't selfie very well.”