Pained Read online

  “Come on, bunny girl,” he drawled, referring to my pajamas, and pushed his drink at my chest. I almost groaned at the stupid nickname. “You’re Sarah, right? I’m Tyler.”

  He held his drink awkwardly between us, waiting for me to take it, and my tension mounted. I just wanted to get some personal space.

  “Take this drink and—” He was cut off when Hayden passed next to us and hit Tyler’s shoulder with his, spilling Tyler’s drink all over his face and chest. The guys nearest to us laughed, amused by the sight of Tyler covered in alcohol. Hayden didn’t even turn around or say a word but continued to walk toward the door.

  “Hey, Black! What was that for?” Tyler shouted after him.

  “I’m out of here,” Hayden muttered and left, ignoring Tyler’s question.

  Astounded, I brought my gaze back to Tyler who looked pissed off. I needed only a few seconds to make a decision. I bolted from the barstool and ran after Hayden. He was half-way to the front door when I reached him in the hallway.

  “Hayden, wait!” He didn’t stop. “Please, wait!” He halted with his back to me.

  The music coming from the entertainment room was a dull, distant pounding in the otherwise quiet house. I studied his tall, dark form in the unlit hallway. My chest ached as unusual longing flooded me. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans that accentuated his sexy backside and muscular legs, and I felt a rush of attraction toward him.

  “Please, look at me.”

  “Go back,” he snarled, speaking to me for the first time in a long time. My heart beat so fast in anticipation that it hurt.

  He moved but stopped again when I said, “Thank you for helping me.”

  He clenched his fists. “I didn’t fucking help you, slut. Go back and fuck with all of them since you can’t wait to spread your legs.”

  Numbness washed over me. I refused to believe such cruel and unfair words had easily slipped out of his mouth. Was that him or his BPD talking?

  “Hayden, stop throwing baseless insults at me. I was uncomfortable, and I wanted to leave. You saw it yourself.”

  “The only thing I saw was you leading on those guys, especially the way you’re dressed. What? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You want to try a new cock?”

  I stared at his back in dismay, knowing I shouldn’t let him provoke me, but it was getting to me. “I’m a virgin, Hayden! And I’m not a cheater!” I hated that I was justifying myself to him. Look at me! “Don’t pretend you know everything about me! I don’t want their attention. I hate it—”

  “Stop talking. Do you know why I can’t stand to be near you anymore?” He interrupted me, but he still didn’t turn to me. “It’s because I want to crush you more than ever, but I can’t because you saved my life. If my fucking patience, which is now wearing very thin, snaps, I’ll hurt you for all pain you’ve caused me since that day. So you better shut your mouth and stay the fuck away from me.”

  He marched out of the house and slammed the door behind him, and I just stood there, unable to calm down my erratic breathing as feelings of dejection and confusion veiled my whole being.

  Chapter 2

  ON MONDAY MORNING, I woke up feeling more downhearted than usual. I had a restless night, Hayden’s words replaying in my mind on endless repeat. I was angry at myself because I felt all these opposite emotions and had to remind myself I was with Mateo. I liked Mateo, and our relationship meant a lot to me. I couldn’t go back to my old story with Hayden. Besides, his words on Saturday night were clear enough.

  I’d pushed Hayden away, so he had the right to be angry with me. He had every right to forget about me and move on with his life. He felt each emotion much more intensely than I would ever be able to, and I could only imagine how devastated he’d been after I rejected him. I shouldn’t be so selfish. His indifference shouldn’t hurt me.

  My life had gotten so much better recently. I had friends and a boyfriend, and my life in school wasn’t as difficult as before. My grades were amazing, and Ms. Clare had allowed me to work on my computer project at my own pace because I’d been injured and spent quite some time in the hospital. Everything was going well. So why was I unsatisfied?

