Brutal Boy by Selena
fifteen
Harper Apple
A few minutes later, the majorettes jog off and the dance team races onto the field and takes their positions. It takes me a second to recognize them in their black bodysuits with gold glitter, but then I spot Dixie, Quinn, Gloria, and some of the Bitch Pack girls among them. I wave to Dixie, and then the music starts, and they go into their routine, dancing to some pop song by Isaac Vega. Jolene and I pick up our signs and hold them above our heads, shaking our asses and dancing along.
The team leaves, and the band moves to the sidelines. I’m a little disappointed that the team didn’t come warm up on the field, but then, I know zero about how football games work.
“And now,” the announcer booms over the PA system. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s welcome to the field, from Willow Heights Prep Academy, Royal Dolce and the Knights!”
Our side of the stadium echoes with screams and cheers and stomping feet, and a second later, Royal and the team come bursting through the paper over the tunnel at the end of the endzone and pour onto the field. My heart does a stupid little catch when I see him, but he doesn’t see us. The team bounds onto the field and lines up as the announcer calls the other team, the Hellstern Jalepenos.
They take the field, and a referee does some consulting, and then the teams start running at each other. Despite my lack of knowledge about the game, it’s not hard to find Royal, since he’s the quarterback and a freaking giant. Even though I don’t give a hoot about sports, I know our team is undefeated this year. It’s hard not to know that when half the conversations at school are about it. But even I can tell his first pass is questionable at best. It’s about eighty yards long and doesn’t even come close to the guy he’s aiming for. The next two are no better.
“Oof,” Jolene says. “Someone’s off his game tonight.”
I’ve only seen Royal play once, and I remember him being good, but for the first quarter of the game, he doesn’t make a single good pass. He throws himself into every play like he’s dead set on getting injured and ends up in a pile-up that I’m pretty sure is actually a fist fight at one point. Hellstern’s not exactly playing nice, either. At the end of the quarter, they sack Royal so hard his helmet flies off, and when he gets up, he tries to throw a punch, and like five coaches and a ref have to drag him back to the sidelines.
Definitely something going on with him, though I don’t think he’s even seen us, so I know it’s not about our sign. I’m a little guilty about it, and I’m starting to think we should put them away and not fuck with him tonight. Part of me feels for him, and the other part is scared of what he’ll do if I piss him off right now.
“Oh, good, he’s handing off,” Jolene says, pulling me back to the game.
“Is that good?”
“Depends,” she says. “When it’s a choice between that or playing Russian Roulette with this defense and then throwing Hail Mary’s every play, yes.”
“Wow,” I say. “You’re really into this.”
“I have a lot of guy friends,” she says. “Some of them like sports.”
“Do you like sports?”
“Mostly for the uniforms,” she admits with a giggle.
I shake my head, feeling that pang of regret inside me. If we’d stayed in the trailer park, Jolene would probably be my best friend, the kind I don’t have now. Losing that seems far worse than gaining a real house. There’s a weird exclusivity to the trailer park pack, though. You can’t really be one of them if you’re… Not.
We watch the rest of the quarter, which goes better, mostly because Royal keeps handing off to Duke, who runs through invisible gaps between defenders and even literally runs over their backs at one point.
“You think he really meant what he said before the game?” Jolene asks just before halftime, when Duke’s just scored his second touchdown and is clowning around in the endzone.
“Hard to know,” I say. “He clowns a lot, but he’s pretty serious where his dick is concerned.”
The whistle sounds, and the crowd starts getting up to get drinks. I’m about to ask Jolene if she wants snacks when I hear something hit the railing. The next second, Royal jumps up and grabs the top bar, jack-knifing his body to swing himself up to standing, shoving his feet onto the edge of the bleachers under the bottom rung. For one split second, all I can do is watch in awe at the power and pure athleticism of the move, like he’s a fucking gymnast in the body of a football god.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he demands.
“Oh,” Jolene says, covering her heart and blinking up at him as he towers over us. “You scared me.”
He doesn’t so much as glance her way. His gaze is on me, wild and ferocious as an animal.
“You told me to dress like a whore,” I remind him. “And take out an ad letting the whole town know I’m your bitch.”
“I didn’t mean for you to show up in a G-string.”
“You don’t like my shorts?” I ask, gesturing to the denim covering… Some of my pelvic area. True, at least an inch of ass cheek hangs out the back, and they’re as high cut as a bikini on the legs and so low rise I had to shave my pubes, but hey, I’m just following orders.
