Page 21 of Necessary Cruelty

I quickly write back, any thoughts of actually getting my homework done forgotten. This is the most interaction I’ve had in days.

Fuck no.

When he passes the paper back to me, his fingers touch mine and stay for a beat too long before he pulls them away. It makes me feel sort of light and airy, like I’m flying.

I remind myself that the higher I go, the harder I’ll hit the ground when I inevitably fall.

Then I read what Jake has written and feel the earth rushing up to meet me.

He acts like he’s in love with you.

My hand shakes as I pick up the pen to write. It scares me to know what this looks like from the outside, this twisted dynamic between me and my greatest tormenter.

I don’t have a word for what lies between us, but I know that love is the wrong one.

He loves to torture me. That’s all. This is how it’s always been.

I’m never this honest with anyone, not even Zion. Even talking about Vin gives me the fanciful idea that I’m ceding him even more power over me. I want to erase Vin from my brain, not spend my free time discussing him with a complete stranger.

I don’t have a problem handling him then.

Founder’s Ball?

I remind myself that I can’t let this piece of notepaper leave the library when we’re done. Burning is the best way to destroy evidence, but I’ll eat it if I have to. If Vin ever finds out that I had this conversation, even only in writing, he will make me regret it.

And my imagination isn’t good enough to think of all the ways he might do that.

But I also don’t want to live the rest of my life under someone’s heel. Death would be more preferable than that. This life I have can’t be forever, and the only way it will change is if I do.

And I don’t give a fuck what Vin Cortland thinks about it.

Feeling suddenly defiant, even though I’ll definitely be paying for it later, I take a gel pen and write LET’S GO in big block letters before holding it high enough for him to see.

Jake grins wide. He doesn’t even seem to notice when I take the notepaper back, scrunch it up and shove it in the pocket of my oversized sweatshirt. He stands and murmurs something about getting the details from me later, voice low enough that even Mrs. Markel can’t hear him.

I watch him go, already regretting my impulsiveness. Briefly, I consider running after him and trying to take it all back. As soon as I move to rise, Iain Hewitt steps out from behind a high bookcase and blocks my path.

My gaze follows Jake over Iain’s shoulder as he pushes open the heavy doors and lets them slam shut loudly behind him. I don’t say a word to call him back, and not just because of Mrs. Markel’s laser-eyed attention.

The paper with our messages feels like it burns a hole in my pocket. Iain won’t search me, because he knows as well as I do that he isn’t allowed to touch me. But if he tells me to hand it over, I’m not convinced I’ll refuse.

Iain is built like an MMA fighter, all lean muscle and explosive quickness, but he moves like a cat. I know exactly how much strength lies in the tightly corded muscles of his arms and just how fast he can move. He is the only one who can get around this school as silently as I do, probably why I didn’t realize he was behind that bookcase until it was too late.

I give him a careless shrug as if I don’t have any idea what he wants. One more small bright spot in the barren landscape of this situation.

You can’t be caught in a lie when you never speak.

This will get back to Vin, eventually everything does. That shouldn’t bother me when I’m planning to show up at the Founder’s Ball with another guy, openly defying Vin for the whole town to see. But now I don’t have the chance to change my mind.

There is only one way forward.

I try to shift past Iain, but he steps in to my path again, blocking the way.

With an angry huff of air, I hold my hands up in front of me as I step forward so he has to move out of the way or let me touch him. He dodges away with an annoyed sigh, but I still see the warning that burns in his gaze.

The hem of my sweatshirt brushes against his arm. Fear ratchets higher as I imagine him grabbing the fabric and choking me with it.

Relief rushes through me when I reach the doors of the library, far enough from Iain that I’m well out of reach. Then I push my hand into my pocket and realize there isn’t anything there.

The note is gone.

I look back to see a folded paper in his hand, held between his index and middle finger like a magician about to perform a card trick.

He stole it out of my pocket with the skill of a seasoned thief.

I could go back and beg him to return it, but it wouldn’t do any good. Iain’s loyalty to Vin is absolute, and everyone knows it. All begging would do at this point is make the situation worse.

This will end badly.

It always does.