  And then there was that recurring voice saying “wrong.” Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  These vehement feelings were twisted but addictive—hot and cold, just like Hayden—and I needed to get my mind off them. Thinking about Mateo helped me remember I had a promise of a peaceful future. I should never forget who Hayden was. He’d been my enemy. He’d drowned me in his hate that scarred me forever. He’d done so many sick things to me that having a future with him was out of the question.

  I just needed time. I needed more time and these feelings would disappear. They had to.

  I was on my way downstairs when my phone beeped. I fished it out of my pocket and opened Mateo’s text.

  “Good morning, precious.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. He wished me good morning every day before he left for school, and this became our routine. I was slowly getting used to the fact that I texted people every day now, regularly receiving messages from Mateo, Melissa, and Jessica, and it felt great. I wasn’t an unsociable loner and weirdo anymore.

  I texted him back and went into the kitchen. The cigarette smoke hit me, and I wrinkled my nose, clutching the strap of my backpack. My mother was sitting at our kitchen table and reading her favorite gossip magazine, her half-smoked cigarette hanging between her fingers. My gaze landed on the ashtray in front of her. A few fresh cigarette butts already littered its shiny black bottom.

  “Good morning,” I muttered and opened the fridge.

  “Morning,” she responded blandly.

  I took the milk out of the fridge with a sigh and poured the cereal and milk into my bowl. I sat across from her, placing my backpack next to my chair, and examined her exhausted, pale face as I ate my breakfast in silence. She had bags under her green eyes that held no light in them, and she got thinner, her cheeks bonier. Did she eat anything at all?

  “Did you have breakfast?” I asked her.

  She released smoke through her nose. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “That’s not okay, mom. You should eat something. If you don’t eat—”

  “Stop preaching. You’re not the parent here. I am.” She added “Unfortunately” quietly, and my throat constricted.

  I itched to get up and leave because I couldn’t be in the same room as her anymore. I was always mercilessly reminded that she would never be the person I was hoping for. She had her own burden to bear, which didn’t include taking care of her daughter.

  These last few weeks, she’d been depressed and didn’t talk much. She got fired from the fast-food restaurant for working drunk, and she found a new job in a supermarket. She wasn’t happy about it in the slightest, because she didn’t get well with her new colleagues and the workload was heavy, so she drank away her stress and misery almost every night in the bars around Enfield.

  I picked up my backpack and put my bowl in the sink. “I’m off.”

  “Later,” she gave me the same old answer, her eyes fixed on the magazine.

  I stood watching her put out her cigarette in the ashtray and blow smoke out of her mouth, ache twirling in my chest. Do you love me?

  She raised her eyebrows when she saw me staring at her. “What?” she asked. Did you ever love me?

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked her, terrified of entering that desolate territory of anguish, but desperation in me pushed me to ask. My heart rammed against my chest as I waited for her answer, silently pleading for her to change—to realize I needed a mother. I needed her.

  She shrugged. “Why do you even ask?”

  Did you ever consider me your daughter?

  “Forget it,” I said and left, pressure crushing my chest. I buttoned up my winter jacket, quickly growing cold in the freezing morning air. I hated cold weather. Winter hadn’t even
started, but the temperature was already too low.

  I glanced at Hayden’s house, and my heartbeat and anticipation rose. I expected to see him whenever I left my house, but just like these past few weeks, he was nowhere to be seen. His car wasn’t in his driveway, and it was highly possible that he didn’t even spend the night home.

  Desperate to escape the cold, I rushed to my car. I started the engine and turned on the heater. A powerful shiver coursed all the way through me.

  I could’ve died when Josh stabbed me two months ago, but my relationship with my mother didn’t turn the corner. It only got worse. She was so lost in her depression that I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her smile. She rarely spoke to me, and when she did, it was to talk about money. She never failed to remind me we struggled to pay the bills, suggesting that I find a better job.

  I clenched my hands around the steering wheel. The fury I felt toward her compressed my chest. I wasn’t only mad, I was scared. There was a possibility I couldn’t go to Yale or any good college even if I got a full scholarship by some miracle. I’d have to pay for various expenses my mother wouldn’t help me cover. I’d have to work my fingers to the bone while studying, worrying about money, and I was terrified.

