Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Kyle

“Sorry, dude. I’m all out,” I told the third guy who approached me wanting a packet from the latest primo shipment of snow. Two weeks into the new school year, he should have learned to get in line early before I ran out of product.

“Fucking hell, Kyle.” His skinny shoulders dropped. “School hasn’t even started yet.”

“Come earlier.” I shook my head, my hair flopping into my eyes. I guess it was time for a trim, but I couldn’t summon the motivation for anything beyond work, and getting Bob and myself settled into our back-room digs at Footit’s.

“Can’t get here earlier, man,” he said. “I work at night.”

I understood that, for sure. “Come by my apartment before work.”

My shoulders scraped the rough brick behind me. Without Randy or anyone else guarding me anymore, I kept my vulnerable back to the wall until I had no product left. Since I gave Tommy the go-ahead with Claire, he was with her and Missy most mornings.

“Okay, will do.” The guy walked away, not a satisfied client, but not pissed off either.

Always leave ’em an option.That was my motto. Otherwise, addicts got testy, and that wasn’t good for business.

The bell was about to ring, so I abandoned my corner and glanced at the parking lot. Again. And this time I found what I was looking for.

Claire.

Just looking at her made me feel as warm as if the sun beamed down on me. Able to finally breathe, I pulled in a deep breath, remembering her wildflower scent.

I did my best to finish business early each morning so I could catch a glimpse of her walking into school. I didn’t stalk her all over the place anymore. That was over since I gave Tommy her bracelet two agonizing weeks ago. He walked her to class, and sat with her and Missy at lunch. Occasionally, Chad joined them. If Tommy did stuff with her after school—romantic shit—he didn’t say, and I surely didn’t want to know.

That was a lie. But I dealt with it at the gym, working with weights until I was too exhausted to think about it.

Not ready to go cold turkey, I allowed myself this morning glimpse of Claire each day. It was just a little hit until I could wean myself from my addiction. If I could.

My interest sharp, I tracked her as she moved along the sidewalk. Missy was beside her, as usual. Claire’s friend stuck by her and was true to her word. I didn’t see Missy at the shit hole anymore.

Today, Claire wore the plaid skirt she’d worn all those months ago when she climbed onto my motorbike. That seemed a lifetime ago, yet I craved only her, wanting no other. I wondered if she wore her gym shorts beneath it like she did that night. My mouth went dry as I remembered the view up her skirt when I’d been beneath her on the ladder up to her treehouse. Letting my imagination go, I recalled how she looked naked, how amazing she felt when I was inside her. My cock swelled.

Think about something else, Kyle.

Dropping my gaze to her feet, I noted Claire was wearing those cute red boots of hers.

I had on my Daytonas, my jean jacket over a white tee, and a low-slung pair of jeans. The weather was cooler due to a cold front that had come in from the Pacific. A gentle breeze lifted wisps of her golden hair. The tendrils seemed to caress her lovely face like I once had.

Quickly, I cut the cord on that thought. Remembering was torture.

As Claire moved closer, I continued to stare. Her arm linked with Missy’s, she was light to the Southside girl’s dark. Both were model-level beautiful, but my desire was only for one.

My eyes burned as Claire suddenly laughed. Throwing her head back, she exposed the tempting column of her neck, the motion straining the buttons of her white oxford. Today, it was untucked and knotted under her incredible tits, revealing far too much of the smooth creamy skin over her abdomen.

Her laughter was rare, a treasure. Her smiles were a prize.

I greedily catalogued everything. The seductive curve of her satiny lips, the way her eyes sparkled like the surface of the lake at sunset. That would be my inspiration when I jacked off in the shower after work, my reward at the end of another long, meaningless, empty day.

Claire was my inspiration, her happiness a lure I couldn’t resist.

I took a step toward her, but Tommy joined them, blocking my view.

Although my first reaction was to curse under my breath, the truth was I needed Tommy to block my view. He had to be the guy to protect her, since I would only cause her harm. Maybe he could erase the hurt I’d caused.

But I didn’t want to think about that.

My hands forming fists, I spun around but didn’t amble into the building like I usually did. Instead, I marched with purpose, a lonely and unappealing one. Up the stairs, through the crowded hallways, I lifted my chin, acknowledging the usual greetings. Usual was a huge letdown after having experienced extraordinary.

Outside the door to Mr. Yurelli’s room, Tommy caught up to me. He didn’t mention walking Claire and Missy to class, but I knew that’s what he’d done. He made sure they arrived safely at Mr. Schubert’s room. The English teacher’s classroom was in the La Rasa Prima section of the school. Belinda hadn’t bothered Claire since that one time, but that didn’t mean she didn’t remain a threat. Ditto on Martin.

“Hey,” Tommy said, lifting his chin.

“Hey.” I lifted mine in return.

He was dressed almost identically to me, only he had on his charcoal leather jacket. Like most students at Southside, our goal was to blend in, to fly under the radar of notice. Claire flew above it, or it seemed that way to me.

Tommy and I entered the classroom shoulder to shoulder. Each school day was the same. Tommy was beside me, my wingman when he wasn’t with Claire. We slid into desks on the same row, only an aisle between us.

From his desk, Mr. Yurelli got right to it, taking attendance. A typical math nerd, he wore the same boring white polo and khakis every day, except when he worked out in the gym. He hit the weights when I did. He wasn’t a slouch and he had the muscles to prove it, muscles that made the chicks twitter about him when he wasn’t looking.

“Derivatives,” he said.

Standing, he pushed back his chair and went to the chalkboard, where he wrote out equations. The room was silent except for the sound of paper rustling and scribbling pencils. I raised my hand after quickly solving a few.

Math came easy to me because it reminded me of music. I saw the patterns in my head. There were no emotions connected to them, but numbers made sense to me.

When class was only halfway through, Tommy raised his hand. “Mr. Y?”

“Yes, Master E.” Mr. Yurelli’s brows lifted, disappearing beneath the only thing non-orderly about him, his unkempt brown hair.

“Good one.” Tommy grinned. “I left something in my locker.” He hooked a thumb at me. “I need to give it to Kyle before his next class. Can we cut out a little early?”

“Sure.” Mr. Yurelli went to his desk and beckoned us forward.

We waited while he opened the drawer and scribbled out a hall pass.

“Here you go, gentlemen.” Handing the pass to Tommy, he gave us a firm look. “Don’t get into any trouble.”

“None we plan on,” Tommy said.

“Can’t be responsible for the rest of the shits out there,” I said, just to be clear.

Tommy headed out the door, and I followed. But as soon as we were in the hall, I stepped in front of him.

“What’s going on? We both know that locker line was bullshit.”

“Man, c’mon. We don’t have time for an interrogation.” He moved around me and resumed walking. “It’s about Claire.”

My heart sped up at the mention of her name, and I lengthened my strides, matching his. “What about Claire?”

“Missy texted me,” he said cryptically.

“Since when do you have Missy’s number?”

“Since your bullshit order about Claire.” He turned his head, giving me a dark look. “You wanted me to keep an eye on her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she’s not okay. Not really.” After dropping that unsettling news, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans, withdrew her bracelet, and shoved it into my hand. “Take it.”

“What the hell, Tex?” I asked, gripping the bracelet tightly.

Tommy didn’t answer, and he didn’t slow his pace. At the end of the hall, he turned. Jogging to keep up, I turned the corner too.

“I gave you Claire’s bracelet weeks ago. Why haven’t you returned it like I told you . . .” Trailing off, I stopped abruptly because she was right there.

This wasn’t about Claire. It was Claire. And Missy was with her.