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Brooklyn, 15; Camden, 16

"H-hey, Brooklyn." A meek voice speaks from behind me as I stuff my books into my locker. Elliott Michaels greets me with a shy smile on his face as he straightens his glasses, his gaze shifting to the floor.

I smile back, pulling on the straps of my bag. It's rare for me to come across people who are interested in talking to me. "Hey, Elliott," Elliott is one of the smartest boys in my class. Like me, he doesn't have many friends with whom he could hang out with. "What's up?"

"I-um ... I wanted to ask you something, and you have every right t-to s-say n-n-no," he laughs in between. "I'm s-sorry, I sound like a complete idiot. I don't think I should be here talking t-to you. But you know ... life's too short, so I guess, why not."

I giggle. "Sure. What is it?"

Elliott breathes. "This might sound crazy, but I was wondering if ... you know, you wanted to hang out sometime? There's this new ice- cream shop that recently opened up, and it would be an h-honor if you could join me."

My cheeks heat up at the sudden invitation. I'm not sure what to say, let alone figure out the ideal phrase to formulate the ideal response. No one has ever asked me out. No one has ever stuttered in front of me like this. Before I could open my mouth to politely decline the invitation, one of the students passing by, carelessly thrusts me forward and I'm about to fall flat on my face when someone firmly grabs my arm, tugging me back, holding me in place.

"Sorry, but I'm not a fan of sharing my food," Camden's words are like thorns, cruelly cutting me from behind. I try to shrug him away from me, but his grip on my shoulder is far too strong for me to push him away.

"You want to know what happens to those who try challenging me? The ones who think it'd be a great- ass idea to test my patience?" Camden's eyes briefly lock with mine, shooting me a bewitching grin, before transpiring into a maniacal grimace as he melts the existence out of Elliott with his stare. "They fucking die. Are you curious enough, to be my very first test subject and fucking find out what it's like to have my wrath pouring all over you?"

Elliott shakes his head and squeals like a frightened bird who's about to be shot down by the hunter. "N-no! I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"

Camden winks. "Good. Now get the hell out of my sight before I change my mind."

The sound of hurried footsteps fills the air in the empty hallway, making my eyes burn with contempt. How can someone live with this much arrogance? So much ego? What happiness does it give him? Who am I kidding? Camden St. James is incapable of harboring emotions of any kind. I bet he'd stare right into the sun and make it cower behind the clouds in the sky. I shrug my arm away from his grasp and shove him back.

"Did you just trip me?"

He inches closer, chuckling conceitedly into my face. My fingers curl.

"You're welcome, little Ms. Boring. You needn't thank me. This is just a daily reminder to ensure that no guy will ever be good enough for you."

It's my turn to smirk. Scoffing, I raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? And how do you know that, Mr. Jerky pants? Let me guess. Because you're a blood-sucking demon who is too chickenshit to express himself, and chooses to mask his insecurities by being a shit-eating ass. What got you, St. James?" I smile evenly, stepping closer to him no matter how hard his presence his making my legs tingle. I'm up in flames.

A few students start to gather around us, some of them gasping after what I'd just said to him. Camden is looking at me in a way I've never been looked at before. Of course, there's an abundance of hate shining in his eyes, ready to chew and spit me out. I can't believe what I'm about to say next.

Standing on my tiptoes, I ignore the pull my heart gives, when our chests lightly press together. I complete my big, Oscar- worthy, finish, by placing my palm on the nape of his neck, whispering, but loud enough for everyone to hear, "Did your finger get stuck deep inside your butthole, you had to get it surgically removed? Did it make you feel a lot more frustrated than you already were?"

Everybody goes silent.

"Oh my God," A few girls from the cheer team gasp in shock. "I can't believe she said that."

A low rumble, reverberates in his throat, the chuckle sinister. His fingers coil around my wrist like a black, velvety mamba, then he spins me around and breathes into my skin, and my heart twists like a withered shrub. I gulp, when the smooth texture of his tongue glides up the side of my neck, my skin smoldering at the sheer feel of it. It takes me a second to fully realize that he'd licked me. He actually licked me, and he took great pride in doing so.

"Maybe you are the reason why I'm frustrated." His breath fans the spot on my neck where his tongue had been. "And also, the reason why I wasn't able to enjoy it. Because, baby, I don't do expired cherries."

***

Present

The more I stare at him, the more I'm reminded of the hurt, the pain he'd inflicted on me. How can someone be so ruthless and yet so stunning at the same time? I feel the entire air being sucked out of my lungs, my heart ready to explode, ticking like a time bomb,

I can't breathe.

I can't move.

And I can't speak.

I can't even hear the drunken cheers of the crowd and the music booming outside the storeroom. My ears go deaf and the only medium of sound I can take in, is the riveting malice in his voice. Coming here is a mistake. Looking at him is a mistake. All the vicious rumors, all the nasty secrets and all the lies come flooding back like a sickening typhoon. A typhoon containing memories I had sworn to forget.

A cunning smile flashes across his face, as he strides closer to me. The leather of his jacket gently brushes my skin, and a wave of electricity shoots up my arm, His smile quickly fades and is replaced with a mocking frown.

