Feeling extremely confident and rather peppy that morning, Tristan bumped into Tara on the way to English class.
"Hey!" he grinned, touching her shoulder to get her attention.
"Hi." She said dismissively, turning to find the door.
"How are you?" he said conversationally.
"Fine." One word replies. Geez someone was cold this morning. Tristan didn't fail to notice the stiff way she held herself that day and raised his eyebrows.
"What's got your feathers all ruffled?" he snorted.
"I'm fine." She snapped with a finality that clearly showed otherwise.
"I thought we had a good time?" Tristan stated in amusement.
"We didn't." Tara was gritting her teeth.
"You seemed pretty happy last night." He pointed out. "What's going on, it was like your dream come true and now you're just going to act like nothing happened, like it wasn't a big deal?"
"It was a mistake. I shouldn't have gone." She breathed deeply and stubbornly kept her tone indifferent.
"The hell it was. What the hell happened between last night and this morning to make you like this?" Tristan frowned.
"Just leave me alone, Dugrey." She bit out and pushed past him into the English room. So they were back on using his surname, were they?
"You're more moody than anyone else I've met." Tristan rolled his eyes.
"Than give up." Her tone was quiet.
"I don't understand you, do you know that?" he said. But the girl only sat down, no reply or even a glance was spared for him. Tristan shook his head.
"Orlando Bloom. Your idol? The one you squealed for?" He was a bit in disbelief.
"I don't squeal, Dugrey." She stared straight ahead and he didn't get a chance to reply before the teacher strode in. He watched her that class, but as the eighty minutes past without her so much as glancing at him from the corners of her eyes, he finally dropped it. If she wanted to be difficult, fine. He had enough to think about without this person walking in and mucking up his already dizzy life.
She watched as he gave one final headshake. She saw him stand up with his books tucked under his arm, as he glanced at her just one last time before clenching his teeth and walking out without a word to her. She knew that he was a bit angry now. With good reason, she supposed. But there had been a part that desperately wanted him to stay by her, refusing to leave until she explained what was wrong. She wanted someone, somewhere, to hold her still until her pain was out.
Because there was no one who knew it all. No one to help her, to care. She tried so hard to keep it that way but at the same time she wished so deeply for it to be different. She determinedly went through the day, got through it. A few well-chosen barbs got people off her back, even the notorious Paris.
And when the final bell rang, she saw Tristan Dugrey at his locker, laughing care freely with his friends as he so often did. They locked eyes for a moment, his miffed but still questioning her silently. She just looked away. She shouldn't have indulged him or herself.
She walked outside onto the path that few walked on and silently cried. A crack of thunder resounded heavily and a minute later, she was getting soaked through. The raindrops fell on her face and slowly washed away the carefully constructed façade… her makeup fell away revealing a very blue bruise.
Tristan chuckled with his friends, shut his locker, heaved an exasperated sigh in Tara's direction, and walked to his car. His face completely changed expressions once he closed the car door and he buckled himself in, ready for another trip to the deserted park. It was, once again, Wednesday. But as he began to drive out of the lot, he decided he didn't want to wait until he reached the park and instead he pulled out a half empty bottle of liquor from inside the glove compartment. Chugging a bit of it silently, his lips quirked up from the buzz. One of these days he seriously had to stop caring about his parents. Too bad he couldn't. Last night, his mom had been sprawled on the couch, drunk, high, or otherwise and had pleasantly asked if Tristan had a good time with Miranda. Mother, dear, he had broken off with Miranda almost three years ago. He hadn't the heart to tell her that, and had just nodded, a smile plastered on his face as he jogged up to his room. She was off her rocker but as much as he hated his parents with everything in him, he loved them more than words could describe.
Tristan had been one of those desperate, clingy, attention-seeking kids. Since he grew up being raised by various nannies, he had wanted his parents' praise more than much else. He was eight when he gave up and realized that mommy and daddy would rather spend time with their business associates and some raw cash than with their only son. He was eight when he stopped trying to be perfect at everything, when he stopped asking his parents everyday if they would drive him to school instead of the chauffer.
He had been twelve when he realized that nothing mattered, that money was the only thing anyone cared about. At that age, he stopped trying in his studies. He had worked so hard before, trying to prove his worth, living up to his name and showing everyone that he did belong in the private school. But he stopped, let it go, realizing with horror that they still passed him when he did nothing, still got a C when he spent two minutes writing a bunch of trash on a paper he did no research on. His marks slipped and the bright young boy became the slacker he was in the present. At thirteen he lost his virginity to a girl three years older than him (hell he looked three years older than he was). He first tried alcohol that year, first experimented with cigarettes, first told his father to go to hell. At fourteen he tried weed, first had a threesome, first had sex at school, and first slept with the nanny. And by fifteen there were precious few girls who hadn't slept with him, didn't want to, and didn't know about his heartbreaker status. He was the most experienced guy in the school, beating out the older guys, and he was aware of the fact that he took away a lot of girls' innocence. He made an ideal first time, knowing exactly what to do. And he was a bit gentler with those girls, he actually went out with them for a decent time, having enough heart to realize what a big deal it was and how key it was not to crush them.
