Riley
"Seriously," Ryan said, leaning against a pile of lockers while I shut my own, "what's going on, babe? You've been quiet all day."
What was going on was that I was already half-way through the day, and I still wasn't placing Paris anywhere. Some guys had a similar voice as him, but none had his eye color or his skin color or his... build for that matter.
"Riley," Ryan pressed, "are we not on speaking terms now?"
"We are," I told him, rolling my eyes. "Stop being so over dramatic."
"Me?" he said, clearly offended. "I'm over dramatic?"
"Yep," I responded shortly, "you're calling me obsessive? Then why are you so keen on finding out if I'm upset when I'm not? You've never acted that way, so now I suspect you're trying another way to get into my pants."
"More like panties," he commented.
I shot him a look.
Ryan rolled his eyes and walked off into the other direction without another word.
I exhaled a soft sigh.
Finally... a moment of peace. God, I hated him.
I didn't like thinking that, but I really didn't like Ryan. He was a jerk, a user, and a manipulator; not in a bad way, of course. He never assaulted me or hurt me in any way.
Even though he tried to get on me multiple times.
He was just... very, very possessive, and I hated it. Many girls would squeal over his possessiveness, but it took a while for me to get over the squeal and realize that it was all selfish.
Ryan never liked me, he just liked getting the attention from dating a writer.
And also the fact that he could have me help him with his essay; if by "help" you mean "write it for him."
Ryan was a smart guy, per say. He was good at math and science and knew many pointless facts, but he was really lazy when it came to certain assignments; ones that I specialized in.
Yes, he was good at Math and Science, but I never asked him to do my homework for me or to give me the answers on the next unit test.
He did the opposite, though, and as hard as it was to realize the relationship was all based on his ego, I broke it off.
I sighed and pressed my forehead to my locker, deciding to take a deep breath before running off to my Health Education class.
But right as I exhaled, something caught me off guard.
"Paris!" someone yelled, making my eyes shoot open. "Ma' man! Yo! What's up?"
I started breathing shallowly, waiting for him to respond.
"Eh," his familiar voice said, "nothing much. Got somewhere to be, though. Mind letting go?"
I remained in the same position as I heard the boy's arm ruffle against Paris's clothes when he let go.
"What class you got?" the boy said.
"Health Education," Paris responded, making me still.
"Oh, I heard that class sucks."
"It's not bad."
Hold up... Paris was in my next class...?
Who was he?
I turned then, daring enough to lock my eyes on him.
My breath caught, eyes taking in his familiar sandy-blonde hair and white skin, but I could tell from his ocean blue eyes that it was him.
He was the boy in the mask.
How did I not recognize him before? I could've sworn that I never heard his name in this entire school... so...
Hold on...
I squinted my eyes at him.
He was that quiet boy in the class; the one my teacher always called "Lucan" because it was his last name. He very rarely spoke, and he never really seemed shy or anything; he seemed almost moody.
But as I watched him, I placed him in other classes.
He... was in my Biology class... English, too... and my Algebra class...
What the hell?
And he was somewhere else, too... Somewhere I went quite frequently.
And it slapped me in the face.
Oh, Jesus... He was the waiter at my favorite restaurant.
The one that was very short staffed.
My breaths came shorter.
I always thought he was cute, but... never really knew him that well...
I always thought he was moody and angsty.
He wasn't cute... he was hot... Jesus Christ, fucking steaming.
My eyes trailed his body, figuring that since he was paying attention to his friends, I could eye-fuck him a little.
I had a bad mouth—a bad mind, honestly. I cussed mainly on joke-full occasions but rarely did I do it out of anger.
But really—how I was taking in all of him—this was the exact definition of eye-fucking.
Because I was invading everywhere.
"You know it's rude to stare, Riley," Paris said, and I shot up from my position, startled.
His blue eyes looked somewhat warm but also cold, and he smirked at my reddened cheeks, and I stared at the floor then, hoping to get out of this embarrassing situation.
How was that possible? What was he thinking?
Did he get this fluttery-hot feeling, too?
The bell rattled my ears, making me jump, and I realized the halls were empty apart from me and him.
I was late to class, too.
Paris nodded down the hall, still smirking. "Come, walk with me. We can go to class together."
He started down the hall, and I stumbled over my own feet until I followed behind him.
"Paris?" I clarified.
"Yep."
"As in... the Paris who came into my bedroom last night?"
He gave me a side glance, and smiled. "Yeah, I guess. Although, the way you put that sounds kind of creepy."