  My anxiety kicked in again, and a whirlwind of negative thoughts and doubts blew through my mind. I’d have to work with people, and I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to be forced to interact with strangers, but I didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t be picky about jobs during college. My mother was clear about this—if I went to some far away college, I was on my own. She didn’t support my decision to leave Enfield. She wanted me to enroll in a local college, find a job that paid well, and support us.

  Her selfishness and neglect knew no boundaries.

  Gloom dug its claws even deeper into me on my way to school. I was afraid I would be stuck here forever.

  A few students glanced my way the moment I entered the lobby, and my cheeks flushed. I knew I should be used to it already, but I wasn’t. The incident with Josh took their attention to a whole new level, and they became morbidly curious about me. My status had transformed from the school’s top “freak” to top “savior-freak.”

  They created so many stories about me that one would think I was a superhero, exaggerating the moment I got stabbed instead of Hayden. According to one of the ridiculous rumors, I’d been stabbed fifteen times and lost one lung. Another said I’d been Josh’s secret lover, but I cheated on him so he decided to get his revenge. The most absurd rumor was definitely the one about me losing my child when Josh stabbed my stomach in the middle of my pregnancy.

  They even made a meme with my picture, which said: “We don’t need Batman, we have Sarah Decker.”

  Strangely, almost all the bullying had stopped. Even Masen and Blake didn’t bully me anymore. They didn’t like me or treat me nicely, but at least they didn’t go out of their way to make my life miserable. I didn’t have the title of the lamest East Willow High student anymore; Josh and Natalie did.

  They were still behind the bars, thankfully, and awaiting their trials. Natalie had gone the extra mile to keep her rich, fashionable appearance at school, but she didn’t come from a wealthy family. Her parents worked as teachers in an elementary school, so they couldn’t find the money to bail Natalie out.

  Josh’s parents were rich and could easily pay for his release, but his father had refused to do so. He was a judge who had aspirations to be on the Supreme Court, so letting Josh roam freely after what he’d done, especially considering his history of violence, was unacceptable in his eyes. He publicly said his son was to remain in custody for the sake of justice.

  He was a hypocrite. He’d used his connections in the police to help Josh when I reported him for punching me two years ago, but I had to admit I was glad the irony of life worked to my advantage this time.

  I halted mid-step, yanked out of my thoughts when I noticed a crowd gathered around my locker. They were pointing at it and taking pictures.

  Chills rolled down my spine. What now?

  They stepped aside when they saw me, allowing me to see what had attracted their attention, and my throat closed on itself. A word written in black was spray-painted across my locker, mocking me. My vision blurred as a throbbing sensation formed in my head.

  It was the same word Hayden used to insult me on Saturday night—Slut.

  I closed my eyes for a few seconds so I could stop the tears and reach my locker. I ignored their laughter as I rummaged through my stuff for the things I’d need for English.

  So, Hayden had decided I was "worthy" of bullying again. I shut my eyes and inhaled a deep breath, overcome with pain. It was ridiculously easy for him to affect like this.

  I rested my forehead against the upper locker shelf and took more deep breaths to calm myself down, but the old hurt spread through me fast, heightened by my longing for him.

  I was obsessing over Hayden once more, unsure whether our exchange in Melissa’s house was the trigger that made him decide to torture me again—

  Pain exploded in the back of my head when someone hit me with my locker door. The collision smashed my forehead into the solid shelf, and I yelped out in pain.

  I gasped for breath as I turned to face the person who did this. “What are you—” My protest died on my lips when I met Christine’s hostile green eyes.

  She faked the worry on her face and put on an act. “I’m sooo sorry. Did I hurt you? I didn’t see you. I hope you’re okay,” she said in a sugary voice. I had no idea why she bothered to make it look like she didn’t do it on purpose. It wasn’t like anyone would snitch on her.

