Page 45 of The Honor Society

Axel’s suddenly right up next to me, his arm grazing mine. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin, I’m sure he sees my body’s reaction. I can taste the tension in the air as he slowly cranes his head in a predatory way towards me. I’m not familiar with this look, this version of him, like he’s studying me, trying to figure something out. God, no wonder I don’t recognize it. It’s pure betrayal, pure hatred. He remembers I shot him, and I dumped him. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to choke me at this point. I deserve it. All of it.

“Because,” he licks his lower lip. “You’re alone.”

“There’s tons of students here.”

“What better way to hide than in plain sight? Besides, you seemed scared the other night, not your usual self. I’m at least a decent human being. I’m not just going to drop a class I actually like because you’re in it. Kinda selfish, yeah?”

“Kinda hateful, yeah?” I retort. “And I wouldn’t expect you to drop it, I’m just surprised.” God what am I even saying! I want to bang my head against something.

“I can’t decide if you want me to say sorry for surprising you or if you’re fishing for something else, but I can guarantee you’re going to come up empty, Charlie.” Why does he say my name like that? Like a taunt? Like it tastes good on his tongue and he wants to go back for seconds, thirds, fourths?

I cross my legs. Nope, bad idea, horrible idea. I uncross them and stare straight ahead and start chewing on my thumbnail when I hear it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

I jump slightly in my seat and look around. The Proctor. No, he wouldn’t dare. He exists in the dark, men like him are allergic to the light. I look to my right. It’s Axel, clicking and unclicking his pen in perfect cadence, like he’s trying to hypnotize me.

“Stop.” The word comes out before I can soften it or add please to the end.

He looks down at the pen. “Doing what? This?” Click. Click. Click.

I squeeze my eyes shut then slam my hand down onto his. “Yes. That.”

Old Axel would flirt, he would grip my hand, he would lick his lips, he would change the subject. This version of Axel goes so still I can’t tell if he’s even breathing anymore. Somethings on his hand. Frowning, I look down where I’m touching him. Bandages. On his knuckles.

I jerk my hand away. “Take up boxing?”

One solitary brow lifts. “No.”

“Then how did you⁠—”

“—Let’s not.” He hisses. “Do this whole…how did you get hurt. I don’t want your concern, pity, or attention. We’re not together anymore.”

“We can still be⁠—”

“—If you value you me as a human at all you will not fucking finish that sentence with friends.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

His eyes flicker to my mouth. “Bullshit.”

How have I never noticed how beautiful his eyes really are? How intense? How dangerous he looks when he isn’t smiling when he isn’t being the distracting one with his sarcasm.

“Something you want to share with the class Miss Charlie?” Professor asks.

Caught. “Nope, sorry, just⁠—”

“—flirting yes, I’m aware. Now, may I teach?”

I hold out my hand as if to say carry on.

He glares.

Me and Axel don’t speak the rest of the class. And when the lights finally turn on after the depressing explanation of the clips we were forced as a whole to watch, he’s already jumped up from his seat and swerving through the crowds of students.