"TRISTAN!" a harassed voice screeched. Tristan had just been driving to a light and it took him a moment to locate the source of the yell. Finally, his eyes landed on Tara, standing half-obscured by trees on the sidewalk.
"Yes?" he called out.
"You're fucking drinking and driving?" she yelled. "You're going to kill someone you stupid reckless idiot!"
"Just cross the damn road." He sighed. But she marched over to his car, stuck her arm through his opened window and wrenched the bottle away from him. She then proceeded to pour out the remaining liquid before thrusting it back at him.
"You've better not be intoxicated now, or it's your ass that's on the line." She growled, turning around and stomping off.
"You've got such a stick up your ass, I don't know why I even try with you." He said.
"Neither do I." She snarled.
"Hey, what's that on your face?" he frowned.
"Go screw a tree you spoiled jackass." Tara hissed and gave him the finger.
"It's more than you'll be getting, princess." He mocked as he skidded by, chucking a stack of photos at her as he drove by.
A glance at them told her that they were the photos from the previous night. And though things went horribly wrong after he dropped her off last night, the pictures of her beaming face and his amused one made her gut twist uncomfortably. It was too bad that she didn't know that he was glancing back at her through his rear-view mirror, both of them fuming over things the other couldn't possibly know about.
In a spurt of shocking instinctive impulse, the girl chose to follow him for the first time. She could see him pull into a parking lot in the distance and sprinted towards it before she could rethink it. By the time she reached the lot, the car was empty. Tara quietly scanned the area before her eyes landed on Dugrey's figure, slumping against a tree.
"Are you all right?" she blurted.
"You followed me?" his expression was one of rage mixed with incredulity.
She took a few steps closer to him so that she was standing over him. "I'm sorry about today. It wasn't your fault and from your point of view I can see that I may have treated you undeservingly harsh."
"From my point of view? How could you possibly see it any other way?" Tristan exclaimed. "I do one nice thing for you and you suddenly react colder than ever before. And now you're back to being nice? What the hell are you doing? Stop screwing with my mind."
"I'm not trying to!" she desperately said, stomping her foot for emphasis.
"I don't get you, and I've been trying to understand, but you've got to give me something to work with here." He exhaled.
"I don't know if I can do that." She answered.
"Then do me a favour and leave. I'm busy right now, not that you'd care." Tristan barked out. He let out a rough laugh. "The one time you chase me down is the one time you don't have something to say to me?"
"What are you busy doing?" she relented.
"Nothing you'd care to know about," he stubbornly replied.
"I'm trying, okay?" she said. "Doesn't the fact that I chased you count for anything?"
"You've got a split personality, seriously." He grinned hollowly.
"And so do you. Where's the light, can't-piss-me-off guy I have to see everyday?" she raised her eyebrows.
"Where's the ice queen I see?" he retorted. "This may surprise you, but I'm not feeling all that light right now, so go away."
"You're so difficult!" Tara grumbled.
"You're the one who's like a wall." Tristan said.
"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I can't just let you in?" she bellowed.
"All I wanted was to get to know you. But you won't even let me in as a friend, will you?" he scowled.
"I can't." Tara shook her head.
"And there in lies the problem." He laughed.
"It isn't as if you've been confiding in me either, friend." She glared.
"You want me to confide in you?" he chuckled.
"I invited you to for a reason, " she sighed. "Look, maybe this will shock you but I don't believe that you have a picture perfect life as everyone else in the stupid school seems to think, and I'd like to know what you're hiding behind."
"Why do I have to be hiding?" he set his jaw.
"Because you, Tristan Dugrey, are not any where near as shallow and one dimensional as you make out to be and if you look so completely flat and stereotypical, than there's got to be something under the surface that you feel you've got to cover up." She said levelly. "But as it is, we all have problems and one of mine is that I can't spend the time with you outside of school, I just can't. I want to get to know you, but you've got to know that there's a reason I'm pushing you away. I didn't want to lead you on, which is why I might have been harsh earlier. But I'm grateful for last night, and for the fact that you've put up with this game for so long."
"The project will be over next Monday, Mary." He said.
"And I'm not in love with you." She couldn't help give a wry smile. "Can your conceited ego sit well on that?"
"Tara, we still have over one week." He dimpled. "Don't underestimate it." And he impulsively pulled her to him and passionately pressed his lips powerfully against hers. Surprising neither of them, Tara pulled away.
"You embody everything I can't understand because you won't let people in." he softly muttered.
"You won't let me in either." She protested.
"Somebody's got to take the first step." He lifted up one shoulder casually and with one final half-smile he stuffed the bottle of liquor that she hadn't seen him carrying back into the trunk and walked off without looking back.