Slow Burn Part 4

"Is that his shirt?" he sneers, hatred coloring his every word. He invades my s.p.a.ce with menacing intent, looming over me. Who is this guy?

Distantly, I am aware that all eyes and attention are on us. I hardly care. "You're drunk," I hiss at him.

He suddenly grabs my ponytail, tangling his fingers in my hair in that way he knows gets me hot. "And you f.u.c.ked some guy!"

Immediately, the excited whispers, and snide laughter start. I suddenly, fervently wish I were pyrokinetic. The prom scene from Carrie comes to mind.

Johnny's grip tightens in my hair, forcing me to look up at him. "If I knew you were so easy, I wouldn't have wasted six months trying to get into your pants."

Red mist fills my vision. "If I'm so easy, what's taking you so long?" I seethe.

I kick his shin-hard. He curses and lets me go, and I take off again. "n.o.body f.u.c.king dare follow us!" I hear him growl behind me.

Shoes pounding against the paved driveway, I run toward around the side of the house, to the garages-relentless with a mission of revenge.

Johnny has a dark blue Dodge Ram 1500 that's his baby. I guess his stepdad tried to give him a brand new Porsche for his birthday once, but Johnny wouldn't accept it-instead working his a.s.s off during the summers to save up for the secondhand truck. He's so proud of the d.a.m.n thing.

I immediately spot it, parked in front of the garage. I bend over and scoop up anything I can find on the ground to throw at his beloved.

I hurl handfuls at the Dodge. Pinecones bounce harmlessly off the windshield and hood of the truck. Stupid non-damaging pinecones!

Strong arms suddenly come around me from behind, trapping my arms against my sides.

"How could you cheat on me?" he whispers in my ear, the bitterness now laced with pain.

"What?!" I shriek, struggling in his arms. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?! You were the one hooking up with a random chick in the laundry room! I've never cheated on you!"

I have sharp elbows and those bony knuckles. Holding onto me when I don't want to be held isn't as easy it looks-even for Johnny. He pushes me up against his truck, caging me with his body. I whirl around, and slap at his bare chest.

"Don't lie to me, Juliet! I saw pictures of you with him!"

I stop the beating to glare up at him. "What pictures? What was I doing in these pictures, huh? Was I kissing some guy? Was I naked with him? Was he s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my brains out on a washing machine?!"

Johnny's eyes darken. "No, but-he was holding you in his arms, touching your face. You lied about working tonight! Arianna said-"

I swear I feel something swell and pop in my head. Maybe my sanity My voice goes squeaky with disbelief. "Are you serious?! Leila called at the last minute and said she could cover. I went shopping with Heather, and we ran into her brother Rob-"

"Rob," he snarls. "Is that his name?"

"Yeah, you stupid drunk s.h.i.t-Heather's brother! We ate ice cream with him at the mall, then he left! What the h.e.l.l?! The minute you get some flimsy-a.s.s evidence of my so-called cheating, and you decide to bang another girl?!"

Johnny shakes his head in denial, his anger fueled by the alcohol I can smell coming out of pores. "You're lying."

"Oh, go screw yourself, Johnny." My nose is starting to run, but I refuse to sniff and let him think I'm crying. "I can't believe you threw us away over something that lying b.i.t.c.h said."

I try to push him away, but he doesn't let me go, driving me back into the cold metal of the truck door with the weight of his body. His expression is conflicted right now-anger and confusion, and hurt chasing across his handsome features. His fingers dig into my biceps.

"You're lying," he repeats, sounding heartbreakingly uncertain. "You have to be."

"Believe what you want. We're done. I never want to see your face again."

I slump against the truck, suddenly exhausted and hollowed out. I want to go home, curl up in a ball, and just die.

But Johnny's tugging at me. What's he doing? He's yanking at my shirt. Motherfu- "Take his shirt off!" he shouts furiously, trying to pull Nick's shirt-along with my own-over my head.

Psycho! The fight pours back into me, and my adrenaline kicks up as I twist my body away from him. My shirt tears in the scuffle. I clench my teeth and bring my knee up to his ribs. He grunts and grabs my face with both hands, crashing his lips over mine.

For an insane few seconds, I kiss him back. Then my teeth sink into his lower lip, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. He winces but doesn't pull back, trying to settle his body closer against mine. I'm the one to turn away.

"You taste like her," I snap, roughly pushing his face back.

"You jealous?" he taunts, snaking a hand up my back. "Come on, Teeny. I could f.u.c.k you on the spin cycle, too. You heard how much Dani enjoyed it."

He knows that b.i.t.c.h's name?! That's even worse!

