“You thought I’d be Cherish, and Kelly knew you had access to his phone.” I look back up at Tariq. He hasn’t recovered, and he won’t. He wasn’t ready for this, and Kelly knew he wouldn’t be. “Like you had access to his grill. What else have you taken out of your best friend’s mouth? Don’t.” I throw my hand up against his lips when he starts to speak. “Don’t bother. You don’t have to say that you and Cherish were an accident, because I’m the one you care about. Or inevitable, because you’ve known each other so long. I don’t care enough about you to warrant being lied to.”
I can see when he gives up. The mask slides all the way off, and his brow straightens. He swipes his lips across my palm to get from behind my barrier, but his eyes never leave mine.
“I already know,” I tell him. “And I choose Cherish. Like Kelly did.”
Tariq barks, but it doesn’t sound the way his friend’s did. He isn’t wounded. He isn’t felled. He doesn’t know he can be.
“Kelly had a choice,” he says through a smirk, his lips curling the way Kelly’s do. At first glance, it’s a snarl, except that the warning isn’t that he is preparing to devour. It’s that he pities me. “That’s the difference between my dad and the Whitmans. Kelly knew what he was choosing.”
And then he pulls back. His neck winds in, and I can see by the way his eyes dart momentarily that he thinks he went too far.
I uncoil. Slow.
“What are the rules, Tariq? The ones Cherish was supposed to know.”
His jaw is clenched again. It is handsome—now. It is revealing this time, because he didn’t mean to do it.
There’s a war behind his eyes. He’s deciding where to go from here. He’s weighing whatever options he thinks he has—a process made futile by the fact that he doesn’t know how to account for me. He has no idea what I’ll do. Kelly hasn’t warned him, not about the likelihood of my being here in Cherish’s place and not about what I did the last time.
He’s going to choose poorly. He would’ve even if he knew better. Adopted by the judge, and given free rein in the Campbell court, Tariq is just like Cherish—except that he’s worse. He thinks he’s stronger. Whether because his father metes out judgment and there is an understanding therefore that it will never preside over him and his house, or by sheer possession of the appendage between Tariq’s legs, when unmasked, it isn’t naïveté beneath. It’s something more malignant. Something that is both unaccustomed and resistant to being questioned. It looks out from behind Tariq’s handsome eyes at my audacity, and when he flicks his hair from his eyes, he doesn’t care whether or not the gesture still affects me.
“What happened to your arm?” he asks, and the words are so leaden that they tumble out of his mouth and thud against Kelly’s bull’s-eye.
I uncoil more, breathe in deep, though he can barely see the way my chest rises. Soon I will be entirely free.
“The same thing that happened to Kelly’s side,” I say with the same appearance of calm. Mine is genuine—until Tariq speaks again.
“So you do know,” he says, and I shrug with one shoulder to confirm. He relaxes, and there’s a sound like a lock successfully picked, a heavy thud and release that only I hear.
I will tremble with adrenaline if I stand too still, so I reach up and touch Tariq’s hair the way he touched mine. I roll my head to one side while I look up at him. He knows it isn’t him I’m inviting, but this forbidden thing we are finally speaking of candidly. The excitement it elicits deserves an outlet, though, and I part my lips and run my gaze across his until he smirks.
“Won’t you be in trouble again?” he asks. “When they find out what you’ve done? What they’ll think Cherish has done?” He takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head one way and then the other, as though testing that I’ll allow it. “You’d barely recovered from being poisoned for Cherish inciting that little fight before you went and got whatever that is.” He gestures at my arm with his chin. “And now texting Kelly from her phone? You’re as bad as Kelly. A real glutton for punishment.”
I bite my lip because he expects me to, my mind chewing over everything he says even though I can’t seem impacted by it. I don an intentionally unconvincing innocent expression and Tariq grunts amusedly, his hand releasing my chin and sliding to my neck.
“Maybe it’s all right, though,” he considers, his own head tipping in the process, his eyes roaming from the skin beneath his hand to all the rest he can’t see beneath my clothing. “If you tell them it was you. There isn’t any harm in the whipping boy and whipping girl hooking up. Mm, I like you like this.”
He thinks the final phrase is the confession. He barely stifles a groan before planting his lips on my neck, his free hand sliding around the back of me.
I am not here.
I am in the bedroom, and Brianne Whitman is beside me. She’s taken the Mylar sleeve so that she can smell the book inside.
She’s shivering with excitement while I study the gift.
The Whipping Boy.
It’s not for reading . . .
Everyone should have something just to cherish.
Tariq’s hands are moving around my waist, his lips parting and allowing his tongue to taste my flesh, but I feel none of it.
Brianne gave me the book. Not Cherish.
I am staring at the sky above the gazebo while I rock with the motion of Tariq caressing me. My hands are on his shoulders, splayed the way they would be if I were racked with satisfaction or arousal, too. Instead I am peering through a hole in the sky that only I can see.
“Cherish never wants to talk about it,” I say, forcing myself to whine. “Kelly’s so lucky you and your dad have been so open about it.”
Tariq is at once smug about compliments and greedy. He devours my words and then can’t help but bask.
“I get it, though. I mean, it’s taken her this long to catch on, and I wasn’t supposed to talk to her about it until she understood.” His hands are tightening and releasing around my waist. “Respect her parents’ decision,” he says like he’s repeating an instruction, his eyes rolling as he shakes his head. “But a whipping boy’s punishment is only useful if the prince knows it’s on his behalf. Or princess, in her case.” And then he snorts.
I force myself to speak. I respond without releasing the rage igniting inside me.
“She always acts so confused,” I say.
“My dad’s right; they’ve made a complete mess of it. They’re just lucky they chose you. You want what’s best for Cherish.” He looks into my eyes like this is romantic. Like I should be pleased at his acknowledgment, that it means I am worthy in his sight.