Crossing Lines

Chapter 8 - Mila

I've always been pitied by other people.

Poor tiny, clumsy Mila. Doesn't know how to dress, doesn't know how to walk properly, and has absolutely no idea how to behave in social activities.

Jas always had my back in high school; she helped me find the right thing to wear and never left my side at social events. Right now, I regret that I didn't let her give me the fashion tutorial, as she called it, because the second I regard myself in the mirror, embarrassment washes over me. I picked a white blouse, combined with a pair of black silk pants and my usual necklaces and earrings.

I feel underdressed as hell, but even if I wanted to change, I don't have the time. It's a quarter to seven by now, and the anxiety in my veins definitely doesn't help my already clammy palms, or the pounding heart in my chest.

"Don't be such a wuss, Mila." I do the breathing exercise my therapist showed me, and once again it works, my heart rate slowing down after a while, even though my mind still races at a hundred miles per hour.

"Worst case—you hate him. Then you can just grab your phone and walk away. Never have to see him again, anyway...God, I have to stop talking to myself."

I shake my head and grab the last things I need before rushing down the stairs, really not wanting to be late. It's not hard to find the soda machine Hayden was talking about, but just when I'm about to reach it, I suddenly run into someone, the impact sending my glasses to the floor.

"Ow! Shit!" I squint as I bend down, trying to find the glasses, which is damn hard when you're not wearing them.

"Can't you watch where you're going?" The annoying male voice echoes through the hallway as I finally feel out the metal frame between my fingers. I'm sure even without them I would've noticed that he's one of the footballers who hangs around here. They're all the same: arrogant, looking like they make more in a day than I did with my first book, sleek hair combed to the back...

"Hello?" he says, and I can't help but blink a few times before I answer.

"Hello."

"Well?" With the way he raises his eyebrow, I know he's the kind of person who would've bullied me as a kid.

"Uh...what is it?" The tremor is audible in my voice, and it transfers into my entire body the second he grabs my wrist, demonstrating his physical advantage on me. I hate myself for feeling like a little girl again, like the ten-year-old Mila who got beaten up on the first day of school.

"You could at least say sorry."

The way he speaks sends shivers down my spine; This man is obviously a grade-A asshole, and I'm sure he'd be able to kill me with his bare hands if we wanted to. And so I form the words, even though I really don't want to. But this, to me, is a situation that requires sacrifices, even if that sacrifice is the last shred of my confidence.

"I—"

"Hey, asshole!"

That voice makes me turn around, and I sigh in relief when I see Hayden walk down the hallway, his eyes full of fury as he comes to a stop right next to me.

"Oh, look who it is!" The mountain of a man laughs and focuses on Hayden and me, an amused grin crossing his face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Hass?" Hayden still scowls at the man, and even though I'm curious why he knows this stranger, I push that thought away to watch him staring the other man down.

"Just teaching this girl a lesson."

But Hayden doesn't register him anymore; his extraordinarily green eyes simply find mine, displaying a hint of worry before they settle on my wrist, still in Mr. Asshole's firm grip. "You'd better let go of her."