CONNOR’S POV
She froze. Her eyes grew wider without saying a single word. There it was, the innocence that got me every time. The look in her eyes seemed like relief. I loved it.
Seeing how Elijah treated her like she was nothing triggered me. I had seen him toss her out of his car on occasions when she rode to school with him; other times he would let her take the bus all by herself, even late at night.
One time I picked her up a few miles away from the bus station, walking all by herself. I didn't need to ask; I knew he had abandoned her there, in the middle of nowhere.
Somehow I found her cute: her innocence, the way she pulled up her glasses at intervals, her combination of funny outfits that made her look like a clown, her loud, weird laughter, how she knew the answer to every question asked in class and yet could not hold a decent conversation—all of it.
I could see through those bogus hoodies, baggy pants, and thick glasses to who she really was.
I watched Elijah allow Cathy to humiliate her from where I was seated. I felt irritated by it.
We had been in competition for so long that I could only see him as a rival.
When I got a red-colored helmet, he wanted that too, and days later he had it, in the same color. When I exchanged it for the color blue, he did the same. The same thing happened with the cars.
I was shocked when I arrived at school to see the exact car I drove being driven by none other than Elijah barely a month after I got mine. He was my copycat.
"There's no need for the frown. Don't take what happened in there too seriously. You can breathe now," I said, trying to comfort her.
She took off her glasses, cleaned them with the lace hanging off her hoodie, for the fifth time according to my calculations. It looked like a subconscious habit she wasn't aware of, but I found it strange that she didn't have a glass case or microfiber cloth for cleaning them.
"You keep cleaning those glasses with your clothes; it's weird," I said, searching through the clutter stashed in my dashboard for an old glass case, so she could properly wipe her glasses with the cloth inside it.
"Here," I said, handing it over to her without any explanation. She seemed to catch up immediately and took it from me.
"I know you're trying to get back at me for what happened the other day at practice, but I'm not in for your games," she said sharply.
"You looked like you needed my help. You know I can't stand Elijah; it's nothing personal," I replied in my defense.
"I had it under control. You didn't have to. I can take care of myself."
"I couldn't stand by and watch. They were hurting you."
"Please take me home. I'm exhausted. My mom must be worried sick about me," she said, her eyes glued in front of her. She wouldn't look at me, and I never understood why she was embarrassed around me. I was clearly on her side.
"I'll take you home right away. It's not safe for you out here."
I turned on the ignition switch, and my car engine fired into action immediately. Of course it did; it was a Corvette C8 Z06, the latest edition, the same one her copycat stepbrother had gotten.
The drive to her house was wrapped in silence, with her face thrown out the window. It was difficult to tell if she was grateful for my help or if she was being a brat about it.
"Thanks for your help. I appreciate what you did in there, but I think you went too far. What will happen on Monday, when the school realizes it was all a lie and we are not together?" she said almost immediately, dismissing my thoughts.
"We keep up with it. We don't have to stop by Monday. Let's do this."
"What do you mean?" she asked, clueless.
"Be my girlfriend," I replied sharply, my lips shaking slightly.
She looked at me, maintaining eye contact briefly. I guess she was trying to figure out what had possessed me.
"You're delusional," she responded with a scoff.
"I thought you wanted to get back at him for what he did to you. Don't you want revenge?" I said convincingly.
She looked at me once more, her eyes looking defeated. She knew this was an excellent plan, and we needed to work together to make it happen.
"Okay, let's do it!" she replied with a heavy sigh, which proved she had thought carefully about it.
My lips spread slightly, forming a subtle smile. It was what I needed to hear, but I didn't want to let her see that her response made my heart flutter, so I put up a cold face.
"I still need to know why you helped me," she asked moments later.
"I helped you because—"
I let out a sigh, realizing I didn't have a sensible reason to have helped her. I couldn't define it, but I wanted to protect her. I wanted to make her battles mine. She was too innocent for the cruelty she received from everyone; it hurt me to see it.
"You always get into trouble. You're clumsy and almost blind. You looked like you needed my help." That was the best excuse I could come up with. I couldn't tell her that I cared about her, or that I would do anything to keep her safe, even if it meant getting hurt in the process.
"By the way, I wrote those smut letters. I was too ashamed to admit my feelings for Elijah, so I—"
"You don't need to explain yourself to me. I really do not care. Your life, your choices," I said sharply, trying to save her from the embarrassment she was struggling to conceal. I knew from the beginning she had feelings for her stepbrother; even the blind could see.
It was obvious, from how she looked at him, and how she would try to tuck her short hair behind her glasses whenever he spoke to her in private, trying to avoid prying eyes.
She panicked whenever he fell on the rink during hockey practice, tried to play nurse for every scratch he got while playing, and got rejected every single time. It was more than the kind of love shared between siblings. I knew there was more.
We finally arrived at the Maquin mansion. She insisted I drop her off at the gate, to avoid all the questions from her mother.
"Thanks for tonight," she said softly, avoiding eye contact.
"Have a good night's rest. I'll call you when I get home," I said, and drove off speedily.
Looking at her from my side mirror, I could feel her concern, and I couldn't help but worry about her. I knew she would cry herself to sleep; she had been humiliated in front of half the school's population. That was a lot.
And now she had to be under the same roof as her bully, who she called her brother. I wished I could protect her from him.
As I drove home, I pondered what would have happened if I hadn't done something to help her. Cathy would have shown her no mercy. I cringed at the thought of her being bullied again. It hurt me to see her in pain or in tears. I would do anything to protect her.
No one would bully her anymore. Now that they had heard me call her my girlfriend, she would be safe. I let out a sigh of relief.