"Shouldn't you be slugging in your room, listening to John Mayer on repeat and wondering why your life is empty? Perhaps, questioning your existence? Crying yourself into sympathy? Succumbing into the roots of apathy? What's your poison, Finely?"

"Did an arsenal of slippers hit you in different directions when one of your hookies, realized that your twinkie is yet to germinate?" I quip back, batting my eyelashes innocently.

"As much as I'd love to stand by and watch you play Red Riding Hood in search of her dead grandmother, nobody is in the mood to get their asses arrested. Upstairs, bedroom."

"Screw you, St. James".

"I'm not into virgin brunettes, but in your case, I can make an exception. Just kindly shut those pretty lips, and follow me." He seethes, gritting his teeth.

Trailing behind him, we climb up a glass staircase leading into a corridor that is dimly lit. I'm able to get a clearer look at Camden once we step inside a bedroom. The biker boots he has on, adds an additional two inches to his six-foot-three frame, making him look a lot more dominating than he already is. As usual, his jet-black hair is tousled, a few strands covering his eyes, a look he has mastered effortlessly. I catch a slight glimpse of the ridges behind the shirt and the black, skinny jeans, stretched and ripped at the knee area, outlining his long, muscular thighs.

If Ian Somerhalder, nineties Matt Dillon, and Henry Cavill were combined to father a son, Camden St. James would be the weapon of perfect destruction. He has always looked like a soul stealer since the day he was born, charming everybody out of their wits with his God-given perfections. I'm positive he must be stopped by every modeling agent on a regular basis, begging him to star in one of their high-end campaigns. Brutal, beautiful, and recklessly bad. There's no denying his presence has a profound effect on me in some way, but I've never understood what is it about him that makes me want to understand him further.

"My eyes are up here, Finely." I can hear the bite in his tone.

"Don't flatter yourself," I smile back, walking toward him. "You reek of every synonym associated with disgust. Would you care for me to elaborate?"

"Girls like you truly fascinate me. But it is such a fucking shame that even if you did leave an imprint on me, it would be easily washed off with just a single drop of holy water falling from the shower, the next day."

"Bummer, since I'm allergic to perished meat. Especially the ones that have been in more than one hole and getting a checkup for chlamydia isn't something I'd want to add to my bucket list. Now, tell me what the hell it is you want from me."

His eyebrows furrow, the mischief in his eyes disappear. Glaring at me with raging intensity, he leans back against a desk, crossing one leg in front of the other.

"Other than playing part-time Cinder-fucking-Ella, there's another role that is available specifically for your ass," His emphasis on the curse word hadn't gone unnoticed. "Be my girlfriend for the summer, and afterward, we never have to see each other again."

What did he just say?

We engage in a staring contest for what seems to be forever until a giggle shoots out of my throat. That's when I start laughing as if this is the best joke I've ever heard in a while.

"You," I point at him, "want me to be your girlfriend for the summer?" I question, continuing to laugh until it slowly dies, noticing his eyes haven't moved away. Oh. He's serious.

"You weren't my first choice," he clips, fishing a joint from behind his ear, while taking a lighter from his pocket. Biting the tip of the joint in between his teeth, he lights it and takes in a long drag, before blowing the smoke into my face. "But you are the only chick who has an agenda with an end result. I can help you bag the boy of your dreams."

"Really? Please enlighten me on what that "agenda" is and how your so-called expertise will help me. Whether I have one or not, whether you hypothetically know the answer to the invisible question mark situated on my head ... the answer is a firm hell to the n to the no."

"What if I told you that Xander Deveraux is off the hook? Or the fact he has a specific liking toward girls like you?"

My heart stops beating when his name is mentioned. But the feeling isn't the same as when Camden breathed down my neck the first time and, I told him off in front of the entire school. Guaranteed, Xander makes my heart race. He's the first thing I think about before and after getting up. The first thing to make me visualize what my life would be if we ever did end up starting a new life together. Xander is in everything. But so is Camden, who isn't making this any easier for me. His full-petal lips curl into a smirk, as if to show he knows something I don't.

He isn't backing down. And I'm not giving in.

"I do appreciate the heads up, but it is still a no from me. So what if I expressed my utmost desire in going out with him? I'd rather get his confirmation based on my own merit."

Just as I'm about to leave, sweat trickles at the back of my neck when his lips lightly brush my ear, whispering, "With a smile that is meant to make hearts break," Camden hisses, his forefinger teasing the crease of my neck, as he takes a strand of my hair and inhales before twirling it around his finger and finishing the sentence with a subtle, "boy do I wonder what it's like to run my fingers through his hair. I do get the picture."

I gasp when he reaches forward, twisting the doorknob open. I watch his silhouette climbing down the stairs, then meet his gaze when he stops to give me a hunger-fueled stare.

Smirking, he utters, "Cute shorts by the way. I'm glad I'm the first motherfucker to notice you have a gorgeous set of legs. And an ass."

What on earth did he mean by that? And why did those words sound eerily familiar?

Staying rooted in the same position, I wait for his words to settle.