Not the End (Not Alone Novellas Book 1) Page 2

Dreams Come True

  “Hey, beautiful,” Jacob says.

  I swear I sigh audibly, admiring how handsome he is. “Hi,” I respond shyly. His hand settles on the small of my back, and little shocks of electricity come over me in waves, leaving goosebumps all over my arms. I can’t believe this is happening.

  “You look amazing,” he whispers in my ear.

  “You look wonderful,” I tell him honestly.

  “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you for inviting me. This is your senior prom after all. I didn’t expect you to bring a junior with you.”

  I didn’t expect him to want to bring me is what I want to say.

  “You’re not just a junior. You’re my Dim,” he says—and just like that, he’s back to being the boy I grew up with. I remember how he coined the nickname—and how when other people said it, I felt like they were making fun of me, but when Jacob said it, it felt endearing.

  He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand still at the small of my back as his lips come closer to mine. My pulse rises in response to his closeness, at the thought of his lips finally touching mine. I’m a little disappointed when those full lips move away, but the tingles are restored when they come close beside my ear. “Want to get out of here?” he whispers.

  “We just got here.” Well, at least I just got here. Maybe he’s been here for a bit.

  “I know, but I can think of a place where we could have more fun,” he answers. I know I should say no. I should stay here, where I told my mother I’d be. I’m not naïve. I know what a senior prom means.

  “You think?” He smiles down at me—and all reason leaves my body, replaced by the thought of going somewhere with this handsome man, having his lips on mine.

  “For sure,” he says, grabbing my hands. He starts to walk, pulling me with him. I look behind me, taking in the beautiful décor, the dancing, the laughter. I wish we could stay for a little longer.

  But then I look forward, see Jacob promising me the world with his smile, and my desire to stay fades away.

  3

  Unlike you, losing the palm of my hands to the brightness of the sun meant the earth stopped rotating around my thighs.

  The final bell rings, marking the end of another mostly uneventful day. As I walk the halls, there’s the same old name calling—the same I hear every day. Today was different in one way, though. It was worse.

  I actually got insulted to my face instead of just behind my back. I got verbally torn down and ripped to pieces. I tried to mask how much that hurt me.

  I think I failed.

  “You should start standing up for yourself,” a voice says, startling me as I put my books back into my locker, keeping out the ones I need to take home.

  “You should mind your own business,” I retort.

  “It’s funny how you can yell at me for no reason at all, but you can’t tell other people to leave you alone,” he answers.

  I shut my locker. “Most other people just say things about me behind my back. You’re the one that keeps hounding me face to face.” I lengthen my stride, heading towards the exit.

  “I wouldn’t call it hounding,” he calls out after me. “I’m just tired of seeing you like this.”

  My steps falter and I turn to face him—the guy who’s calling me on my shit. “Tired of seeing me like what? Do you even know who I am?”

  “Dimah Emerson. Senior. Motorcycle riding, black attire wearing, Taylor Swift listening.”

  “How would you even know—”

  “That you listen to Taylor Swift?” he says, raising his brows in challenge.

  I make a disgusted noise at the back of my throat and turn back to the door, but his hand shoots out, holding me in place. I look up at him; he looks down at me, waiting. “Yes,” I sigh, rolling my eyes.

  “You sure do crank it up; I can hear it through your headphones every morning when you park your bike next to my car.”

  “That’s not—”

  “It’s true. You just can’t tell because you’re always walking with your head down. You may not know me, but I definitely know a little about you.”

  “Aron Lincoln.” I counter. Glaring. “Football quarterback. Great grades. Girls want to be with you, guys want to be friends with you.”

  “So you know about me too, then,” he says with a smirk.

  “Enough to know I don’t want to be talking to you. And I sure as hell don’t need your advice,” Pulling my arm out of his hold, I shove my way out the door and make my way toward my bike. Why does he even care? I know the answer: he doesn’t. No one does.

  And if it’s too good to be true, it usually isn’t true.

  I wish I’d learned that a while back.

  First Kiss

  “So, where are we going?” I ask, full of curiosity as we step outside to face the cool of the night. It’s May, so at least the cold doesn’t bite—it just washes over us in a pleasant breeze.

  “Right now, we’re going to the car,” he says, totally at ease.

  I cling to his every word. Jacob. Jake Hastings. “Okay.” That’s all I can say anyway—I’m just a lovesick puppy following the lead of the guy whose attention I’ve been craving since the moment it was first gone. The boy who makes my heart beat so erratically. We drive in silence while I watch him from the passenger seat. The traffic lights we pass reflect on the glass, and the further we get from the school, the more eager I become.

  Finally, the car comes to a stop at a hotel on the edge of town. Jake gets out, jogging around to open the passenger door for me. I blush, pleased; he definitely knows how to treat a woman. He was raised right, and I’m glad he hasn’t changed much. Despite the years that have passed, despite how much time we were apart, he’s still the same.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get a better place for us,” he says sheepishly, gesturing toward the building.

  “It’s okay. This is perfect,” I assure him. The fact that he’s tried to make this special is enough for me.

  “You deserve better,” he says, stepping closer.

