I carpooled to school with a girl, Dana, who I found on the internet through the university website. Luke of course checked into her, but he still followed us in his car to campus. I wanted normal and going to school with a bodyguard was not normal, but neither was carrying a gun everywhere I went.
I went to class, said little to anyone except when forced to, came home, repeat and recycle, five days a week. The weekends consisted of running and homework. It was productive. It was what I wanted and I hadn’t done anything I wanted for twelve years.
But Crisis . . . he was something I hadn’t been prepared for. He liked to talk and because of our deal, it was in text. And after a month of texts from him, I found myself thawing to his playfulness.
You’re comparing cucumbers to dicks?
Yeah.
What about carrots?
Since when do cocks have pointy ends?
So, you don’t like cucumbers in your salad because they look like cut up dicks and it gives you nightmares?
Yeah, Ice. That’s what I said. But we’re talking about big cucumbers, not those baby ones. And I don’t fuckin’ like them and they always put them in my salad. I’m here picking them out one by one and I know I’m still going to taste them after all this fuckin’ work.
Picking cucumbers out of your salad is work?
He must be bored because he rambled when he was bored. I leaned over and placed my books in my knapsack then zipped it up and stood, grabbing my phone off my desk.
My fingers have been playing all night, I don’t need this shit.
I was uncertain what he meant by that. It wasn’t a secret that Crisis often fooled around with chicks after the concerts, maybe before them, too. I hadn’t thought about it much—we texted. It was an arrangement. But after a month of talking to him every day, I started to think about it.
And from your silence, your mind is in the gutter again. Jesus, babe. I meant the guitar. We had a gig last night.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. There was that tiny smile emerging again. It had been happening more often lately when I texted with Crisis. It was odd because he casually talked about stuff like this and I thought I’d be revolted or disgusted, and the first few times he mentioned his cock in text, I’d numbed out, but now I didn’t even think about it. It was Crisis and he was just talking. It had nothing to do with sex or wanting sex with me.
Was it good?
I knew it had gone well. I checked when I got up this morning and the reviews raved about Tear Asunder, just like all the other venues they’d been to. It had become my habit to scroll the internet to keep track of the band.
Of course, Crisis dominated the pictures, the media loved him and, from his ease around the cameras, he did too. Often there were pictures with his arm around a random girl and I knew they were random because it was never the same girl twice. He soaked up the attention with his cocky grin. I found myself rolling my eyes and smiling when I saw a new girl in a picture because it was mildly absurd. I suspected each girl thought they were special to him. That they’d be ‘the one.’
But Prince charming was a fucking fairy tale. No guy was going to save you. You had to save yourself.
It rocked. But Logan was off. Emily did a demo yesterday afternoon and a voter came at her. She got clear, but Logan saw it. It screwed with his head all night.
Voter?
Fuck no, horse.
Oh.
She can handle it. Logan, not so much. You in class?
Yes.
Technically, I was leaving class.
What class?
Sex Ed. We learned how to put condoms on cucumbers today.
I don’t know why I said it; Crisis brought out a side of me I didn’t know I had. I waited for my phone to light up, holding it in my palm as I walked from the lecture hall.
LOL . . . Shit, babe, you’re really fuckin’ adorable. I may have to make you mine.
Adorable? I was anything but adorable. I ate adorable. I couldn’t believe he just said that. Yes, I could, it was Crisis. It was easy text chatting with him. It was safe behind the phone and he couldn’t see inside me this way. I moved to the side to let students by me as I walked slowly and typed back.
And disappoint the reporters and girls?
True. But I’d be more worried about your brother’s reaction. He’d slingshot my balls with a fuckin’ rock.
I hadn’t mentioned to Ream that I talked to Crisis and neither had Crisis.
A dart is more his style.
My balls just fucked off up into my abdomen.
A bubbling rose in my chest and I stopped in the middle of the hallway. It was an odd sensation with my insides tightening and my stomach fluttering. Laughter. I wanted to laugh, but that sound had been trapped inside me for a really long time.
Going now.
Okay, later, Ice. Be good.
I huffed at his nickname for me. I was uncertain whether it was because of that night when he found me freezing cold or because of my icy personality. I shoved my phone in my pocket and rushed to my next class.