"It was creepy," I countered.
He shrugged. "I didn't think so, you were calling me, Riley."
I was silent then, noticing the way he walked.
He strolled coolly down the hall as if nothing weighed his body at all; his muscles were relaxed, and he seemed as if he was always at ease.
"Paris...?" I said as we passed the science hall.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay?" I said automatically.
He gave me a side glance. "Do I not look okay?"
"No, I mean, yes, but... With everything you know, with your secret life, it sounds kind of... nerve racking."
He laughed, though silently, and gazed back at me in amusement. "'Secret life?' You make that sound like I'm a superhero or something."
"You kind of are," I answered. "You know... with your mask and everything. But what I don't know... is who you're trying to save."
He stopped then, and I nearly stumbled when I slowed, as well. When I looked back at him, his eyes were dark, and he shook his head.
"Riley, Riley, Riley," he said, exasperated, then looked at me, "seriously. Stop asking questions. You need to let this go, okay?"
"Why?" I questioned. "Why do I need to let this go?"
He gave me a sad look. "You're endangering yourself."
"But you don't know the murderer, right?" I said. "You can give me answers, right?"
"No," he said, "I can't. Because if I do, you'll know the answers, and you'll be next."
"How is that possible?" I questioned him. "How? You know the answers, don't you? So why is that a problem? You clearly haven't been targeted yet."
He gave me a bored look. "Riley, I'm very stealthy, okay? I grew up in a dangerous family, and I know my way around things like this."
"What do you mean?" I said, stomach coiling. "Dangerous? How dangerous?"
"You see?" Paris said. "Now you're asking me about my past, and that's none of your concern. I'm not the bad guy, Riley. And you need to stop looking for them."
"But I need to find who killed—"
I suddenly found myself pressed harshly to the lockers with Paris in front of me, breath heating my cheeks.
"Riley," Paris said, tone sharpening, "enough. I don't care what you say, you're obsessing, got it?"
"I am not obsessing," I snapped. "Why does everyone say that?"
He shoved me harder to the wall, making me suck in a breath when his knee brushed a little spot in between my legs.
"Because you are," he responded, and I forced myself to glare at him despite this making the heat in my belly worse, "you are obsessing, Riley, and you are putting yourself in danger." He paused when he noticed something in my eyes flicker. "Do you..." he said, studying me, "you know you're putting yourself in danger, don't you?" And he leaned further into me, his knee brushing farther as I winced. "You don't care, though."
I moved my eyes to the wall behind him, avoiding eye contact.
"Look," Paris said, standing back up but I didn't move from my position, "I know it's hard to do this, Riley, but you need to let this go."
What were we talking about again?
Oh, right. Murder.
"I can't," I said, slightly breathless.
"Why?" he countered. "Why can't you?"
"Because..." I said, "if I don't stop him... Then I'll be all alone."
Paris was silent then, watching my stiff stance.
"You're not alone," he said.
"I will be," I retorted, "I need to find him. Or my mom'll be gone, and Claire and everyone I care for, too."
Paris watched me for a moment. "This has happened before..." he said, "hasn't it?"
I sniffled, wiping my eyes that started stinging. "Yeah, but it was an accident."
My father.
"You don't think it was," he said, "do you?"
I looked to him. "I don't feel like talking about this, Paris, alright?"
"What's his name?" he questioned before I could walk off.
"Who?" I said.
"Your boyfriend," Paris said as if I were dumb. "His name?"
My brows drew together. "I don't know what you're talking about, honestly. I don't have a boyfriend."
He paused. "Yeah, you do."
"No," I said, "I don't. All alone, and I like it that way."
"The dude," Paris explained despite me countering my previous comment of loneliness, "the dude with the brown hair and brown eyes. Nerdy as hell."
I rolled my irises in response. "I think you mean Ryan," I stated. "And no, he's not my boyfriend, I broke it off because he's an ass."
"Why is he always at your house then?" Paris questioned.
"One, you're a stalker, you gotta stop doing that, and two, he comes in uninvited."
"So, you're calling me a stalker when your ex comes in by breaking and entering without your permission."
"Yep."
Paris sighed, shaking his head.
"I don't know why you're so interested in my love life," I stated, "but stop it. It's creepy." I turned. "I don't care if your repeat yourself ten thousand times, I'm not letting this go."
And I walked off to my Health class.149Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAvqe7Ar5iv
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And the attraction starts hehehe; leave your thoughts!!!
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