Pretty Boy [bxb] | ✔️

Chapter thirty-six: I don't care

𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚

Alex had to spend the rest of the day in isolation to calm down. Because of this, he gets let out five minutes earlier than everyone else, so once I'm finally set free, I find him waiting for me leaning against my car. When we get in, he pulls me across the console towards him in a tight hug, kissing me on the top of my head.

I quickly melt into his arms. There's no one around to see our embrace, but the fact that he's holding me like this in an open space where anyone could walk into and see makes me feel secure in, I don't know, our relationship, being with him—Us. He doesn't care that there's a possibility his friends will see us and that means something.

Once we're home, and in my room, we both get changed out of our disgusting uniform and into something more comfortable. I then crawl up to where Alex is sat on my bed and wrap my arms around his mid-drift. My head rests on his chest.

I take his hand in mine and run my thumb over his knuckles, which are red from where he punched the locker. A temporary coldness runs through my thumb as it comes into contact with his rings before I pull fist up to my lips and kiss it. I can feel Alex smile into my neck, his hot breath sending shivers cascading down my spine. I turn around to face him, his strong arms snaking around me. However, I don't give in to my desires to kiss him.

"Why did you rush out of chemistry today?" I ask as I trace his sharp jawline with my finger. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

"I just feel guilty. Luke was insulting you, calling you a fag and such, and Kenzie asking about your injuries. I couldn't deal with—" he lets out a miffed scoff, "I needed to punch something. I didn't want to make a scene and punch Luke in class, so I went out and punched a locker instead. Luckily it was my locker, so."

He pulls me, signalling me to straddle him, most likely so he can see my face as we talk. So I do, running my fingers through his ever-so-slightly curly hair, tugging at it gently once because I know he loves it when I do that, "Do you have to pay for the damage?"

He smiles, as though he's trying to prove a point, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "Yeah. Nothing I can't afford. Your mom might get a call, though."

"She won't mention it. Anyway, why don't you talk to me about how you're feeling?" I ask, attempting to get him to open up to me by changing the topic breezily, hoping to catch him off guard.

"I'm fine, baby. I promise."

"How can you say that? When you do talk to me, you say that you feel like a burden, or you feel guilty. You punched a locker out of frustration today. How is that fine?"