A Little Crushed (20 page)

“Mr. Jackson.”

Julie’s frantic cry, followed by the doors crashing against the walls, jump-started him back to reality. Her face was stark white, and her eyes glazed with fear.

“Oh Mr. J., please come quick.” Tears falling, she gripped his arm. “It’s Rebecca… She’s going to kill him.”

Without waiting for further explanation, he raced after her.

The surreal scene that met his eyes made dread crawl over his skin. Alerted by screams, a crowd had gathered, cheering and laughing in that cruel manner adopted the world over by blood-lust hungry teenagers. Yelling at them to move out of his way, he pushed through. Brendon Harwood lay on the ground, curled up in foetal position, blood-streaked hands holding his head in an attempt to ward off Rebecca’s brutal attack. He cried; he actually cried in fear, and Max didn’t blame him.

Screaming at him with
Exorcist
-style obscenities, Rebecca kicked out at him again and again, her hair in disarray, her features contorted with pure rage and hate.

“Rebecca!” His command didn’t penetrate the frenzied assault. “Rebecca, stop.” She left him no choice. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off the ground and dragged her away.

Turning in his arms, she lashed out at him, her eyes wide and crazed, screaming and screaming.

“Rebecca.”

No response.

“Rebecca, stop!” In his arms, she grew less stiff. “It’s okay.” He lowered his tone to a bare whisper, so only she could hear him. “It’s me. I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s over. Rebecca, look at me.” Tentatively, he relaxed his tight grip. “Look at
me
.” Hands on her head, he tilted her face up, forcing her to focus and look into his eyes. “Forget about everything else. I just want you to concentrate on me. That’s it. Take a deep breath.” He coaxed her down from near-hyperventilation, thumb stroking her chin.”

“Oh my, God, what the hell happened, here?”

Tom materialised at his side whilst Fiona rushed to Brendon’s aid. The boy remained in a ball, whimpering like a frightened child.

“Get back, you morbid bunch of idiots. Show’s over. Will, help me get him to my car. We can get him to a hospital quicker. God, what a bloody mess. What the hell did she do to him?”

Max didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He focused all his attention on the near-catatonic girl in his arms. Whatever punishment she’d inflicted on Brendon, intuition told him the boy deserved it. “Here.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Go and wait in my car.” Rebecca didn’t move. She swayed against him, and for one terrifying moment, he thought he was losing her. “Rebecca, go! For once in your life do as you’re bloody told.” His feigned anger jolted her out of her trance. For a split second, she looked at him as if she hated him, but she took the keys, and head held high, she walked to his car.

“What’s going on, Max?” Will looked dazed, as they all did. “I’ve never seen anything like it. She was like an animal.”

“If anyone’s an animal around here, it’s that worthless piece of…” He held his anger in check, knowing so many young eyes were upon him.

By now, Tom had helped Brendon to his feet. Realising he was the floor show, Brendon attempted some credibility damage control. “She’s insane. She came at me for no reason. I always knew that girl belonged in a nut house.”

“If I were you, you pathetic excuse for a human being, I’d shut the fuck up.” Max pressed his face up against his. “You stupid, stupid little boy. You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?” The urge to ram a fist into his mouth almost overpowered him.

“For crying out loud, Max.” Tom pulled him away. “Will you calm down? This isn’t helping.”

Not taking his eyes from Brendon, Max wrenched free from his friend’s well-meaning restraint.

“Max, leave it.” Fiona pleaded with him. “Let Tom handle it. You’re upset, I know, but I need to speak to Rebecca.”

“No.” He rapped. “I’ll take care of her.” Noting Fiona’s puzzled expression, he forced his features into a conciliatory smile. “It’s okay...really. I’ll drive Rebecca home. It’s on my way. Give her time to calm down.” He pushed through the crowd, the kids parting for him like the red sea. Hushed whispers grazed his back, but he didn’t care. Rebecca was his priority.

As he approached the car, his heart squeezed in fear; he couldn’t see her. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d disobeyed him and bolted for home. He knew he’d hurt her by shouting at her.

No, she wasn’t so foolhardy. His breathing steadied. He opened his door. Rebecca huddled in the passenger seat, face buried against the soft leather. At first glance, he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then her soft pain-filled weeping reached his ear.

