Her humiliating me when we were six was enough to make me despise her. I had flirted with her, and she punched me in the face!
I may not have been a great flirt in the first grade; I was just trying to get her attention.
Make her notice me.
She noticed me all right.
She spewed nonsense and told me I was chunky.
I was a bit on the chubby side when I was six. It wasn’t until puberty, I gained some height and filled out, but she didn’t have to point out my flaws.
And when I called her mean, she hit me.
Talk about getting laughed at because I was “hit by a girl” and, yes, embarrassingly enough, I cried.
I tried like hell not to cry, but the girl was brutal, and I was young, unable to control my emotions.
My dad wasn’t pleased that I got hit by a girl. I kept the part where I cried a secret. The teacher only saw bits and pieces, and what got reported was only half the story. I never bothered to speak up and give my side.
Dad wouldn’t have approved or been pleased with me crying in front of the other kids.
It was bad enough that I was humiliated and laughed at by the other boys in my class. I didn’t need to relive it in front of the principal, or worse, when our parents came to a meeting, or again, when we were forced to have dinner at the Greyson’s home.
Bristol Greyson was a menace.
After that, I vowed never to catch feelings for her again.
But what I’m feeling right now aren’t those kinds of feelings, I’m concerned about her passing out in the elevator.
It’s not normal.
Sure, Bristol isn’t exactly a normal girl, but I’m also not a jackass. I wasn’t raised to walk away from trouble, either.
I can thank Mom for that, she’s always been a bit of a badass. Not that my father hasn’t been, he runs the Italian mafia in New York City. But I’ve always been closer with my mother. Probably because she raised me.
I hadn’t even met my father until I was in preschool.
“I faint all the time. It’s just … the heat.” She waves a hand dismissively, and I can’t help but witness her small body tremors as she inhales and exhales quite loudly.
Sophia grabs a chair, pulling it up beside me. “Sit.”
I sit beside the bed, reaching for Bristol’s hand. “What do you mean, you faint all the time?”
I haven’t even so much as started medical school. While I know I want to be a doctor, I’m in over my head for helping her.
“It’s nothing. Really. Please don’t look at me like I’m dying, because I’m not that lucky.” She forces a smile, but I don’t return the sentiment.
“I’m worried about you.” I glance back at Sophia, who is standing watching us. She’s silent, smart enough to know not to intervene.
“Don’t be. You never were before today.” Bristol glares at me like I’m the reason for what happened, when I, instead, kept her from hitting the ground.
She’s right, but we’ve both been awful to each other in the past.
I’m not sure why I even offered her a ride home.
That’s not true.
That kiss she stole a few months ago, I can’t stop thinking about it.