His nostrils flare, and he glares down at me, a vein in the side of his neck pulsing with his heartbeat. His voice is hard and cruel. “You have no class.”
I cock a brow. “You sound surprised by that.”
“Put the signs away and go put on some fucking clothes,” he says, speaking slowly as if he’s plum out of patience.
I hold the poster between us and smile up at him. “You don’t like it?” I ask. “It says W.A.P 4 Royal. That means—”
“I know what it fucking means, Harper.”
“Didn’t you want the whole town to know that my pussy’s wet for you?” I ask, standing on tiptoes and letting my lips brush his chin. I speak low, so only he can hear, letting my lips linger on his skin. “Or did you think it meant I’m saving this wet-ass pussy just for you? Either way, it’s what my king commanded. I simply obeyed. I dressed like a whore and let everyone know it’s for you. That’s what you said you wanted.”
He snatches the sign, drops it on the ground, and hooks his fingers through the crotch of my shorts, which admittedly is really just the seam. I can feel his knuckles pressing against the softness of my mound, and I suck in a breath, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are cold and savage, the way they get when he’s dealing a vicious blow. “I already know you’re desperate,” he snaps. “Everyone in Faulkner knows you’re desperate.”
“How could I not be?” I ask, gripping his thick biceps and batting my eyes. “Your dick is so impressive, every girl in town is desperate for it.”
“Not every girl sucks off old fat men because that’s all she can get,” he grinds out. “You’re not desperate for me. You’re desperate for attention and any dick you can get.”
The words sting, and my throat tightens.
Royal leans in, getting in my face and pulling my hips toward him so I can’t retreat. “Get this straight,” he says. “You’re worth less than a whore because you give it away for free, and everyone knows it. If I told you I’d fuck you the middle of the field right now, you’d run down there like it’s a track meet, spread your legs, and cream a fucking waterfall for me in front of the whole town.”
I swallow hard, my heart beating erratically, wondering if he’s right, if that’s why I’m simultaneously enraged and aroused by his cruel, crude words.
“Consider yourself lucky that I’m even speaking to you right now,” he continues, his voice a low and icy. “Consider that being my plaything for even a week is the best you’ll ever get in your pathetic little life. And if you can’t have any more respect for yourself than this, then consider whether I’ll want what’s under here after everyone else has already seen it.”
My own mother’s words echo in my head, so similar to what he’s saying. Don’t judge me. Girls like us, we take what we can get. Good men don’t waste their time on the likes of us.
Fuck. That.
Royal releases his hold on my shorts, but I grab his shoulder pads before he can step down. It’s my turn to speak my mind.
“And maybe you should consider what a steaming pile of bullshit that is,” I snap. “I don’t consider myself lucky to catch your attention. I consider myself cursed. You think you’re so special that girls actually enjoy being tormented and tortured by you? The best moment of my life will be when I never have to see your toxic face again.”
“Put on some fucking clothes,” he growls, getting up in my face until our noses touch. “What’s under there is for my eyes only.”
“I’m not done talking,” I growl back, not backing down a centimeter. “I didn’t ask for, nor do I want, to be your plaything. You gave me no choice. But I do still have self-respect—enough to not give a single fuck if you want what’s under my clothes, and to know that my value doesn’t go down even one miniscule drop whether one person or the whole town has seen my body. It’s my fucking body, and its worth has zero to do with your opinion or anyone else’s. If it’s so repulsive to you, then stop fucking looking.”
To my horror, I feel my lip trembling, but I don’t drop my gaze from Royal’s. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body coiling against me as if seeking a way in, his breaths quick and hot against my mouth, making my blood quiver in my veins.
We’re still locked in a staring contest when Duke jogs over and hops up on the railing beside Royal. “Coach is about to have an aneurism over you missing halftime,” he says to his brother, clamping a hand on his shoulder. It might look like a casual gesture, but I can see his fingers squeezing until his knuckles whiten. “And there are scouts here tonight, so you might want to stop finger-fucking your toy and start impressing them.”
He hands me Royal’s familiar letterman jacket and then grabs his crotch. “And you. Go easy on my boy here. You’re killing him. You have no idea how much it sucks to pop a boner while wearing one of these things. If you did, you’d have mercy on us all and put this on before you lose us the game in front of a bunch of college scouts. There are a lot of guys on the team who need to impress them if they want to leave this festering swamp.”