  My back hits the car door. My breath hitches. Then, Jake places a soft, sweet kiss on my cheek, and I’m immediately lost in the swarm of feelings. My first kiss—with my first crush. I don’t know how many people can say that.

  “Thank you,” I answer stupidly after he pulls away.

  “Don’t thank me just yet,” he tells me. A smile overtakes his face as he intertwines our fingers and pulls me in the direction of the hotel’s entrance. We walk into the lobby, where I take a step back, waiting for him to head over to the counter. “We’re good. I have the keys; I came to set this up earlier,” he says.

  My heart swells. He planned this earlier, for us. He was thinking about me. This wasn’t just spur of the moment. I imagine walking into a hotel room with roses, candles, romantic music playing…

  Just like a fairy tale.

  4

  Losing me, for me meant the stars stopped shining life into the darkness of my skin.

  Locker room talk is a little different in the girls’ locker room. It’s a little more targeted, a little crueler. Not to everyone though. Just to me. But it’s the last class I have today, so I’ll suck it up. I change into my gym clothes and leave the venomous locker room.

  I sit on the bleachers, waiting for the teachers to give instructions. Waiting to get this day over with.

  “Okay, today we’re playing dodgeball. I still can’t believe some schools have banned this beautiful sport,” Mr. Walker says.

  “Come down and let’s stretch,” the other teacher, Ms. Tillman, adds. I leave my seat on the bleachers and take a spot on the floor, far enough away from everyone else to have my own space. Ms. Tillman takes us through a few stretches before ordering everyone to do ten pushups. I’m on the ninth when the gym door opens and the room starts to buzz; I finish the set and then sit up to find Aron Lincoln talking to the teachers. Of course, the entire class is practically vibrating with anticipation—his mere presence h
as them all staring. I go back to stretching, working first my legs, and then my arms while Ms. Tillman and Mr. Walker talk to Aron.

  “Okay class, Mr. Lincoln will be joining us this semester,” Mr. Walker says out loud.

  Surprisingly, everyone cheers and claps in response—they literally clap for him.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” I mutter to myself.

  “Get up and head to the wall,” Ms. Tillman states. “We’re going to split you into two teams.” We all obey, walking toward the walls at different speeds.

  I reach the wall, making sure I’m separated from everyone else. It’s not like they mind being far away from me, anyway. As I cross my arms and wait for the unavoidable number system, Ms. Tillman begins to speak, “Actually, we’re going to have two captains today. So Janice and Aron, each of you will head a team. Let’s get started.”

  I lean my head back against the wall, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

  Janice goes first, choosing one of the guys from the football team. Big surprise there—I’m sure if it weren’t for Aron being the other captain, she would’ve picked him instead. I wait for Aron to choose, disinterested in the process and ready to get this class over with.

  “Emerson,” Aron says, pointing at me. I swear people gasp—seriously fucking gasp—at the mention of my name. I’m too stunned to move, so I just stand there staring, waiting to see if he made a mistake. He only smiles, so I begin to walk slowly toward him, my steps cautious. Being picked last usually meant no one would even notice me at all, but being picked first—especially by him—gives the student body too much to think about.

  Why would he pick the pathetic gothic girl, the laughingstock of the school? Doesn’t he know any better?

  The smile still hasn’t left his face, even as Janice chooses the next person for her team. As Aron takes his turn, his gaze stays on me until I’m standing behind him, hiding behind his wide frame. I don’t know what his plan is; I don’t know what his intentions are, but they can’t be good. They never are.

  Once the teams are chosen, we make our way to opposite sides of the gym, watching the teachers line the middle of the court with dodgeballs.

  Dodgeball. It’s so therapeutic. It’s the one time I can channel all my anger into throwing things at people I don’t like—people that don’t like me. It’s one of the only sports I excel at, probably because it gives me an outlet. The whistle blows and the game begins. I grab a red ball that rolls toward me, and with all my strength, I toss it over to the other side, eliminating one of Janice’s minions with a hit to the leg.

  I jump, dodge, turn, and avoid balls being thrown at me. The game continues until there are three players on my side of the court, and four on the other side. From the corner of my eye, I see Aron take a ball and toss it straight into the stomach of one of the players, sending him out of the game. Soon it’s just Aron and I on our side, and Janice and Everett— another asshole—on the other.

  Balls immediately start to fly from one side of the court to the other as people scream encouragement. I grab one of the balls; Aron grabs another. We both throw them at the same time, hitting our targets on the other side. His ball ends up hitting Everett mid jump, causing him to trip. My ball hurtles through the air, hitting Janice in the face. She screams.

  “That bitch did that on purpose!” she yells, running toward Ms. Tillman.

  “Yes, she did!” one of her minions yells.

  “I thought hitting someone in the face wasn’t allowed!” Janice adds

  How much could it have hurt anyway? Suck it up.

  “It’s not,” Mr. Walker’s voice booms. “Ms. Emerson, did you do that on purpose?” he asks. I’m about to answer when I feel Aron at my side.

  “She didn’t.” Two words. That’s all it takes, and Mr. Walker nods in response.

