Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,2

My other hand rakes through my thick hair for the hundredth time tonight, stirring up the dark mess of spikes and whorls even more.

Stella and Sunday haven’t spoken to either of us. Not a damn word since they pulled out of my driveway without a second thought. Roxy and Aylie finally admitted yesterday they’ve spoken briefly to Sunday, but they refuse to break the girl code and tell us where they are. Every time we ask, they parrot the same infuriating answer: hoes over bros, dude. While part of me respects their loyalty, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to knock their heads together until the answer I need falls out.

“Bro, I get it. It’s weird as hell, but it’s there. We all saw what was happening between you two, and somehow she just fit. It’s like we were all waiting for her without even knowing she existed.” Payne leans his forearms on his knees and stares down at his hands, absently flexing and unflexing the fingers of the hand not holding his beer. “They have to come back, right? I mean, shit, Sunday’s whole life is here. And Stella wouldn’t just up and leave Miss B, would she? Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Fuck, after everything that’s happened, would you want to come back here?” I bark out a miserable half-laugh. “I’d run. I’d fucking run and find someplace where nobody knows me and never look back.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I picture Stella doing precisely that and it twists my guts into knots.

I need her to come back.

Hell, I just need her.

Period.

It’s utterly ridiculous to feel this way so soon, but she’s the antidote to my darkness, and I crave everything about her; her touch, her scent, her laughter. The thought of never seeing her again scares the shit out of me, and it pisses me right off that it scares me so much.

“How do we find them?” Payne asks flatly.

“I don’t think we do, dude. If they wanted us to know where they were, they would have called. Or Sunday would have at least answered one of the hundred and seven texts I know you’ve sent her.” The embarrassment flares briefly across his face as my guess proves correct, and the asshole in me smirks.

Misery really does love company; who knew?

“What the hell do we do then, wiseass? We can’t just keep sitting here doing nothing at all!” Payne’s tone echoes my frustration.

“We drink; that’s what we do.” Reaching over, I clink my bottle against his and finish the rest of my beer in one long swallow.

Classes at Woodington have taken on a strange vibe. People have definitely noticed the lack of a particular silvery haired student, and a handful of them seem intent on filling the vacuum left by her absence with boatloads of bullshit. There have been too many whispered comments comparing it to when she ‘disappeared’ for six weeks during our sophomore year.

It infuriates me to hear the shit jealous people say about Sunday, but there’s nothing I can do other than tell them to shut the fuck up. The real story isn’t mine to tell. If I started punching every idiot with an opinion, my hands would look like raw hamburger pretty damn quick.

Hali’s behavior has gotten even worse since her aunt and uncle turned tail for home, and students and teachers both keep their heads down when she rages through the halls. Even her agents of chaos, Laina and Carissa, have started to distance themselves from her. The cafeteria has become a hunting ground and the entire freshman and sophomore classes jam their lunch in their faces as fast as possible, hoping to escape before becoming her next target.

Halfway through lunch, Payne elbows me in the ribs. He tilts his chin in Hali’s direction as she verbally abuses some mousey girl I don’t recognize in the cafeteria at lunch.

“Isn’t that chick a junior?” he asks. “Looks like bitchface got bored toying with the young ones.” Payne shakes his head. “You dodged an even bigger bullet than we thought with her. Can you imagine Eunice getting her way and you having to marry that?” He visibly shudders at the thought, throwing in a few gagging noises for effect, and my skin crawls in response.

“There’s way more going on there than garden variety high school mean girl. The rotten apple didn’t fall far from the crazy tree there, did it?” My words are flat as I watch the latest victim try