Page 12

Madison

Running has become an integral part of my life, especially over the summer.

When I’m back home, there is nothing more cathartic than feeling my calves and thighs burn after a solid five-mile run through Genesee Valley Park.

Out here, I’ve got the jogging trails around Beebe Lake and some truly gorgeous views to keep me company.

Autumn is splendiferous in these parts of New York, with explosions of rusty red and gold and burnt orange beneath a clear blue sky.

The crisp air stings my lungs, but I love the feeling. It’s instant freshness filling me up to the brim.

Sweat covers me from head to toe as I make my way back to the track.

I always finish my jog with a full one-round sprint to get the most out of my cardio.

It does wonders for the heart. I’ll have to peel the tights and tank top off me once I reach the shower, but I’m not there yet.

My hardened muscles demand their running burst, and I can’t wait to shake the red dirt from my sneakers once I’m done.

This is my therapy.

It is the only thing that has worked to soothe most of my panic attacks.

Fortunately, it’s ridiculously safe out here during the nights, too, thanks to a rigorous campus police system, so it’s never a problem for me to go for a midnight run if that’s what it takes to quell the demons inside my head.

Wearing myself thin wears those fuckers thin, too.

I can almost hear them gasping for air, now –– those devils that have taken up residence within me.

A gift from Julian, I suppose. Someday I’ll get rid of them. Until then, running does the trick.

The athletic track is quite busy. In the middle, out on the football green, students giggle, hurling a lacrosse ball across long distances.

Other athletes are training at long-distance running, but I can still take the inner track for my sprint. Nobody will even notice me.

Taking deep breaths, I brace myself for the run while briefly remembering yesterday’s incident with Rhue and the girls.

By the stars, they handled him a million times better than I ever would.

Then again, they don’t have a personal bone to pick with him.

It’s easy for them to look in from the outside and call him out.

I’ve got a monstrous guilt holding me back, this shameful idea that I somehow deserve everything he gives me in terms of pain and misery.

Logically and ethically, that is wrong, and I know it.

I’m running, now. Bolting down the racetrack. Short, staggered breaths fizzle out of me every other step.

I’m light on my feet. I need to get him out of my head.

The harder I run, the farther away he seems. Rhue Echeveria was nothing but trouble, starting with the day I accepted the private tutoring lessons with him.

I should have stuck him into group study.

Nothing would have happened there. I never would have had the chance to get to know him, to find myself intrigued and unable to stop thinking about him.

“Whore,” he says.

The word comes out of his mouth with such toxicity, such blistering hatred. The word echoes in the back of my head as I run faster.

I leave the athletic team behind. They’re sprinting in their own rhythm, taut muscles jerking with each brief touch between the heels and the ground.

Their breaths hiss in perfect unison somewhere behind me.

It’s like music, and I try to match my own to it.

In, then out. In, then out, as I run even faster.

I’m halfway through, and the timer on my Apple watch is still logging seconds and milliseconds while I wonder if I’m going to break yesterday’s record.

“Whore.” What an ugly fucking word.

I never meant to hurt him, let alone his mother or his sister. How comes Laura understands that, and Rhue insists on being a prick and a bully? No, this isn’t right. The more I think about it, the harder I reject it. I worked hard to get here. I can’t let him run me out of this town.

The lacrosse ball bolts past me and misses my face by less than an inch. I almost feel its hard curve brushing over the tip of my nose. I suck in a breath and stifle a scream as I come to a sudden halt.

I nearly stumble and fall as the ball rams into a water tank and shatters it. The girls in charge of the “watering station” jump from their seats ,yelping and scattering paper cups everywhere in the process. They’re like gazelles, startled by a sudden loud noise.

Chunks and shards of glass fall everywhere around the water dispenser. That’s six gallons gone in the blink of an eye, as the spring water seeps into the reddish dirt.

The lacrosse ball is just a couple feet to the right.

It looks a little guilty, if you ask me—or it would, if it were sentient.

Only now, as I’ve stopped and taken a few seconds, do I realize what just happened.

That ball nearly smashed my head. It almost cracked my skull open like a watermelon.

It missed, but damn it was too close. Too fucking close.

“What the actual fuck?!” I croak.

I whirl around, completely ignoring the watering hole girls and their disappointed whimpers.

One of them is going to have to bring over a new tank from the supply room, but there are plenty of guys between here and there who will be more than happy to help them, so their distress is overblown at best. Then again, they’re probably just as scared.

They didn’t see the damn thing coming, either.

I hear murmurs from the track team as they come over, having slowed down behind me after the ball shattered the water tank.

And then I see him. Standing on the edge of the football field, proudly displaying a smug smile.

Rhue. It doesn’t take a behavioral scientist to pin him down as the culprit.

He’s not hiding it, anyway. Fuck, he’s actually proud.

Amused, even. The guys around him seem conflicted.

Some are chuckling and trading jokes, a couple cover their mouths to be less obvious about it, at least. A few have stepped away from him, as if they know he’s suddenly Typhoid Mary or something.

Can’t touch the guy right now, not while I’m glaring straight at him.

“You should be more careful where you’re running,” Rhue says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

He’s working overtime to not add a chuckle into the mix, but I see the contempt written all over his face.

Whether he planned for the near-miss or he was aiming straight for my head, it doesn’t matter.

The intent alone makes this moment unforgivable.

“Son of a––” I stop myself before I say something terrible. Roxanne Spaulding-Echeveria deserves more respect, especially after what she’s had to endure—partly because of me, I suspect. “You did it on purpose.”

“Did you say something? You’re too far away,” Rhue replies, making the others giggle.

The more I watch this aftermath, the angrier I get.

My blood boils, bubbling beneath my heated skin.

