Born from Conflict -A Duncney Fanfiction

22

Courtney

By the time I stroll into my last class, I'm a total mess. Duncan can tell just by the way he looks at me while I head to the desk next to his. Sitting up front doesn't even matter to me anymore. What's the point?

"You good?" he asks as I take my seat.

I give a nod and manage a slight smile. "I'm okay."

Sharing Gwen's situation with him is out of the question. I can't betray my friend's trust like that.

"Are you sure?" Duncan is observant, like Trent.

Hang on, I shouldn't classify them in the same way. It wouldn't be fair to Duncan.

"I'm just exhausted," I confess, and it's the truth. Each night, I wrestle with sleep, plagued by restless dreams—about my parents or Duncan. The ones involving Duncan take a sexual turn, jolting me awake, my body covered in sweat.

"Trouble sleeping?"

I nod.

"Same here."

"Why can't you sleep?"

He shrugs. "I have a lot on my mind."

That's all he says.

I stop myself from probing further because sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Mr. Todd walks into the classroom just before the bell rings, the usual routine. After taking attendance, he claps his hands to capture our attention.

"Presentations are scheduled for next week, and you'll be presenting together in front of the class. No exceptions. Feel free to use visuals, but keep it simple. I expect an outline of your project by Friday." The entire class groans, and Mr. Todd places his hands on his hips, waiting for the collective protest to subside. "Alright, settle down. You knew this was coming. I'm giving you two days. You got this."

I really don't feel up to it. Duncan and I don't even have a grip on this project. What are we supposed to discuss, and what visuals should we use? While presenting in front of the class typically doesn't faze me, right now, I'm flustered. The thought of standing up there with Duncan makes me nervous.

"You seem anxious," Duncan remarks after Mr. Todd concludes. "We've got to draft an outline in two days," I emphasize.

"I'm not concerned." His tone is dismissive, annoyingly so. "Why? Are you?"

"Do you think we have enough information for the presentation? I'm not even sure what our plan is."

"I've learned a lot about you in the past ten days, Courtney."

His saying my name has a strange effect on me, but I need to stop fixating on it. "I haven't learned much about you, Duncan, so count yourself lucky."

"Do you genuinely believe that?"

"You talk a lot without revealing much."

His smile is subtle. "You did learn something."

I roll my eyes, turning to a fresh page in my notebook. "What kind of outline should we come up with?"

"We can tackle that later. For now, let's concentrate on gathering the information. We can brainstorm visuals afterward."

Reluctantly, I agree, unsure why my attitude is so sour. Duncan is surprisingly intelligent. I guess I never gave him the credit he deserves, even though he's been in AP classes all four years of high school.

Sometimes, I only see what I want to see, not what's really going on. My life at C. McLean has been marked by tunnel vision. I had predefined notions of how I should act and who I should be. For most of high school, I've been content with the person I am here.

Until now. Working on this project with Duncan and his insights about me has been a revelation.

And then there's Duncan himself. My feelings for him make me curious, make me desire things I shouldn't.

Lately, I'm starting not to care so much about the consequences either.

Duncan reclines in his chair, extending his legs until his knee nudges against mine. My body responds predictably. I'm always hyper-aware of his presence, especially when we're sitting so close.

He quickly checks if anyone's watching before asking, "Still upset about your parents?"

"Yeah. It's messed up to realize I was clueless about what was happening. How did I miss that they weren't happy together anymore?"

Duncan points out, "You've been around here for almost three years. There's probably a ton of stuff about your parents you don't know."

"Did I tell you they were gonna keep it from me until the end of the year? Didn't want to ruin Christmas and my birthday," I spill.

"Nope, you didn't." He tilts his head. "Thinking of canceling that party?"

I slowly shake my head. "No, doesn't sound fun. I'm just gonna have a quiet birthday."

My mother sent me a list of places for a birthday winter getaway, but I haven't really checked them out. I don't really feel like going anywhere.

"You're going to turn eighteen. That's something," Duncan whispers.

I meet his gaze. "Are you eighteen yet?"

He nods.

"And how did you celebrate?"

"You really wanna know?" He grins, and just seeing his smile makes my heart race.

"Maybe I don't," I say cautiously.

Duncan chuckles. "Wasn't that bad. Hung out at our family house in Hamilton with friends. Got really high and wasted."

"You like doing drugs?"

"I've dabbled in a bit of weed and drank a lot of alcohol. I'm cool with occasional substances; it's all about moderation. If you're drunk or high all the time, that's when you're fucked." He scrutinizes me. "Ever been high, Princess?"

I shake my head slowly. "Not once. I don't enjoy feeling out of control."

"Then I won't even bother asking if you've ever been drunk," he remarks.

I scrunch up my nose. "That's pretty gross. Drinking anything doesn't interest me."

"You gotta learn to chill a bit," he insists. "It's okay to have fun once in a while."

Normally, his comments like that would annoy me, but his tone suggests he's not trying to be mean. I think he genuinely believes I should loosen up, which he might be right about, but I'm not interested in doing it through drugs or alcohol.

"So, is that your way of letting loose?" I ask him.

"Sometimes. Weed helps me unwind," he explains, giving me a look. "You could give it a shot. Takes you out of your head, broadens your mind to think about other things. More enjoyable things."

I roll my eyes. "Sounds like something a pot smoker would say."

He laughs. "I suppose I'm a pot smoker, then. You sound just like my parents."

I can't help but feel a little insulted.

"Wanna work on this after school?" he asks.

"Where?" I narrow my eyes, breathless.

"The library."

I should decline. There's no real need for us to work together on this. I could head back to my room and wrap up my list for the afternoon; it probably wouldn't take that long. I can finish my part of the outline, and we can merge them tomorrow in class.

Sitting up, I prepare to refuse.

"Okay," slips out instead.