Page 11 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

Maybelle

I still wore my forget-me-not blue dress but replaced my graduation gown with my black zip-up to keep me warm against the cool ocean breeze. I wrapped my arms around myself as I stalked the outer shell of the social circle. Not in the least bit interested in inserting myself into the thick group.

Mom said take the leap. I took the damn leap, but throwing myself in the mess of bodies surrounding the fire was just suicide.

Instead, I bypassed the party to where the ocean met land.

I stopped just outside of where the waves crested the sand, sitting myself on a dry patch.

I slipped off my strappy sandals and dug my toes into the damp dirt.

I loved the beach. I would’ve survived the night if I could’ve stayed right there.

Unbothered to watch the waves and do all the people watching I wanted.

But that was, sadly, short-lived.

“Maybelle?”

I turned from the crashing waves to see a tall shadow of a boy. Deep eyes peered down at me, and his black hair absorbed the pale light of the moon.

“That’s me,” I confirmed.

He took a step closer. “Daniel, Daniel Aguilar? We had math together.”

I smiled up at him, recognizing Daniel for the quiet, ruggedly handsome boy who sat in the back of class.

He drove a motorbike to school and smoked behind the buildings between classes.

I shared my lunch with him once when I noticed he had nothing to eat.

Other than that, we didn’t really talk. Our acquaintance mainly consisted of shared glances when passing in the hallway and, apparently, math class.

“Right, of course. How are you?”

He stuffed his hands into his front, dark denim, pant pockets. “I’m good. You?”

“Been mighty dandy,” I blurted, immediately berating myself.

What in the world, Maybelle? Mighty dandy?

Run while you still can, Daniel.

To my surprise, instead of cringing, Daniel smiled and chuckled before asking, “Can I join you?” He gestured to the area next to me.

“Oh, sure,” I invited, as I patted the sand at my side.

Look at me, taking the leap.

Daniel sat with his knees up in front of him and placed two tatted arms on top of them, with a leather jacket clutched in one hand. Daniel was obviously the type of good-looking that screamed “bad boy”.

He was tall, with black curly hair that hung loosely over his eyes. He had tattoos painted up his arms and a scruffy shadow along his strong jawline. I didn’t know much about him, but he’d always been kind to me.

Liam didn’t like him, which I never understood why.

He mentioned something about Daniel and Liam’s friend, Penny, not getting along—that Daniel had picked on her or something like that.

Despite what Liam said, I had a hard time believing Daniel had a talkative bone in his body, let alone a rude one.

To further prove my point, the next moments were spent mute. Because who would’ve guessed the two quiet kids sitting alone would lead to a painfully awkward silence?

Frantically, I searched my brain for conversation topics, desperate to fill the stillness. “So, any post-graduation plans?”

Daniel shook his head. “No, not really.”

He wasn’t going to make this any easier on me.

I studied him from my peripheral, trying to see if he was as uncomfortable as I was. He seemed very content to watch the waves in the hushed moment.

More power to him because I couldn’t stomach it.

I rose from the sand, holding my sandals by their straps in one hand. “It was, uh—good catching up. I’m gonna go find my brother. Have a good night, Daniel.”

He nodded and gave me a twitch of a smile as I left him alone in his silence.

I trudged up the beach toward the fire, searching for a new hiding spot, bitter I had to give up the perfect one.

This was already becoming the longest night of my whole life and it’d only been a half hour since mom dropped us off.

Maybe I could steal a camp chair from the core of the party circle. Pull it to a far-off corner and read one of the books I downloaded onto my phone— wow .

I was a loser.

I glanced around for a familiar face, hoping to catch sight of Liam or even Trey at this point. They were nowhere to be seen in the dense crowd. Watching the party carry on and pulse to the music that blasted from a speaker, it all slowed as the feeling of isolation weighed heavy on my heart.

Moments like these, a compilation of the day’s events and feelings, forced me to acknowledge that I still wasn’t fixed. That after all the time, the therapy and healing, I still wasn’t the girl I used to be. Maybe I had to accept that probably would never be me again.

Unbidden, tears pricked my eyes.

Screw taking the leap. I wanted to go home, lay in bed, and read a book.