I'm only aware of a roaring sound in my ears. I think the term "bats.h.i.t crazy" is meant for special moments like this.

The next thing I know, Johnny's gone, and I'm sliding into a puddle on the ground. Dazed, I look up to see him being restrained by Dean in a chicken wing hold, inches from me. I seize the opportunity and punch Johnny in the junk. Dean, caught off guard by my attack , releases Johnny. Now it's that a.s.shole's turn to sink to the ground, groaning in pain. Good! I hope I broke it!

I try to launch myself at his curled up body, but Dean grabs me in midair. "That's enough," he growls, holding me like a tantrum-throwing child.

For a brief moment, my face is pressed against his rock hard chest. I inhale sharply, smelling fresh guy-just-out-of-the-shower mixed with something warm and woodsy.

"Let her go, Dean!"

Johnny is already on his feet. Tough guy. The anger has drained out of his face. He looks, at once, miserable and anxious. He tries to reach for me, and I bite his hand.

"Teeny..."

"Go to h.e.l.l!" I spit out.

"I'm taking her home," Dean says, keeping his big body between us, easily holding us apart.

"No! I need to talk to her..."

I try to slip out of Dean's iron grip on my arm. It's not happening. "There's nothing to talk about," I say flatly. "What kind of a.s.shole screws another girl the second he thinks his girlfriend is cheating on him?"

His face crumples in agony. He reaches for me again.

Dean b.u.t.ts him away with one broad shoulder. "Sleep it off," he snaps, his expression strongly discouraging any arguments.

Johnny leans around Dean, and narrows his light blue eyes at me. "I'm not done with you," he promises.

G.o.d help me, I want to punch him in the junk again. Flinging Dean's hand off me, I turn and stalk away.

He catches up to me, and starts herding me in the other direction, toward the garage. I let myself sag against him, suddenly boneless. He immediately stiffens and pulls away a little. Well, screw you. I don't dare look back at Johnny.

Dean leads me to the side of the garage where there's a door with a number pad lock. He keys in the code, and the door unlocks. He holds it open for me, and I step in, my eyes dazzled by the fluorescent lights, and the row of fancy cars. I head straight for the gleaming '66 Pontiac GTO. Everyone knows Dean's bada.s.s car by sight, though I don't think I've ever seen a pa.s.senger in it.

I try to open the car door, but it doesn't budge. I yank at the handle, my frustration and anger peaking. Dean reaches over me through the open window to unlock the door. Mortified, I get in and sink into the leather seat. I go to busy myself with the seatbelt-only to discover some kind of complicated harness situation that I am just too tired to bother with.

Unfortunately, Dean is the Seatbelt Police. He pulls the straps over my head, and when his hand accidentally brushes against my breast, I slap him away and buckle myself in. I know he wasn't trying to cop a feel. I don't think he even noticed.

He goes over to the other side and gets in. I am freakishly aware of his body just a few inches from mine, watching his every move out of the corner of my eye. Gosh, he's pretty. He starts the car and the engine roars to life, so powerful it vibrates me in my seat. He pushes a b.u.t.ton, and the garage door slides open. The Pontiac rumbles out.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. Images instantly bombard the dark behind my eyelids. Johnny and the girl (what did he call her-s.l.u.t? No, Dani.); Johnny, his eyes cold as he tells me to get out...Johnny...

I can't. I sit up, opening my eyes. I turn and stare hard at Dean's perfect profile.

"You disappeared after that day," I say abruptly, watching him. "No one knew where you went."

"Military academy." He continues to stare straight ahead.

My eyes widen. "Why? Did your dad blame you for...?"

"He always wanted to send me. He just needed an excuse."

"That must've sucked pretty hard."

His expression doesn't reveal anything. "I liked it."

He would. "But you came back," I say.

"Yeah, he sent for me when he married Johnny's mom. She wanted me there so we could be a family." There's no trace of sarcasm or acidity in his words. He just states them as facts.

I force myself to look away. I hate the weird fascination Dean's always stirred in me Strong and silent Dean, always in control. I used to be able to push his b.u.t.tons. I wonder where those b.u.t.tons are hiding now.

I search for something to say-then I wonder why I bother. He probably won't care if I say another word. What is there to talk about, anyway? The fact that I still hold a small grudge against him-even from all those years ago? Or maybe we could talk about his cheating dumba.s.s man-wh.o.r.e of a stepbrother, who broke my heart-and maybe my fingers with that punch to the junk.

My phone keeps buzzing and jingling, so I turn it off. I'm so consumed with my own inner turmoil that I only now just realize that I never told Dean my address. I open my mouth to do so-then I look out the window, and we're pulling into my driveway.