He slipped in behind the wheel and turned on the ignition, cranking up the heating to full blast. Legs drawn up to her chest, she shivered like a broken-spirited greyhound. He knew better than to speak. It was best to let her cry it out. He guessed tears didn’t come easy to Rebecca, and he had no desire to cause her further humiliation.

Fingers tapping out an angry beat on the steering wheel, he drove through the sleet laden night. The swish of the window wipers calmed his nerves. He supposed he ought to have driven her straight home, but he sensed she wouldn’t welcome that. She was in no state to face her parents and neither was he.

“Please…” Hand over her mouth, she sat up. “Can you stop the car? I think I’m going to be sick.” Even before he pulled into a lay-by, she had the door open. She scrambled out and knelt down on the ice-frosted grass verge and bent over, her hands on her knees while she retched.

“Christ.” Muttering his frustration, he killed the engine and jumped out after her.

He held her by the shoulders while she heaved, holding back her hair from her face.

“I’m sorry…” she moaned, “for putting you through this. I…” She doubled up in pain as another spasm hit.

“It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Beneath his hands, her skin was ice, and cursing his stupidity, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders. With nothing left to bring up, she straightened up and stumbled against him as her legs gave way.

He led her back to the warmth of the car. Leaning across, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a box of paper hankies. He pulled one from the box and handed it to her. “Better?”

She nodded, wiping at her mouth.

“Come let’s get you home.” He turned the key.

“No, please.” To his surprise, she gripped his sleeve. “I don’t want to go home—not just yet.”

She pleaded with him, her bottom lip trembling. Her vulnerability dissolved the last remnants of his good sense. “Okay,
Maison du Hot Chocolat
it is.”

Relieved to see the fire hadn’t gone out, Max threw on another log and then cranked up the heating. Rebecca stood by the sofa, clasping the folds of his jacket tight across her chest. Her face was ghost pale, her hair back to its habitual wild mane.

“Here,” Max handed Rebecca his dressing gown and beckoned her to sit. “I’m beginning to think I should sew a tag in it with your name on it.” She smiled at his feeble attempt for normality, but he knew she was still pretty shaken—as was he. Crossing to his makeshift drinks cabinet, he pulled out the dwindling bottle of Remy and poured a thimbleful into one schooner before filling his own, watching her out of the corner of his eyes as she swapped his jacket for the toweling robe.

“Here you go.” He held out the smaller one to her. “Hot chocolate with brandy. Heavy on the brandy, zilch on the chocolate. Just don’t tell anyone I am encouraging you to drink. We Aussies have a bad enough reputation as it is.”

This time her giggle was genuine, her girlish chuckle music to his ears. Good. She was crawling out of her dark place. She lifted the glass to her lips and drank too fast. “Bloody hell,” she spluttered. “That is strong.”

“It’s good stuff. It will put hairs on your chest. He waited until she swallowed a few mouthfuls before he perched on the sofa armrest. “So do you want to talk about it? I’m not going to ask you why you decided it was time for that prick to die. I have a pretty good idea what happened, but I’m curious. Last time we spoke you said nothing short of a brain transplant would make you go to the party.”

She stared into her glass. “I did it for Peter. Brendon’s been giving him grief and making innuendos about—”

“About Peter being gay.” Max rubbed at his brow. “Don’t look so shocked. You kids always think we teachers are clueless.” He smiled at her goldfish impression. “I guessed about Peter on day one. So I imagine he asked you to be the decoy girlfriend? I think it’s very nice you agreed to help him out.”

“I don’t think Brendon bought it.”

She shuffled in her seat. Saying his name seemed to agitate her, and he picked up on the flash of anger in her eyes.

“Did he hurt you?” He dropped down to sit and leaned in, engaging her gaze, talking softly in an attempt to diffuse her distress.

“If he did, I can’t remember. It’s hard to explain, but…well…he tried to kiss me, and…I was back
there,
in the hut. It wasn’t Brendon I saw, and everything went hazy. It was as if I was floating out of my body. I could see what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it. I-I wanted to kill him. I suppose I was lucky you showed up.”