I’d like to peel it off to cool myself, but I can do one better.

I can feed the beast that Rhue and his father have created, the monster lurking in the dark recesses of my soul.

It was born from the death of innocence. It spawned from pain and shame.

And right now, I have a choice.

As I stand on the racetrack, shaking like a leaf and wondering when this will all end, I realize that the power still belongs to me. I hold it in my hands.

Glancing back at the watering hole girls, I can tell that they’re waiting for my reaction, too.

I think they’re in the same year as me, but from another faculty.

Aimless, wondering where they fit in. Somehow, the ball’s in my court, and it’s not the lacrosse ball.

The metaphorical ball—my favorite kind. I guess I’m the one who’s going to set the tone today.

It makes me explode. “Fucking bastard,” I mutter and walk over to the water fountain first. I grab the lacrosse ball and head straight for the football green.

“Oh, look at that, she’s nice enough to bring the ball back,” he chuckles.

Only a few yards are left between us. Soon, it’ll be feet, and I see the humor fading from his face. I guess I’ve got a certain kick in my step. I can surely feel the blazing storm brewing inside, raging and snarling and begging for release.

Finally, when he realizes what’s about to happen, it’s too late.

I swing outward while clutching the lacrosse ball tightly. It amplifies the force of the punch, but I still whimper from the pain as my knuckles crash into his cheekbone. My whole hand is on fire.

Rhue’s head swivels almost all the way over his shoulder, and he staggers and stumbles before he manages to keep himself up. His eyes are big and round and blank as he brings a hand up to cover his cheek.

“This is your last get-out-of-jail-free card,” I hiss between gritted teeth. “I am done with this bullshit, Rhue Echeveria. You need to stay the fuck away from me. If you don’t, I will fight back. Legally and otherwise.”

He straightens his back and briefly stares at the lacrosse ball as I toss it.

Landing at his feet, it seems lost. The vehicle of a violent act, out of his reach for a moment.

His gaze finds mine again, and I see the fury bursting like flowers of ice beneath the almost black pools of his eyes.

Oh, the temperatures are soaring, both inside and around me.

The air thickens, clogging my airways as I struggle to stand upright and with my chin high.

I cannot falter. I cannot show even the slightest hint of self-doubt.

“You need to be very careful with whatever else you’re about to say,” Rhue replies, slowly massaging his reddening cheek. Well, at least I did that right.

“Or what? You’re gonna swing your last name at me?

” I shoot back, determined to walk out of here with my dignity intact.

He’s had his fun with it for long enough.

This is about precedent. “I’ve had enough of this crap.

You don’t have any right! Stay away from me.

Don’t talk to me, Rhue. Don’t target me with any of your bully-jock-bullshit jokes.

Don’t fling lacrosse balls at me. Don’t call me dirty names just to shame me in front of other people. I’m done!”

“Really? We’re only just getting started,” Rhue says, his eyes smiling.

“No, no, we’re wrapping things up,” I reply.

One of the guys tries to get between us. “Maybe we should just take a minute to cool our heads and stuff—”

“Back the fuck down,” Rhue snarls.

“This doesn’t concern you,” I tell the guy, then shift focus back on my nemesis.

“You’ve had your fun. You’ve slut-shamed me in front of strangers.

You’ve lurked in the auditorium, brooding like I drowned your puppy dog, but it’s time to grow up, Rhue.

I’ve paid my dues. I have made my share of mistakes, and I will never be able to erase or undo what happened.

But I will not allow you to punish me for the rest of my life.

I’ve worked for years to get to this place.

My father put all his savings aside to help me.

Whatever conflict is left between us, let’s keep it outside Cornell.

If you insist on waging your war against me here, rest assured, Rhue, I will not sit back and take it. ”

He smirks dryly. “Are you threatening me, Miss Willis?”

“Oh, it’s Miss Willis, now? Got tired of calling me a whore?” I can feel at least three dozen eyes on us.

The guys.

The athletic team.

The waterhole girls.

This is it. My opportunity to set the standard on campus dickheads. I may have had a thing for the guy—but it doesn’t entitle him to my honor.

“No, I’m not threatening you. I’m making a promise, in public, with witnesses.

Stop this, or I will take legal action. And if legal action isn’t enough, I will go to the media.

I’ll make a fucking circus out of this whole thing, if that’s what it takes to stop you.

Because you have to stop, Rhue. Punishing me won’t bring her back. ”

He comes at me. “You keep her name out of your filthy fucking mouth!” One of his guys puts a hand out in an attempt to hold him back, but he is enraged. It will take more than one guy to keep him away. I have unleashed the dragon. I feel horrible about it, but it had to be done.

“You left me no choice,” I mutter.

Holding my head high, I turn and walk away.

He’s still struggling. Oh, I can feel his hatred burning into the back of my neck.

I break into a cold sweat, and my sore muscles twitch with every move.

My heart aches, breaking a little with every step as I put more distance between us.

Still, I’m proud of myself for what I have accomplished.

I made it into this place on my own, backed only by my hard work and my father’s pride.

Rhue, he has ghosts still haunting him. I cannot be faulted for everything.

I shouldn’t even let him try. We almost had something, he and I.

Then Julian ruined it all. I didn’t help.

Or couldn’t. Or didn’t know how… but it was over before it could begin.

Rhue’s family was destroyed in the process.

But Laura, despite being only a teenager, in her infinite wisdom, expressed the truth through a single text late last night. You can’t blame yourself forever.

I cannot. And neither can Rhue.

I walk away from the track and the lacrosse green. I leave them all behind me.

Him too, with his unresolved anger and hateful growls as his teammates continue to hold him back, gripping him firmly as he hurls a slew of insults my way. Surely, he got my message. And if he didn’t, maybe the guys will help.