❝ I'm not scared of you .❞
❝ You should be.❞
Malaina Hill was done playing by the rules. Forced to behave like the perfect daughter by her upper class parents, she's sick and tired of being told what to do. Her mother's words haunt her, making her...
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Malaina
DAYS WENT BY before I talked to Mateo again. There was something extremely absurd about that statement, especially considering that we were staying in the same house. One would have thought that you were bound to run into each other at some point, right? Wrong.
I felt Mateo slip through my fingers like sand, fade away like my shadow. I knew he was there, but I was also fully aware when he was not.
I felt him push me away quickly, just as I was feeling like he was finally letting me in. He was avoiding me. Our conversations were nothing but a short and forced greeting, and the occasional meeting around the house. For the next few days, Mateo would come home late and leave the house late.
It would be 1 in the morning and I would hear Mateo slip out of the house and return a couple of hours later, and it made me concerned about where he could be running off at that time in the morning.
Out of concern I had even caught Devonte at school and asked him about where Mateo was and he seemed just as confused as me as he explained that he had texted Mateo but he hadn't answered, and he had also missed swim practice the day before.
"I'm confused though, isn't Mateo staying at your place?" Devonte asked, running his fingers through his dark curls as he scratched his head. "That's what I thought." I had mumbled back.
It especially made me worried when I thought about how he had been stabbed, and it made me wonder if the attacker was specifically targeting him. The attacker could be watching his every move, getting ready to pounce on him like a cougar if he wasn't careful.
A couple of nights later, I decided to confront him about it. I stayed up late working on my English assignments, leaving my door slightly ajar so that I could see him as he sneaked past it. Sure enough, around 12:20 in the morning, I watched as a figure swiftly walked past my door and I got up from my desk to slide through the gap in my door, being careful not to let anything creak as I moved.
I followed Mateo to the end of the hallway before quickly turning on the light and watching as Mateo stopped in his tracks. He turned around and I finally got a good look at his face. I gasped. There were ugly purple bruises on his, a small but deep cut above his eyebrow, his lip cut and busted.
His dark brown hair was more disheveled than usual, and it had looked like he had just woken up from 2 weeks of sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. Mateo's eyes, however, were by far the worst of it. His green eyes were now red and bloodshot and could barely stay focused on me as they darted around everywhere, full of fear and nervousness.
I ignored his protests as I grabbed his hand and yanked him into my room. I closed the door behind me before jabbing an accusing finger in his direction. "So, are you going to tell me where the hell you've been sneaking off to every night?"
Mateo shrugged, refusing to look at me. "I don't have to explain myself to you. I can do whatever I want."
I huffed with frustration. "Mateo, you were stabbed for goodness sakes, so I'm sorry if I'm being too concerned. It's your life we're talking about here, you only get one shot."