I turn to Dean, eyebrows raised. "You know where I live?"

He gives me a quick glance, beautiful eyes catching the porch light, and glowing. "Yeah."

Okay...why? But I don't ask him. I just mutter a quick thanks, and slide out of the car.

I don't look back. I unlock the front door, and walk in, and only then do I hear Dean's Pontiac backing out.

If not for all the questions and drama that would surely arise, I'd want to call Heather and tell her she was right.

Tonight was very memorable.

Chapter 5.

The small house is quiet and dark, and I prefer it this way. Mom's working a double shift at the hospital, and-as she often does-is sleeping there tonight. She's hardly ever home, which is fine. I start a load of laundry, since I just remembered her saying she didn't have any clean scrubs left. I would wash Nick's shirt, but it's torn, so I toss it in the trash along with mine. I guess I owe him a new one, though I doubt he'll care.

I'm throwing out everything that could possibly remind me of Johnny-every picture, every stuffed animal, every memento-except for Carnie Horse. All his stupid little gifts were starting to clutter up my room, anyway. I start the shower and strip off my jeans. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, standing there in my fancy pink lingerie, I am disgusted. My bra is sticky and gross from the drink that idiot at the party spilled on me. I peel it off and throw it in the trash. I throw the thong away, too, because I'm sure I won't be wearing it again. I try to yank the elastic ponytail holder out of my hair, and it ends up getting tangled in the strands. My eyes water as I accidentally pull roots out. I end up getting the scissors and cutting the d.a.m.n thing out. I lunge for the shower, attempting to drown myself under the hot spray.

Why is it so comforting to cry in the shower? With the right kind of nozzle, a shower can feel like a warm full body hug. And I mean that in the least dirtiest way possible.

People cheat, I get that. Sadly, many of the people I know have been cheated on, or cheated on their significant other with someone else. h.e.l.l, a lot of the gossip at Jefferson High (my former school) was about who cheated on whom with whom. Seems to me that a lot of them do it just for the drama it creates. Stupid. If you want to be with someone, then be with them. If you find yourself attracted to someone else, then break up with your significant other and go nuts. If you truly care about her/him-then show some d.a.m.n restraint! Maybe it's not so black and white, but from my viewpoint (being the one cheated on), it seems pretty d.a.m.n simple.

I'm wrecked, shocked-but above all, I'm p.i.s.sed. I probably shouldn't be surprised, considering Johnny's unstable bad boy rep. d.a.m.n it, I knew I couldn't trust him! I'm so...disappointed in him. I expected better-I thought he was better than that. And the worst thing? His excuse to cheat on me was revenge. He could have asked me. If he couldn't respect me enough to have one ounce of trust in me, then he could have talked to me instead of blindly believing Arianna-a known liar. The girl who claimed that the governor of Ma.s.sachusetts was so in love with her that he erected a statue of her likeness in front of some small town's chamber of commerce. Such a lie-the statue was of Lizzie Borden, and I seriously doubt the governor even knows of Arianna's existence.

Anyway.

The only conclusion I can reach is that my boyfriend was just looking for an excuse to hook up with another girl. G.o.d, I can't get that picture out of my head. How could he? I thought we belonged only to each other. He said I was his whole world, which I thought was both scary and romantic.

I hate him. I hate him! So...how can I miss him? Johnny Parker...

Fricken disease.

The pounding scares the c.r.a.p out of me. I've got my baseball bat and my phone out, ready to dial 911-when I hear my name being shouted outside.

"Juliet! Juliet!"

Oh, great.

I peer out the front window. Johnny is standing on the front lawn, giving the neighbors a good show, and p.i.s.sing off all their dogs.

"I'm sorry!" he's shouting, running both hands through his tousled locks. "I'm so d.a.m.n sorry! I f.u.c.ked up."

No, really?

Lights are turning on in my sleepy little cul de sac. The old woman who lives next door-I don't know her name-but she is so the type to call the cops on us. Sighing, I unlock the door, and crack it open.

Johnny's eyes widen at the sight of me. I gesture for him to come in, and he comes racing up the steps, trying to push his way through.

I hold firm, one foot braced against the door to keep it just barely open. "What do you want, Johnny?"

"Teeny, let me in," he pleads, squeezing a hand through the crack to touch my face. "I need to talk to you. Please!"

"There's nothing to talk about. Go. Away."

"I can't do that. I need to be with you. Please, just give me a chance-I swear I'll make it up to you! I'll do anything you want-I'll stop drinking, I'll-"

"Okay," I say, leaning against the door jamb. "Can you un-screw her?"

Pain flashes through his eyes. "I didn't-"