It’s an urge that bleeds into all of my actions.
In our English class, I partner with her instead of Bishop for paired reading work. He’s too busy giving into his new obsession with Thea anyway. Blair takes this in stride with minimal sass.
The stubborn fight in her rears its head when I pull her to my center table in the cafeteria. I buy her lunch, but she still tries to use her food account, stirring my annoyance. This is one way of apologizing for being a dick up to this point, but she remains suspicious when I pay for the nicer lunch options available to the students that can afford to eat off the standard menu—something almost no one at this school eats from except for Blair.
Macy’s condition has stabilized. Uncle Craig couldn’t tell me much, but I overheard his phone call with Blair. She visits her mom every other day after school.
When she goes to visit, I follow her and watch from the car—one from Dad’s collection that doesn’t get much use so she doesn’t notice me tailing her junker. Macy’s corner room window provides the perfect view to see Blair’s tender smile as she spends time with her mom.
I grip the wheel whenever I watch. The jealousy of her relationship with her mom is still there, but when it swirls through my chest on these stakeouts there’s something new. An emotion I don’t understand, but whenever I look at Blair it’s present. Unavoidable.
The feeling entwines with the whisper in my head to stop being an ass.
Nothing has happened since the kiss at the beach party the weekend she moved in. Not for lack of trying on my part. I want more. All the time. I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs, attuned to her quick and subtle movements, turned on by every little move she makes.
Blair isn’t like the other girls I’ve fucked, though. I need to work out a better way to seduce my little thief so I have her falling apart in my arms. My cock grows hard simply picturing it.
If I can’t have her yet, I’ll have her in my fantasies when I jerk off.
An instinct has been bubbling in me for a few days. It nearly jumps out of my mouth when I come across Blair putting together a snack, one of her paperbacks open and turned over on the kitchen counter to save her place.
She’s wearing my SLHS varsity soccer zip up jacket, the cuffs giving her sweater paws. My heart lurches in a tailspin at the sight.
I’ve given her actions to make up for my behavior, but I need to do more. Maybe I should give her my words, too.
“Oh, hey.” Blair’s lips purse in excitement as she sprinkles seasoning over the bowl of popcorn. “I was going to read on the deck.”
Say something.
I flounder, searching for a way to not blurt out what I have floating around in my head. I’ve never apologized before. Every ounce of strategy flees now that I need to craft my words carefully.
“Want me to light the fire pit?”
Blair hums in consideration as she fills up a glass of water. “Thanks, that would be cool.”
“I see you’ve commandeered my hoodie.” I circle the island and pluck at the sleeve.
“It totally looks better on me.”
“It does.” I swallow.
The material almost covers her athletic shorts, giving the illusion that she’s wearing my jacket and nothing else, driving me wild with the runaway thought.
“Listen, there’s been something I’ve wanted to say.” I tug on my ear as Blair tosses popcorn in the air, aiming to catch it in her open mouth. Heat shoots into my groin. “Blair.”
“Yeah?”
“I want to—I’ve been—” This is ridiculous. My tongue refuses to cooperate with my brain. Why is this so hard? “The way I’ve treated you…”
Blair’s eyebrows hike up. “Dude. Get it together. This is weird to witness. It’s ruining my image of Mr. Control Freak.”
I huff out a laugh. Tell me about it.
“I shouldn’t have,” I wave my hand, “been such a shit to you. The things I’ve said about you, I mean.”
Blair stares at me as she gathers her inky hair into a ponytail. “Are you having a stroke?”
I scrub a hand over my face, peeking at her through my splayed fingers. “Maybe. This is harder than I thought.”
“What is?”
My stomach flips over. “Apologizing.”
“Is that what you’re trying to do?” Blair laughs. “Damn, you suck at this.”
“I mean it, though. It wasn’t right.”
Blair shrugs and eyes me warily. “Are you saying you want to end the, um…” She gestures between us. “The deal.”
“What? No.”
I muffle a groan behind my hand as I cover my mouth. This is a disaster. She’s not getting it at all. I’m just trying to say I’m sorry for treating her like a bug and playing stupid pranks on her. Is there some way to make her believe me? How can I make up for what I’ve done?
“Should I leave the popcorn stuff out?”
The water glass catches my eye and spurs an impulsive thought. I always strive for control, but right now this feels right. If she doesn’t understand, maybe I can show her. We’re not in the cafeteria, but this will have to do for now.
I swipe Blair’s water while she rummages in the fridge.
“Blair.”
She turns to me and I dump the glass over my head, blinking through the rush of cold water soaking my head.
Blair’s jaw drops. “Wh—”
She busts out laughing, hugging her stomach.
Water drips from my hair into my eye. “I mean it.”
“Okay, you mean it.” There’s a light in Blair’s eyes as she reaches up to push the wet clumps of hair back from my forehead. “You’re so weird.”
A weight lifts from my shoulders and a soft smile curves my mouth. “I’ll grab some logs to put in the firepit.”
Blair gathers her popcorn, book, and a new glass of water to take out on the deck. My chest feels warm as I watch her go.
Later, a rare conversation with Dad drove me outside. Like an idiot, I answered the call. Any morsel of attention Dad offers makes me forget logic and the patterns he follows.
All he wanted to talk about was his expectations for me. He has my whole life planned out. Pre-med. Medical school. Continuing the renowned reputation the Murphy name carries in the medical field.
Fuck anything I might want. Fuck the fact I don’t really want to do whatever he expects. Fuck that I’m his son.
Dad only cares about his goals and plans.
I sit in my spot on the roof outside of my bedroom window with a lit cigarette dangling from my fingers. I take a drag and tip my head back to blow out a plume of smoke. The nicotine takes off the edge.
Agitation grips me, making me jittery and belligerent. I’m filled with an angry energy, prepared to whip the jagged lash at anything.
It’s always like this whenever I talk to Dad. Mom, too, to a lesser extent. At least she pretends she has a maternal bone in her body, but it’s never been enough.
They both leave me hollow, opening the chasm of my insides to brim with the lonely rage engulfing me, drowning me beneath choppy waters. I can’t keep my head above the current.
Squinting at the sky, I spot a shooting star. Make a wish.