Chapter 14

"I knew for a fact that Amalia and Marco had slept with each other because he was just as nervous as she was. He knew all the little secrets before I'd even said them aloud. While Amalia became quiet upon the release of her personal details, Marco was much the opposite. He came up to me, threatened me, pushed me. The Marco I saw that day was not my best friend. He was something else. Some white knight complex had taken over him, just another white boy trying to show off his new plaything. If he thought I'd do that to Amalia, he couldn't have known me all that well. I was just-" 

He cut himself off and lunged towards me before I could react. His hands found my cheeks where he cupped them roughly and my face was trapped in his grasp. His icy touch knocked the breath from my lungs and it felt as though I'd been knocked over by a car. My vision glazed over and all I could see were Deshawn's hard eyes. Every muscle in my body tensed and my hazel eyes involuntarily rolled to the back of my head. 

It was as if I was falling back, flipping through a haze of memories. My head throbbed as I descended down and down until there was nothing. Only an insufferable silence was left as it swallowed me whole. 

I fell back into a chair. I wasn't in my room anymore but instead an empty canteen where the noise was loud enough that I struggled to think. Slowly, the owners of the voices blurred into the many seats around the large hall. 

I was sitting at the head of a long table, like a king. Every seat around the table was occupied by various boys who hadn't noticed me yet. It didn't feel like I was truly there, it felt as though I was peering through a window. My eyes trailed to my wrist that was clear of any sort of writing. Instead, I count using my fingers. One...two...three...four...five, too many people. Dream.

"Ah, shit. Don't look now, Shawn," Taron, who sat the closest to me, whispered. "But shitface is on his way to us now and looks pissed." 

I turned behind me to see a boy with wavy, blonde hair as he marched to our table. I knew his face. He swung his arms back and forth, full of bubbling purpose. His large glasses hung low on his roman nose while his cheeks blazed a fit of red hot anger. The boy's dark blue eyes doubled down in my direction but it felt like he was looking straight through me. It couldn't have been me - Reniella - that he saw. 

My theory was confirmed when Deshawn stood from my seat as if stepping out of my body where I had been seeing through his eyes. Just as Deshawn was a ghost in my life, I was one in his now. 

Deshawn Cervantes crossed his arms threateningly, towering over the blonde. 

"Deshawn," he spat. 

"Marco," Deshawn barked back. So, this was the famous Marco Arandia, Deshawn's ex-best friend. 

"I won't be staying long, I just need to let you know this." Marco's voice was dangerously low and though he was shorter than Deshawn, the pride he held stacked up to make up for the loss of height. He pointed a finger at Deshawn and jabbed it harshly into his chest. "Leave Amalia alone. If none of your dickface friends are gonna tell you, then I will. You're being a twat."

This wasn't like a scene out of a movie. The only people who noticed the imminent fight were Marco, Deshawn and the people at the table I sat at who were probably Deshawns set of rich friends. Everyone else carried on with their conversations, yelling loud and laughing boisterously. 

Deshawn let out a ragged breath and stepped forward, with it the dream rippled slightly. Marco held his ground though and simply craned his neck slightly to keep eye contact.

"You don't know anything, Arandia. You think you do just because you shagged my girlfriend but the truth is, you have no clue. You have no clue about who I am, who she is and what the fuck is going on. I'd suggest you keep your head out of my business, mate." Deshawn threatened and captured Marco's wrist and threw it away from his chest. 

I watched as Marco's fist clenched and his eyes bulged with the fury that he failed to keep under wraps. You could tell he was used to burying his emotions, countless business meetings that you attended with your rich parents would do that to a person. I watched carefully as the two stared at each other and the thick tension blanketed the dream. 

Carefully, I stood as the world began to slow. I tip-toed up to Marco and stared at his enraged face. I felt the deep passion of anger that had piled up for a while before this as it radiated from the boy like a bad smell. He felt broken and bruised and undeniably too far to reach. Not that I'd want to touch him. 

"You are such a pretentious little prick, Deshawn. I know plenty and just because you're pissed that your girlfriend preferred me-"

"I'm not pissed at all," Deshawn shot in return, his voice deadly calm. "You can have her for all I care. You always were one for my sloppy seconds." 

Then the word slipped from Marco's tongue so naturally that I wondered how long he'd kept it back. I wondered how long Deshawn's best friend had secretly detested him for merely the color of his skin. Or if perhaps it was the first word he could think of while in the fit of rage. Either way, I felt sick. 

Regardless, I saw Deshawn's face as it fell. The way the color fled from his face and his eyebrows dropped, his eyes deflated, and his whole demeanor sort of sagged. I saw the betrayal flash through his honey brown eyes that looked more black in the light of the fading dream that had started to disappear the way raindrops ran down a glass window. The world began to close in on me and the last thing I saw was Deshawn turning his back on what once was his best friend.