“You need help.”
An angry hiss rushes past my lips, and I jerk my wrist out of his grip. Somehow he manages to maintain control of my drink. “Are you screwing with me?”
“This—this—is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re all over the place.” His jaw sets in a hard line as he studies my face. “When was the last time you actually went to class?”
“You sound like Kendra. But unlike her, you really have no room to talk.” I also don’t want to slap Kendra when she gives me unsolicited advice. “If you want a break, fine, I’m good with that. But stop trying to analyze me. You blow at it.”
He drops the nearly empty beer can in the wastebasket by my desk before turning back to me. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises as if he didn’t just end our relationship.
“Don’t bother.”
“Evie, Lily would—”
At the mention of my sister, I jump off my desk and shove my hands against his chest, pushing him hard in the direction of the door. “If you even think about going there you won’t walk out of here with your junk intact. Good night, James.”
But after he leaves, mumbling how much he still loves me and how he wants things to go back to how they were before, I lock my door and ease down on my bed. Out the corner of my eye, I can see myself in the full-length mirror that’s hanging on the wall beside my desk. I stare numbly at my reflection, at the brown eyes staring back at me. And I can vividly hear James’ unspoken words.
Lily would never be doing this.
Lily would want you to deal with your issues the right way.
Lily would be so disappointed in the wreck you’ve become.
Digging my fingers in the mattress beneath me, I drop my head between my knees and release a sob. I stay like this for so long a headache starts to form between my eyes. Although it’s the last thing I should do, when I finally talk myself into getting up, I get dressed and soon after, I leave the building with the group of girls I usually party with. When I come home without them a few hours later, I don’t care that I’ve only spoken to the guy I’m kissing a handful of times, or that he knows James. All I want to do is drown out the memories.
I don’t care when the same thing happens once again a couple weeks later.
But a week after that, when I come out of my room and there’s a message scribbled on my whiteboard in permanent orange marker—the board that everyone on my hall can see—that blatantly calls me a whore, something inside me snaps.
And I start to give a damn again.
Chapter Twelve
Now
With things somewhat fixed with Corinne—at least where Daniel is concerned—I try to put all thoughts of my own screw-ups out of my head to focus on my schoolwork for the rest of the weekend. I do a half-ass job dealing with things on the memory front, but I catch up on just about all my assignments. By the time I enter the practice room Monday, I’m feeling confident with myself.
Of course, that confidence is immediately tested when Rhys points out that I’m five minutes late. I toss my messenger bag in the chair by the door and start getting my books out.
“Blame your boss then,” I say. He lifts both eyebrows, studying my movements carefully as I set up my sheet music on the stand. “Cameron wanted to reschedule my lesson with her to Thursday. And she wanted to ask me how things are going with you. You’ll be happy to know that I gave you a glowing review.”
Linking his fingers together and placing them behind his head, Rhys leans back. “Glowing, huh?”
“The very best. I told her things are going swimmingly. Now, are you ready to start?”
He glances at the top of my head. As usual, I’m wearing one of my many hats, and as usual, he’s not happy about it. For once, though, I’m having a genuinely bad hair day. “As soon as you take that damn hat off. Then we’ll begin.”
“I’m not hiding beneath this one,” I argue. “My hair really does look like shit today.”
“Don’t care if you’re hiding or not. Take it off, Evelyn.”
A surge of frustration whirls through me. “You give voice lessons, bartend, and now, here you are trying to tell me what to wear. Again. Wow, Rhys.” My heart flies into my throat as he stalks over to me, and I take a step backwards toward the piano when he stops right in front of me. “Is there anything you don’t do?” I question softly.
Ignoring my question, Rhys slides his strong fingers beneath the brim of my newsboy, pulling it off in one easy motion. My hair falls around my face in a curtain of natural waves, and he sucks in a breath at the sight of it.
Reaching behind me, he drops the hat on the piano’s smooth mahogany lid and I let out a little moan when I hear him inhale my scent. He catches my hands in his before I can reclaim the newsboy. “You are beautiful, Evelyn. No matter how your hair looks.” Moving in toward me so that my butt is pressed up against the piano and I have nowhere to go, he links his fingers with mine, one at a time, each motion careful and taunting.
With him staring at me, standing this close to me, I feel like I’ve been stripped bare.
“If I was going to tell you what to wear – and if there was a chance in hell you’d listen – believe me, the hat would be the last thing to go.” Releasing my hands, he touches my chin gently, tilting my face up until we’re eye to eye. “But I want to see your face when you’re singing to me. I like trying to figure out what’s behind your eyes.”
My nostrils flare. I run my hands over his chest, feeling his muscles beneath my fingers. This is something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw him—well, the second time—and to my relief, he doesn’t stop me. I dig my fingers into the soft fabric of his blue t-shirt as his hands move from my face to my hair, gathering it in his fist and then releasing it. After all the memories of my past here lately, it’s almost as if his touch—no matter how confusing or crazy or wrong—is the only thing holding me together.
I trail my tongue over my lips. “You won’t like what you find behind my eyes,” I inform him.
“You’re wrong.” Tracing the tip of his thumb back and forth from my chin to the corner of my mouth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, he dips his face close to mine, his sea blue eyes flashing a challenge. “I don’t just want the beautiful, the happy-go-lucky, or even the sarcastic bullshit from you. You’re so much more than that. The pain and fear and anger—that’s the part of you I need to unravel.”
“The pain and fear.” I swallow hard. “And the anger.”
“Yes ... it’s the only way you’ll survive going back in front of Cameron during mid-terms in a couple weeks and then again at the end of the semester. She wants to see real emotion, and I’ve yet to get that out of you.”
Professor Cameron. He’s touching me and talking about music. More specifically he’s talking about my future in the music program. Now, I feel like an idiot for the uneven hitch in my breathing. The way my body has, inadvertently, curved in to his. The way I’m hoping our lips might touch, if even for a moment.
“You sound like a masochist.”
“Hmm,” Rhys murmurs thoughtfully. When he doesn’t say anything else, I jab the tip of my tongue into my cheek and glower at him. This is when his face begins a slow transformation. From intense and pensive to a broad, mocking grin. “And there we have it. Real emotion. About goddamn time.”
I start to give him another sharp retort, but then I look him directly in the eyes. “Are you going to kiss me?” I demand, and he presses his forehead to mine. “You want to.”
He tilts his head back and his expression changes, the mockery edging away into a guilty smile. “Is it that obvious?” Before I can answer, his lips touch the tip of my nose. Then I feel them against my temple as his hand cups my neck. And finally, he hovers his mouth right over mine and my breath hitches. “And what happens after we do this?” he wonders aloud.