Chapter 4 I'm asking nicely

Chapter four :I am asking nicely.

Lyric 's POV

The rest of the math class felt like a blur. Mr. Smith's voice droned on, but all I could think about was the way Gavin looked at me. I replayed his words in my mind: "She can have mine."

Why did he do that? Was it pity or something else?

I didn't want anyone's pity, especially not his. I couldn't believe I liked him.

As the bell rang, I gathered my things slowly, still processing the events of the day. I glanced around the classroom, but Gavin was already gone. I sighed, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment.

Walking to my next class, I overheard some students whispering. I caught bits of conversation about me-"that girl," "dumb and deaf."

My heart sank. It seemed like some people would never change.

In the hall, I spotted Gavin talking to a brunette girl, Janice from art class. She was pretty and had a good body. I couldn't help but compare myself to her-she had bigger boobs than me, and her lips looked better than any lip filler out there.

Gavin moved closer, his arms around her waist while she gazed up at him. He said something funny, and she laughed, playfully hitting his chest. I noticed his smile grow cold, but he snapped out of it and leaned in as if he wanted to kiss her.

The image of them kissing crawled under my skin, and I shut my eyes. I gritted my teeth and left.

At home, I cooked, cleaned, and went to the market to prepare for the week. The next day, I woke up with less enthusiasm, and it was a blur until I arrived at school.

For some reason, I forgot to pee, which made me start to hyperventilate. Peeing meant bumping into girls in the bathroom, and I hated any human contact. It never went smoothly.

It took me a minute to mentally prepare myself to walk into the bathroom. As I stepped in, I was enveloped by the smell of different perfumes in the air. Three girls stood there, wearing more makeup than I could imagine. I recognized Janice from yesterday.

Even though she had never been mean to me in the past, I suddenly hated her. She got a chance with Gavin-a chance I wouldn't ever get. He would not touch me or smile like he did when he was with her.

They wouldn't last long anyway.

Gavin was the campus fuckboy. He did not take any relationship seriously. He never had. But for some reason, my stupid heart believed I would be the exception.

Guess I had been reading too many romance books online.

Ignoring them, I made my way to the free stall I could find, got in, and prepared myself to release when I heard those girls laugh. My stomach dropped, thinking they would start talking about me.

Suddenly insecure, I looked down at the faded blue shirt and black jeans I was wearing. My fake Chanel sandals were older than my dental fillings.

"I heard you were with Gavin last night. How was it?"

"There isn't a secret in this school, is there?" I heard Janice laugh heartily.

"Of course not. We share everything here at Velmont." One of the girls, whose voice I didn't recognize, replied.

"Except for disabilities; that weird girl can keep it all to herself."

This time it was Janice; her words felt like a bullet on my skin. Why was I kidding myself by thinking someone who could see me would look past my disability? I was defective and broken.

No one could love me.

"Seriously, I wonder how it feels to be friends with her-someone who only stares. But she is pretty, though." Another voice chimed in, smacking her lips.

Janice cackles, clapping her hands "Yeah. If you could call a solid three pretty."

"Whatever, Janice. Tell me what went down yesterday."

"He took me to this club downtown, and we danced all night. Everything got heated when he started sucking my neck-this spot here. I haven't felt anything like that. And the sex? The sex was amazing. Earth-shattering orgasms, I swear. His thick-"

At this point, I zipped up and ran out of the stall, feeling tears already leaking from my eyes. I couldn't take hearing any more about what he did with Janice. I couldn't believe he slept with her. Janice!

I was so jealous at the mere thought of him touching her, and now sleeping with her was too much for my heart to take.

Suddenly, I hissed in pain when my body hit something hard. At first, I thought it was a wall, but I looked up and found him-Gavin Hawkins in his hockey attire. Did they have a game today?

I was not a hockey fan and knew basically nothing about it. Still, he was the last person I wanted to talk to. In his black and blue jersey, with his number "13" in edgy letters, Gavin was holding his helmet between his side and his arm, while his hair was messed up from the helmet.

He blinked as if he only recognized me then. "I am sorry," he said, reaching to brush the tears from my eyes, but I stepped back, and his hand collapsed to his side. Gavin wore his signature indecipherable mask, asking, "Why are you crying?"

If I were not aware of my level of delusion, I would have thought he actually cared.

Instead, I glared at him and brushed past him, which caused his helmet to fall on the ground. I expected him to curse at me, but he didn't. He just stared.

The next day.

I entered the art room, where the familiar smell of paint and clay greeted me. Art has always been my escape. I can express myself without words, and today, I needed that more than ever. I settled at a table in the corner, pulling out my sketchbook.

As I began to draw, I lost myself in the lines and shapes. Time passed, and soon the classroom filled with chatter. I hardly noticed when someone sat down next to me until I heard a soft voice.

"Hey, can I join you?"

I looked up to find Gavin, his usual indecipherable expression boring into my direction.

I didn't reply afterall he thought I was dumb and deaf. Plus, I did not have any interest in talking to him at this moment or ever. Unfortunately, my heart fluttered at the sight of his handsome face; there was something different about him. It was edgier than usual. I looked closer and noticed a huge bruise underneath his left eye, like an eye bag.

It was not nothing new that Gavin got into fights; the guy was a champion at an underground fighting club for two years until it risked his NHL admission, and he was forced to quit.

Still, I hated seeing him hurt. I wished to find that person and punch that asshole in the face. Or at least treat his bruise-what was I doing?

I needed to forget about him. Gavin was an asshole, just like the rest of everyone in this college.

"I am asking nicely, Lyric."

Lyric?

My heart skipped a beat at him calling my name. How did he know my name?

Did he ask around?

His voice soften, "Please,"

For some reason, this tugged on my heartstrings; I could feel the anger I had for him disappearing. Unfortunately, before I could respond, Miss Lia interrupted in a harsh tone, "Miss Spencer, stop being unsocial for once. Give Gavin a break; this is his first class."

Of course. It's Gavin, and for me, it's Miss Spencer. I am not bitter; jocks always get special treatment.

If it was any other jock, he would have smiled at her effort, not Gavin. He only kept his stoic face and took a seat next to me as I scooted away from him.

His hand brushed mine, and I drew in a breath, my heart racing beyond control. Immediately, I removed my hand from his to avoid any touching. I couldn't handle it.

"Sorry," he murmured, a shade of red peeking on his cheek. If it was not hot outside, I would think Gavin was blushing.

As if!

I decided to ignore him through the session, but it felt more impossible than pretending you don't have herpes. You can't; all the symptoms are there. You can feel it.

Just like I can feel my breath hitching every time I sense him watching me. The hairs on my neck stood when his eyes gazed upon them.

I could not take the torture anymore; I dropped the brush, and it fell to the ground. Lowering my hand to pick it up, Gavin did the same. I tried to ignore him until he grabbed my hand.

That was it.

I drew in a breath so hard, I thought I had an undiagnosed asthma condition. Gavin wasn't letting go. I looked into his eyes, and they held an unknown emotion.

My chest was now physically rising and falling. I pulled my hand from his abruptly, my head bumped the table, and the contents of the paint fell on my head. The cold paint dripped down my face.