Shame burns through me, but I only glare at Royal as I slide my arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “You could have told me.”
“Like you’d fucking care.”
I turn to Duke and smile up at him. “Thank you,” I say. “I was actually getting cold, and this asshole failed to mention this was an important night when he coerced me into coming. I certainly wouldn’t want to lose you a game because your star quarterback can’t keep his dick in a cup.”
Duke grins and elbows Royal. “See. More flies with sugar. It’s a Southern thing.”
“You need to work on your sugar,” I say, standing on tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “But I appreciate the attempt.”
Duke hops down and jogs off. We all watch him go. Then Royal turns back, a frown furrowing his brow. “Don’t fuck with my brothers because you’re pissed at me,” he says. “That’s low, even for you.”
I swallow hard. “You’re right.”
He shrugs. “Do it again, you’ll pay for it later. That’s all the warning you’ll get.”
“Thanks.”
He gives me one more look, shaking his head at my bare legs, then hops off the railing and stalks off.
“What in God’s blue blazes,” Jolene says. “You been holding out on me, girl!”
“It’s not what you think.”
“What I think is that Royal Dolce wants to rage fuck you six ways from Sunday, and so bad he’s throwing away his future for it, too, I might add.”
“I never asked him to do that,” I mutter.
“Good grief,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You don’t know anything about boys, do you? Let’s go smoke under the bleachers. Got any money? I could use a Coke, too.”
I follow her to the concession stand, thinking of those college scouts seeing my tasteless signs. I hope they have a sense of humor. But what did Royal expect? He knows I can’t simply roll over and obey. He should have known I’d pull something. Why would he even invite me to a game, let alone a big game where he needs to impress someone?
Unless…
I want to laugh at myself just for thinking it. Of course he didn’t want me there for moral support, to be cheering for him and give him confidence when he needs it most. He’s got so much confidence he might explode at any minute, like a balloon you keep blowing up until it pops. And he’s got a whole gaggle of cheerleaders to cheer for him, not to mention the section of Dolce girls wearing his jersey number, the announcers yelling his plays over the intercom like he’s a fucking rock star, and a whole stadium who shriek like fangirls at a Just 5 Guys concert when he jogs back onto the field.
Fuck. I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling like the royal asshole that I am. That’s a shit-ton of pressure for anyone, and Royal’s not exactly the calm and collected type. He’s volatile under the best circumstances. Maybe he really did want me here for support. For whatever reason, we have a crazy, intense, soul deep connection with each other, one he’s been perfectly clear he feels, too. In fact, he’s been far more honest about it than I have, laying it all out there for me.
When he needs someone, someone who understands him on a level that has nothing to do with the logical, he reaches for me. And I can’t help but respond, even if it destroys me a little each time. Even if our connection manifests in us trying to murder each other, I get him. So maybe tonight, when he was too scared or overwhelmed or stressed, or just simply couldn’t articulate what he really needed, he hoped I’d come through for him. And because more often than not, he’s showing his ugliest side when he calls to me, I’ve built up my own defenses against him, and instead of showing up for him, I humiliated him.
And so goes our vicious cycle. His darkness calls to me, but it won’t accept me when I arrive, won’t let me in. My darkness answers, but it comes with barbs, ready to defend itself. Instead of letting our darkness merge, we battle each other, hurting each other in ways both subtle and blunt, and we push each other further away. In his darkest moments, he takes out his pain and rage on me, and in return, I become more hardened and more lost to him each time.
That’s why we’re impossible. Not because I’m poor and he’s rich, or even because he thinks I’m trash. We can never be because we understand each other too well, and both of us are too scared to get closer, to let someone in to that extent, and most of all, to lose control.
After all, isn’t that why I push his buttons, even knowing how dangerous he is? Because I want to see him snap, to lose that iron hold he has on himself. I want to break down that dam inside him, even though a part of me knows that when his darkness floods out, it will swallow me whole and drown me completely. Maybe, most of all, I want to believe it’ll be worth it.
*
Charades
The scouts are here tonight
They say
So make sure you’re on your best
Game
The scouts are here tonight
I hear
They’re going to be looking for the next
Big Star.
The scouts are here tonight
You say
Let’s show them what it means to carry
The Dolce name.
I’ll show them what it means
I’ll play your games
I’ll be their star
Pretend you’ll let me leave
With your secrets clutched between my fingers
To play for them one day
But we all know the truth, Dad
If you carry the Dolce name
You won’t go far.
