I settled for not lumping him in with her.
Bolton dragged my staring away from the twins. “It's not like that. Never will be. I don't fuck my friends—hard limit.”
My features felt sharp when his contradicting sentence spewed out. “You told me just friends.”
He sat back in his seat, facing forward, as Dr. Alba shifted, trying to find the whispers in the room. “I’m not boyfriend material. Don't need you being clingy.”
Did he just call me clingy? It’s the equivalent of telling someone to calm down mid rage attack.
Before I was dropped at Arcadia, I was the queen of not unpacking and collector of goodbyes.
“I don't want a boyfriend. How's this for clingy?”
I got up from my desk, gripping my unused supplies to my chest and ambled to the exit. My heart raced from the cocktail of emotions—worried for my dad, pissed off at Bolton, and still slightly jealous that Cheyanne could command his attention while I was on top of him.
Really taking blows all around.
My sense of direction still limited to my routine, I wandered down spare hallways until I found a name plate next to a big oak door labeled “Library.”
Finally, somewhere I could get some peace and quiet.
In every place I've lived, there was always one solace—a quiet place with no interruptions or outside noise. It was my getaway. I pushed open the door, and memories of my last home flooded me, pulled me under water, and kidnapped all the fresh air in my lungs.
My last solace was a man-made dam with a bright “no trespassing” sign on every fence closing it in. It was mine, only mine, until I let him into my depths.
I opened myself up to him, and the result was Arcadia Prep.
He was made up of hope and dreams, while I reveled in hate.
I never even had the chance to confront him after we were put in the back of a cop car and escorted back home from trespassing.
There was one main road to our homes, and the whole town buzzed with seeing his face scorned with regret next to mine in the back seat.
Son of the mayor, handcuffed, and no longer to my heart, with his tarnished reputation.
After that, the school kindly declined having me return, exiled from the only high school in the small town.
My aunt also decided it was best if I found a new foster home while my dad fought for this country. Guess that's how he landed on a boarding school.
I threaded through the aisles of books in the pure, unsoiled, silence. I found desks off the rows of books and larger desks in eye shot of the librarian. I settled for a large table by the large windows, light pouring through and warming the wood. I dropped my stuff down without thinking about being quiet until I heard a harsh “shhh” in the distance.
She was slumped down in the chair, almost hiding, and I stomped my way towards the Librarian's desk in the center of the library.
She was the woman who showed me to my room on my first day. Tall, slender, pasty pale skin, like she never saw the sunlight directly, and she moved like gravity and air had no effect on her. Her bun was piled so tightly on her head it looked like it hurt, as I got closer.
“Excuse me? I need to find books on the school’s history for a project.”
She didn't look up or even try to make eye contact with me, instead she pointed to where I came from and scribbled down a number associated to my request.
I took the paper sighing extra loud for effect, annoyed everyone has the social skills of goldfish. They were all scared of interaction, manners, social cues we all learned in kindergarten.
I got lost in books with spines all resembling each other—thick, old, fragile things. I was scared to touch them. Even my gaze seemed to paramount.
Each spine had a date range, and I chose a random book, before making my way back to the desk where I had dropped my stuff.
Bolton was sitting at the head of the table with the chair backwards, thumbing through my notebook when I coughed, subtly, letting him know I could see him.
“Guess who you're stuck with for this project.”
I rolled my eyes, taking a seat in front of my stuff and trying my best to ignore his presence.
“That book isn't going to teach you anything about Arcadia.”
Slamming the book shut, another loud noise eliciting another “shhh” my direction. “And what will? You? Because you're just so helpful and nice?”
“Ouch. That almost hurt... if I had feelings. I know more about this school than those damn books.”
Slanted eyes, still full of hate, peered at him with so much judgment I felt like Cheyanne for a moment. “I don't need a partner. Go choose someone else.”
He sat back, eyes on his phone. “Alba’s rules not mine. Besides, you said it yourself every king needs a queen.”
If I kept rolling my eyes with this much conviction, they might actually get stuck the wrong way.
He was using my own words against me now. What a plagiarist.
“I take it back, okay? You're just an asshole in an aluminum crown.”
A quick chuckle turned into a cough, and it seemed unexpected even to himself. I smirked in the glory of catching him off guard. That had to be a record.
“Asshole or not, I'm still your partner for the project. Get used to me.”
He was hard to get rid of, just like a king.
Without slaughtering him, we were all forced under his reign.
I refused to acknowledge him the rest of the time I was in the library, jotting down notes and trying to find enough information on one topic to be able to write a paper.
Bolton sat there quietly, with his fingers laced around his phone, perfectly ignoring me too. All of me seethed with hate for him, except for my lips, which wanted to collide with his again.
I could easily feel the rush of a quick spark still lingering on my lips even a day later. Hating him, while my body craved him, was going to be the best challenge I ever took on.
Bolton
She made hating her the hardest thing I'd ever done. She was the only girl to say every unfiltered insult, not afraid to ignore me, and she certainly had parts of me reacting that normally preferred the comfort of a warm mouth not a cold blooded bitch.
I had to keep my eyes glued on my phone, just to keep myself focused on why I was supposed to be interested in her: the circle and whatever Cheyanne was doing with her hair.
She was keeping us in the dark, even though I handed over my hoodie mid make out session.
It reminded me to find her at lunch and demand some answers.
I left the library without a word to Arianna before I did, and I headed straight to the dining hall to find the twins.
If you spotted one, then the other wasn't ever far; they were inseparable.
When my mind would escape its routined cage, I would think about how that must be a type of true love. Being forced together, so opposite, yet having an unbreakable connection.
It was my only idea of love I had, and it had to do. I had no plans to sacrifice my heart, or my crown, to anyone.
The dining hall buzzed with chatter I sliced through; when I walked by, it was hard to ignore the gawking and chatter coming to a silence. I never knew it was because I was king or because of my constant miserable grimace that I wore proudly. I gave up wondering.
I used to shout, act out, let the misery feed off their gossip, but their gossip made my throne. It raised me high above the other men around me.