As I drew closer to the fire, I grabbed my phone from my sweater pocket, then pulled up my mom’s contact.

I wasn’t made for this. I tried, that’s all that mattered, right? So, what if the source of my need to be home, to be alone was my anxieties, my brokenness and past? So, what if I was probably being weak, giving over control to my insecurities and heartache?

Maybe one day I could try to push myself more, try to put myself out there to make friends again, but today was not that day.

Just before I could press call and claim my shameful defeat, my phone was swiped from my fingers. The reek of alcohol, poor hygiene and a repugnant, chemical scent assaulted my senses.

Glancing up from my empty hands, I found a drunk Clayton Thomas had pilfered my phone. A sober Clayton was already a massive jerk, a wasted Clayton was not somebody I wanted to get to know.

“Who are you calling, Mason? Mommy?” Clayton slurred, looking at my phone. His dark eyes were bleary and bloodshot as he plopped the phone into his back pocket. I tensed as the attention of a dozen sets of eyes from the surrounding crowd landed on me.

“Yes. Please give me my phone back.” My voice cracked against the sudden urge to cry or scream—maybe both. I held a handout to accept the phone, wishing that a sinkhole could, in fact, appear and swallow me whole now.

He rocked forward into my space. “Spend some time with me. I’ll show you a good time.”

A disgusted shiver vibrated through my body and, to make matters worse, my hands started trembling.

I really hated this guy… And that smell.

I wanted more than anything to scream at him.

Kick him. Tell him to just…just… A lot of gross words came to mind that would make my mom faint to hear spewing from my mouth, but I stood silent.

Even as his greasy hand snaked up and latched onto my elbow, pulling at me, I remained quiet while my mind raged.

My legs disobeyed my pleas to walk away, and my arms wouldn’t pull themselves free from his grip.

I wanted to fight. I wanted to run, but all I could do was freeze.

My body took on a mind of its own. It shifted into survival mode.

Recalling another set of unwelcome, violent hands on me and the blistering words that accompanied them.

The only control I had was in the glare of unadulterated loathing I levelled at Clayton. But he was too drunk to notice.

“Come on, let me take you for a ride.” His eyes roamed my body. Then he pulled at me again. Harder this time, making me drop my sandals in the sand. “We could find some place dark and quiet,” he sputtered against my ear.

I tried to search for help in the eyes of the people that watched the scene unfold. Conveniently, they all found themselves busy with other conversations. I never felt so invisible, yet so exposed, in all my life.

I pivoted, trying to find my brother. Except, when I found Liam, he was too preoccupied with shoving his tongue down the throat of a redhead girl to see my silent cries for help.

I was alone, utterly alone, and I had no one to blame but myself.

Clayton’s grasp on my arm turned bruising as he slithered his other hand around the back of my neck, making me look at him. “Who are you looking for, Mason? It’s just you and me here.”

Tears drowned my eyes and fell off my freckled cheeks as his hot breath burned in my nose.

I needed to speak. I needed to push him away.

I needed to do something. I was a prisoner in my mind.

So busy with pounding against the walls of my skull that I barely noticed Clayton released me until a right hook sent him sprawling into the dirt.

A chorus of gasps from everyone around joined Clayton’s loud moans of pain. Like an answered prayer, Trey was there, his gentle hands cradling my face. His thumbs pushed my chin up as he inspected me.

“Are you okay, May?”

I managed a slow head bob, but I felt far from okay.

His thumbs swiped at the tears on my cheeks before he spun back to Clayton, who was groaning, face first in the sand.

In two strides, Trey crouched beside Clayton, shoving him onto his back.

He gripped Clayton’s face, his large hand muzzling the boy’s jaw.

Trey reached into Clayton’s pocket, retrieving my phone before sliding it into his own pant pocket.

Before releasing Clayton, Trey pulled at his face, speaking too softly for me to hear.

But by the look of wide-eyed terror in Clayton’s eyes, I felt a twinge of satisfaction and relief.

He pushed Clayton’s head back to the ground before he stood and returned to me. He didn’t stop walking when he reached me. He grasped my hand and whisked me away. He led me away from the crowd, the eyes, the noise, from Clayton, all of it.

Trey led me far enough down the beach that the music and chatter faded into a dull rumble behind us.