  “We don’t have a winning team yet. Janice, you can go back on the court against Aron. Dimah, you’re out of the game. Let’s see which team wins,” Mr. Walker says. I hate that he’s punishing me anyway. It was a mistake—not one that I regret—but a mistake nonetheless.

  “She can have the win,” Aron says, still standing next to me.

  “We can just repeat the point.” Janice’s tone has changed from whining to flirtatious. I’m sure everyone in the gym can tell.

  “Let’s do it again,” Mr. Walker instructs. “Keep it fair.”

  I walk over to the bleachers, watching as Janice takes her position opposite Aron. The whistle echoes around the room; Janice runs to grab a ball, but Aron stays in place. She throws an air ball he could easily have caught, but he puts his palm out to let the ball hit him.

  “Janice’s team wins,” Ms. Tillman declares. Half of the students erupt in applause, while the other half are clearly confused as to what happened. I don’t take time to question it; I just walk into the locker room.

  Alone in the shower, I run the water hot, eager to wash away the sweat from the day. It’s going to be one of those days where I wait for everyone else to leave, I can tell. I shampoo my hair, taking as long as possible. Who cares if I end up leaving twenty minutes after the bell? I’d rather avoid the drama anyway.

  Hotel Room

  It’s definitely not like I pictured it. When we walk into the room, there aren’t any candles.

  No romantic music, no flower petals on the bed.

  It’s just a room. Just a bed.

  Just the regular lighting—not at all how I envisioned my first time.

  But when I look at the guy closing the door, I realize I don’t care about the perfect fairytale as long as I have my prince. “Hey,” he says, taking measured steps towards me.

  “Hi,” I reply.

  “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he says, his eyes predatory.

  “Me too.” And I have. Years, actually. That’s how long I’ve waited for a first kiss. He closes the distance quickly and his lips collide with my own. But this kiss is not like the one he gave me earlier—this one is more controlling, more desperate. Almost harsh.

  “Wait,” I tell him. “We’re moving too fast.”

  “Wait for what?” he asks, his hand going to my back, lowering the zipper on my gown.

  “Shouldn’t we take this slow?” I ask.

  “Seriously? You’ve been wanting this for forever and now you want to take it slow?” he asks, obviously frustrated.

  I pause, considering his words. “You’re right,” I whisper. I can’t back out now. I did come into this hotel room with him, after all.

  Pulling me towards him, he says, “Come here.”

  “Where are you going?” I ask, after he finishes. I pull the sheets closer, shielding my body from his eyes.

  “You think I’m staying here?” he spits back, his tone so unlike the Jacob I thought I knew—nothing at all like the Jacob that asked me to go to prom with him.

  I feel like my heart has been pulled from my chest and torn to pieces—like my dress. “You’re not?”

  “No,” he says coldly. Then he leaves the room.

  5

  Losing the goodness my mama poured into my heart as she gave life to me.

  I get out of the shower when I realize everyone has left. I take hold of my towel and walk to the changing area, where the lockers are—and find my gym locker already open. I get closer to it and see that although my book bag is still there, my clothes are gone. I run back to the shower. My gym clothes are gone, too.

  Fuck. Seriously?

  I should know better by now. I mean, I did hit her in the face with a ball.

  I hit the girl that’s made making fun of me her new obsession. I should’ve expected retaliation.

  Although, really, it isn’t getting back at me at all. It’s more like just continuing to harass me—and honestly, I don’t think a million balls to the face would even come close to putting us on equal ground.

  What do I do? I have no clothes in my gym locker, and even my dirty gym clothes are gone. My phone is still an option, thoug
h; I could call mom and have her pick me up—but how do I explain the sudden absence of my clothing? How do I explain to her the hell I’ve been living in for the last few months? I shouldn’t make her worry about something she has no control over.

  I look around, searching for anything I could use to cover myself, because I’m literally wearing a towel right now. Thankfully I still have a way to get home—my motorcycle—but a towel is definitely not going to cut it.

  Wait—my school locker! Maybe I have a sweater or something in there? I remember leaving clothes in there before; I’ll just run over to my locker and check.

  If Ms. Tillman was still here, she’d likely be able to find something in the lost and found for me to wear, but as usual, she’s gone as soon as the majority of the girls leave the locker room. She knows I like to linger, and while I usually like that she gives me the space, I seriously wish she hadn’t given me space today.

  I tip-toe out of the locker room and start walking toward the door leading to the hallway.

  “I guess this gym class operates a little differently.”

  I freeze mid-step. Fuck. Aron’s still here? Clutching my towel a little more tightly, I turn to face him. “Why are you still here?” I ask, resigned to the fact that I’m standing in the middle of the gym with nothing but a towel wrapped around me.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says—like he truly cares about my wellbeing.

  “Why would you think I wasn’t going to be?” I ask warily. Did he have something to do with this?

  “I hear what they say about you,” he starts.

  I turn around to walk away from him. I don’t need a recap of what’s said about me, what people think about me…what he probably thinks about me.

  “Well, you did hit her in the face with a ball, so I figured she’d try to get back at you somehow. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says.