Broken Pretty Things by Amber Faye
Chapter 12
If fate is real,then that means I was always destined to walk home today in the dark, in an oversized hentai sweatshirt, soaked to the bone and shivering. Still stained by fake blood. And I’m pretty sure my wrist is sprained. If fate is real, then whoever’s in charge is an asshole with a twisted sense of humor.
It took me hours to get free.
I had to calm down first, stop hyperventilating. Being trapped somewhere has always been one of my worst nightmares. Gunnar knows that, because we used to watch horror movies together all the time. “Being burned alive is the worst way to go,” he would always say as soon as flames licked at a character on the screen. I would disagree. “It’s being stuck,” I’d say. “Stuck somewhere, just having nothing else to do but wait for death.”
But as soon as I caught my breath and stopped panicking, I realized that I could very slowly pull on the rope until the knot was in both of my hands. It took a long time, and extra skill when the cold rain had numbed my fingers, but I was able to untie the knot once I’d wrenched my wrist into an unnatural position.
The books that weren’t ruined by the fire and water in Chemistry class are now surely ruined in my backpack. The rain isn’t letting up, and this stretch of road is so dark this time of night anyway. The storm means I can barely see five feet in front of my face. And I’m shaking violently. Miles to go before I sleep.
That part of me that rose up when Gunnar tried to fuck with me by warping my feelings for him into a cruel attack is still in me now. It’s growing, fuelled by indignation, anger, helplessness. I’m furious at Barkley. I’m so, so angry at Cole. And I’m so angry at myself for being angry with Cole. The occasional raindrop lashing down my face is hot instead of ice cold. That’s the only clue I have that I’m crying.
I’m not going to let them treat me like this. I have to figure this out by myself — and I’m lucky enough, unlucky enough, that this is my first time having to do that. I’m not weak, at least I don’t think I am, but I have been spoiled by my close relationships. I’m not used to making things right by myself. I’m just not used to being a one-man army when it comes to my battles. But I’m going to do it.
I’m not going to let them hurt me.
The nebulous and ever-growing to-do list in my mind becomes my mantra as every step home is a struggle. Figure out what really happened to Cole. Destroy my old friends. Every time I repeat it to myself, I feel better, and after the thirtieth time, an actual palpable weight has been lifted.
Figure out what happened to Cole. Destroy my old friends.
Gunnar’s wild and angry look as he reared away from my responsive lips flashes across my mind. He thinks I’m lying about everything, and maybe I haven’t told the whole truth. Right now, I have no idea what he’s capable of, and I can let that scare me, or I can let it comfort me, in a way. Because it means he has no idea what I’m capable of, either.
Warmth, lit by rage and hate, has begun to fill my fingers and toes by the time I notice the headlights creeping beside me. A sleek blue BMW convertible. The lights flash, but I keep walking. I know whose goddamn car this is. I’ve spent more time in this car than in my current home. I actually lost my virginity in this damn car. The story that led to my first unflattering high school nickname. Before Cole. Before everything.
I keep walking, arms wrapped around myself. The autumn wind is painful, but it’s getting easier. Because my toes are getting worryingly numb. I know that’s not a great thing, but I’ll survive. And my bar is that low today.
The window rolls down. Gunnar’s elbow rests outside. It’s getting soaked, but he doesn’t care. “Get in the car,” he says. He has to raise his voice over the wind howling through wires above us. “It’s a storm.” His best commanding voice, but it doesn’t work on me.
It worked on every other girl that liked him, but that wasn’t the part of him I fell for. It wasn’t the side of him he ever showed to me.
“Stop being a fucking brat, Andrea, and get in the fucking car.”
I keep walking, splashing through muddy puddles. My teeth are chattering so hard I almost can’t hear him.
“You’re going to die out here,” he says, his voice taking on a superior tone, like he really does think he’s talking to a child.
“Why do you care?” I suddenly scream in his direction. The flip of my head sends drops of water from my hair into his face, and he wipes his eye and raises his brow.
“Well, fuck, good question,” he says. “I guess the answer is I want you gone, not dead. If you die, I’m no better than you. Get in the car, or we’re gonna have a problem.”
He’s been waiting for me, for hours, I realize. There’s no way this is a coincidence. He knew I’d untie the knot. He wanted to know how long it would take me. Somewhere deep inside him, does he still care about me? And then I remember the day I’ve had, and force the pathetic, hopeful thought out of my head. It doesn’t matter anymore.
“Then I think we have a problem,” I yell back, slipping in some mud but catching myself before I go down.
He speeds up, and twin feelings of horror and relief twist through me at the fact that he really is leaving me. But he slows down again, swerving into my path, and wrenches open the door. He steps out, the rain soaking him instantly.
“We have a problem?” he repeats, spreading his arms out wide. He’s so much taller than me, stronger than me, and I feel tiny and vulnerable right now. Bent double, a drowned rat at the feet of a prince. “No fucking shit we have a problem.” His arms are around my waist and I don’t even scream when he lifts me and throws me over his shoulder. I have no energy left. I am hanging on to consciousness by a thread, it turns out, because the second he secures me in his grasp, my eyes try to flutter shut.
Then I’m thrown in the back seat of his car, sprawling over his leather seats with barely a second to get into a sitting position before he pulls back into the road and speeds into the dark.
He doesn’t say a word, but turns up the heat, and then his music. ‘Karma Police’ by Radiohead. The heat brings me back to myself, very slowly, and I curl up, my head on the window, and listen. I wonder if he remembers the time we tried edibles and spent an hour holding onto each other for dear life while we listened to this album in his basement.
He must, because it barely makes it to the chorus before he switches it off.
Some amount of time passes before he slows to a stop. I listen to the rain pound on the shell of his car for a minute in silence. Then, “Get out,” he says. I open my eyes and it takes me a while to recognize Pietro’s driveway. I don’t feel like I live here yet.
Of course, Dimitri would have given him my address. So much for having any kind of relationship with my bro-to-be.
The heavy silence in the car clears when Gunnar turns and shoots me his soul-achingly beautiful smile. I fumble with my seatbelt and unclip it, grabbing the handle and trying not to look at him. “See you tomorrow,” he says, reaching out quicker than I can get out, and squeezing my leg just above my knee. His touch burns my cold-bitten skin, and then it hurts even more when he removes it.
I force myself to catch his eyes and twist my quivering lips into a smile. “See you tomorrow,” I reply. Just like I would have before. His face falls back into a frown and I get out of his car and slam the door. I give him a polite wave through the rain as he speeds away and rounds a corner.
Just like every other time I’ve had to leave his side, it wrenches something inside me, and I have to push that aside. Enemies now. Not friends. Never anything more. I can’t mourn a future I never could have had.
Shivering, filthy, humiliated, I sneak home through the back door. I’ll tell my mom what’s going on at some point. But not tonight.