“I’d say Brendon was the lucky one.”

“Brendon’s a prat and a bully.” She swirled the remnants of brandy in her glass. “But he doesn’t deserve to be hurt in that way. No one does.”

“He’ll get over it.” Max grunted. “I suspect you hurt his pride more than anything, but I’m still confused, Rebecca. I get you went to the party in capacity of the Good Samaritan, but why on earth were you hanging around the car-park in sub-zero temperatures
and
alone?”

She looked away, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. “I wanted to go home. I thought I could find a taxi.”

“So why didn’t you come and find me? You know I would have driven you.”

“Oh really? I got the impression you were busy.”

Her caustic retort caught him off balance. An unreadable expression filmed her eyes. Animosity mixed in with…hurt? “You know,” he put down his glass, “I have a feeling there is more going on here than your unfortunate encounter with Brendon. Spill the beans, Rebecca. What’s up?” Her reticence to answer made him uneasy. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

“I saw you.” She said it so quietly, he leaned forward to hear. “I saw you kissing Miss Holmes.”

“Oh.” He expelled the tight breath he’d held prisoner. Wow, he’d got that right. This was something he did not want to hear nor discuss, but he knew she wasn’t about to let him wriggle off the hook. “Okay.” He wished his glass would refill itself. “Two things—I could say it’s none of your business, but I won’t insult you. In my defence, Miss Holmes instigated that so-called kiss. Two—I know you’re probably upset because you see it as cheating on Kate, but I think we’ve discussed this. I am not a man who cheats.”

“Oh, if only my intentions were so honorable.” She tugged at her bottom lip with small, white teeth. “I wasn’t angry on your fiancée’s behalf but…oh God, here goes…on mine. When I saw you together, I was jealous.”

Max found he was strangely calm. He ought to have been freaked out by her revelation, but maybe he wasn’t because he hadn’t heard correctly. Yes, that was it. But the relief mirrored in her too-bright eyes told him his hypothesis was crap.

“Rebecca—”

“Please don’t say anything,” she pleaded. “I can see I’ve shocked you, but I’m not good at this adult pretending thing. I know it isn’t cool, but I believe people should be honest with each other. We always have been honest with each other, haven’t we, Mr. Jackson? There’s more I want to say to you, and if I don’t say it now I may never find the courage.”

The fact she still called him mister made this whole emotional scenario all the more surreal. “I’m listening.” He swallowed back a nervous cough.

“I think…”

She twisted the folds of her dress between her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and melted him with her soft brown eyes.

“No, I
know
I’m in love with you. I think I have been since the day I met you which is mad because I hated you so much, but didn’t Shakespeare say my ‘
only love sprung from my only hate’
? Of course, me being me, I tried to ignore my feelings. I didn’t understand them, you see. All I knew is, every time we were alone together, I felt so light-headed. And that day by the river. I finally understood why you make me feel the way I do. You care about me. You genuinely care, and it’s not because you pity me, or are trying to make up for everything I went through. These past few weeks, I-I love being with you. I love looking at you. You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and sometimes I think I’ll go crazy from wanting to kiss you or hold you. That should tell you something.”

She closed her eyes as if trying to compose herself. When she opened them again, he saw tears glisten. Wiping her wet cheeks, she went on.

“That animal took so much from me, and I was scared I would never be able to feel again. Every time Emma and Julie and the others talked about boys and making out, I wanted to vomit. All I felt was revulsion. I hate people touching me, you know that. But with you… It’s like a huge fog has lifted. You make me feel safe and warm inside and pretty and desirable. I want
you
to hold me and touch me, but most of all, I want you to love me the way I love you. I know you can’t really love Kate, or else you wouldn’t be here. You would be with her right now and… Oh, I don’t what else to say.”

She’d said plenty; more than most people say in a lifetime. Her raw honesty flayed him, the earnest, exposed expression in her eyes tearing at his soul. He couldn’t speak; the words he tried to form wedged in a dry throat until he could barely swallow. Every nerve ending on high alert, he rose and went for the brandy bottle. His back turned to her, he willed his hand to steady as he poured a stiff double and tried to smooth his expression from the one of shock he knew he wore.