  Her eyes zeroed in on my forehead just as I felt something trickle over my left eyebrow. I pushed my bangs aside and touched that spot, finding blood on my fingers.

  “Are you crazy?!” I bit out in a trembling voice.

  Students around us kept staring at me, giving rise to the upsetting chatter in my head that haunted me, always there to remind me I was nobody and deserved nothing but pain and shame.

  I touched the throbbing spot on the back of my head. I sensed a lump, but luckily there was no blood. I curled my hands into fists. “You’re horrible,” I told her.

  She got into my face. “You deserve much worse, slut,” she whispered so only I could hear her. The word “slut” echoed through my mind, twisting my stomach into knots. “Today, it was just a small scrape on your forehead and a vandalized locker. Who knows what I could do tomorrow?”

  My eyes widened when her words sunk in. “It was you. You wrote this on my locker.”

  She smirked. “You better keep your eyes on your boyfriend, slut, or the next time you’ll need much more than a Band-Aid when I’m done with you.”

  She spun around and walked away, leaving those awful words to hang perilously between us.

  CHRISTINE AND HER CRONIES hadn’t stopped bullying me, and it would get physical from time to time. I had a rude awakening when she turned her back on me two years ago, when I found out my ex-friend was a liar, manipulator, and top class bitch. She’d never been a real friend, but after Kayden’s death, she stopped concealing her hate. It got worse when Natalie went to jail and the whole school started speculating about the nature of my relationship with Hayden.

  Hayden and she had had an on-off relationship. They switched partners often but kept returning to each other for some reason. However, several days after that transpired between Hayden and me in the hospital, news that he told her in the cafeteria he was done with her for good spread through East Willow High like wildfire.

  He’d been with various girls since then until that redhead, Maya, and I had no idea if she was something temporary or not. What if he’d already found the right one for him?

  Once again, my selfishness kicked in, sparking more anger because I was an awful person for being so indecisive about my feelings. So what if she’s the right girl for him, Sarah? He deserves to be happy.

  There was something I couldn’t get my
head around, though. Why did Christine write the word “slut” on my locker and said to keep my eyes on Mateo? Hayden could’ve mentioned to her our conversation in Melissa’s house, but then again, why would he? They weren’t close anymore. There had to be some other explanation.

  I pushed these thoughts aside and headed to English, holding a tissue against my wound to stop the bleeding. I was glad I had an excuse to skip first period. I needed to clean the wound, so I planned to ask Ms. Dawson for permission to go to the nurse.

  I tensed when I entered the classroom, expecting to see Hayden in his seat at the back, but he wasn’t there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d decided to skip this class again; he skipped almost all the classes we had together. Jessica stood up when she saw me, scrunching her eyebrows in a deep frown.

  “Sar, you’re bleeding! What happened?”

  “I had a rendezvous with my locker.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently, Christine is a vampire because she enjoys seeing me bleed,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood, but the truth was that I felt miserable. When would Christine stop? “She hit me with my locker door.”

  She grimaced and caught my hand. “That’s awful. Was it because of Hayden?” I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t want to talk about Hayden or Christine’s jealousy. “You should go to the nurse.”

  Ms. Dawson and the remaining students in the hallway entered the classroom, with no Hayden in sight. I promised Jessica I’d tell her all the details during lunch and asked Ms. Dawson to let me see the nurse, impatient to escape all inquisitive stares directed at my forehead.

  As if the locker incident weren’t enough for her, Christine continued to bully me in the third period, Spanish. She and her friends made a song about me in Spanish called “La puta estúpida,” which they wrote in chalk on my desk. They even chanted it a couple of times before our teacher, Ms. Holt, arrived, and I couldn’t do anything to make them stop.

  I hated this. I hated all of them, but what I hated the most was my inability to do anything, to fight through the horror that held me captive. I was always alone against the world. So often, I created scenarios in my head where I was able to fight back. I felt confident and believed in myself. So unlike the real me.