Page 129 of Made for Cyn
She stares up at me from the floor and I grab my backpack ready to get the fuck out of there when murmurs rise around me, followed by a barrage of papers, pens, garbage, and even someone’s drink that’s lobbed at my head.
“Bitch.”
“Traitor.”
“Leave. Leave. Leave.”
Wiping soda from my face, I glance at Cyn to find him staring at me blankly before I turn away and heft my bag over my shoulder.
And with a smile, I welcome the deluge because it may be what I had coming for thinking I could get away with murder.
In gym, I’m cast into hell. Every student finds a way to bump, kick, or shove me during a rousing game of flag football where I was picked last, and I still don’t know how to play the damn game.
Jig looks past me like I don’t fucking exist, which I was expecting, but it doesn’t hurt any less when he turns away from the fucking abuse. When the game and the class are finally at an end, I’ve learned a valuable lesson that I didn’t take seriously enough before—don’t mess with Cyn.
I’m pretty sure every bump and bruise I now carry was a show of loyalty by each of the students, and some part of me admires their steadfast respect even if it doesn’t make my body ache any less.
The remainder of the day is much the same. I’m greeted by slurs and borderline violence everywhere I go. By the time I meet Iris in the lot, I’m exhausted, and she looks at me with a frown but doesn’t comment.
I make a beeline for my room at home, only to hesitate at the stairs when I see Pam sitting at the kitchen counter.
“Hey,” I say softly.
Raising her tired eyes, she says, “Hey hon. What happened to your eye?”
With a shrug, I stretch my lips. “A difference of opinion.”
“Who won?” she asks, her lip curling with amusement.
“I did.”
“Course you did.” She chuckles before it fades off to a sigh.
“I’m sorry.”
She looks up with a smile. “Nothing to be sorry for, kid.”
If she only knew.
???
The following day is perfectly horrible. First, I’m blocked from entering the building, to which Iris rolls her eyes and pulls me around to another door, but they’re all blocked. By the time I finally get inside, I’m late to class because I had to wait for the dicks to leave before I could.
After first period, I’m surrounded in the hall while my peers chant for me to leave once more until one of the teachers comes out of a room with a cranky look, and they all disperse, but it’s no different after the next class and the next.
During lunch, I avoid the cafeteria altogether and sit down before the bench in the courtyard, staring broodingly at the corner where Cyn held me close and brought me to heaven not so long ago.
It’s twenty degrees outside, and when the first trickle of snow drops on my head, I lean my head back and sigh, allowing the cool flakes to bathe my face.
“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing,” Iris mutters, stopping before me with her hands on her hips.
Shrugging, I close my eyes once more, but she grabs my bag and leans into my face. “You’re letting them win, and they don’t deserve it.”
“Who’s actually winning, Iris?” I ask dully, scrubbing my face and shivering because my hands are icy cold.
She’s right. It’s too damn cold out here, but before she came along, I didn’t even notice.
“Guys like them who take what they want and leave us bleeding.”