35 | torturous

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JANUARY 5, 2014 / SYMONT HIGH SCHOOL

When people talked about Asher, the least they could do was try to be subtle about it. 

The murmurs trailed after him, whispers clinging to his heels, dragging him back as he shuffled through the hallways. Ignoring the talk was impossible. It was an attack on Asher's ears, each snicker and whistle a sniper taking aim. The students would not miss their target. 

News of Krista Ming and Asher Delrov was spreading like a virus. Asher wondered how famous she was, if a one night stand lit the fuse to a worldwide buzz.

Ryanel walked next to him, equally insistent on trying to not notice the gossiping.

"It's true, though, isn't it?" he asked.

Asher busied himself with taking out his Physics essay, though they were nowhere near the classroom.

"Asher," Ryanel said.

Asher tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, a sheet of paper between scissor blades.

"Yeah," he eventually said, once their Physics classroom came into sight.

Ryanel's eyes stayed on Asher for a while; he could feel it, like the effervescence of newly opened soda on his back. Still, he pretended to proofread his essay — though no force in the world could make him register more than the first sentence. Bernoulli's equation can be thought of as the conservation of internal energy for non-compressible fluids . . .

"How good was it?" Ryanel asked the question lightly; Asher could even detect the familiar tremble of his vowels when he was on the verge of laughter. It was the silence before and after the words — heavy and toxic, smothering the brief levity in his friend's voice — that made him rethink.

Asher answered honestly, having to force the first hit of his breath out with a tension in his stomach, "Can't remember."

"Dude," Ryanel said, with a solemn undertone snaking its way through his smirk. The remark was deceptive; summery yellow paint hastily layered over bitter black.

Their Physics teacher lazily strolled in, and after that, they did not speak again other than a quick exchange of goodbyes when school ended.

Asher sped from the oddly tense situation with his best friend. His phone chimed and vibrated, making his leg tense in response.

you made the front cover of hot right now XD

Hot Right Now was a tacky tabloid magazine that made its profit from catering to teenage girls desperate for shirtless pictures of their idols, and being on the cover was more of an insult than a compliment to Asher.

He'd never seen the number before, but an inkling of who texted him was sending shocks down his spine.

who is this?

He could feel himself warming up, muscles tensed for the reply. If it was who he thought it was—

sexy

saxon* ;)

Asher swore under his breath. His fingers twitched above the screen, about to type a reply when his teacher snapped, "Asher. Phone away now, please."

"Sorry, sir," Asher mumbled contritely, and slipped his phone back into his pocket, feeling a blush overtake his face. He wanted to at least respond, but not at the risk of detention.

Ryanel snickered softly beside him, but kept his head facing the whiteboard. Asher took school very seriously compared to his best friends. He took most things very seriously, and Ryanel was often confused as to why Asher seemed so different to other teenage boys. He could never laugh at girls' antics the way Kerrish did, or complain about his family like Ryanel did. 

Sometimes it frustrated the boys, how uptight Asher seemed to be pertaining to adventure, sex, and booze — anything fun, basically — especially since all Asher could say to defend himself was, "I'm being careful."

It was as if he was reminded daily to be careful, and humble, and nothing but.

School ended the way high school always did: with a shrill metal ring, followed by the teachers telling the students to wait until they dismissed them, and a mad rush for the corridors. Asher's phone rang just as he passes the doorway, and he picked up immediately — despite the odd, knowing smirk Ryanel was stabbing him with.

It was Saxon's number; the last string of numbers — 0440 — was seared into Asher's mind.

"Hello," he breathed, barely getting the syllables out. Asher cleared his throat, painfully aware of Ryanel's stare on him, and tried again, "What do you want?"

The words were quite harsh, and Asher almost considered apologising when Saxon chimed back. He spoke sophisticatedly, using smooth words that couldn't soften out the natural roughness to his voice. Hearing him again cut off Asher's train of thought with a sharp slap.

"Are you busy tonight?" the playboy asked lazily.

"Um, depends what you have in mind." 

Asher's eyes moved back to Ryanel's face, shining with an amused intrigue, and removed them just as quickly. Talking to someone as exclusive as Saxon Rush was nerve-wracking enough without having to do it in front of his best friend. 

  "Aren't you a presumptuous creature?" There it was again — that cultured vocabulary paired with a wild voice that pushed Asher to the edge of insanity. "Assuming that I want something from you."

He was so eager to end the call, wave away Ryanel's accusations, jump on his bike, and escape the questioning, judgemental gazes of every student at school. Asher needed a break from any and every type of person, even himself. So his next words came out quite frenzied, making both Saxon and Ryanel wonder what had him so restless.

"Okay, if you don't need anything from me, bye. Have a good night—"

"—You assumed correctly. Want to come over?"

"Shit, S— Krista. I— uh, don't know."

  Ryanel was looking at Asher like every flicker of his eyes spelt a question, and every quirk of his lips got him the answers. Asher felt so transparent, so unsettled, that an accidental brush of skin would have made him jump ten feet high. 

"Krista?" Saxon was a precocious man, and it took him only seconds to come to the right conclusion. "Who's listening in? Your girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"I'm not dating anyone," Asher defended. He didn't know which was more torturous — deciding to meet up with Saxon again, or that confounded smirk that Ryanel was wearing. It was so wide that Asher could see it from the corner of his eye, mocking the uncomfortable situation he was in.

"Good," Saxon replied. "I would have felt guilty about New Year's if you had. Mind you, not enough to regret it."

Asher felt like throwing his phone into the nearest locker, and then himself. Saxon was so overbearing, with his good looks and riches and fame, that even receiving attention from him felt like a joke. Maybe he was being Punk'd. He actually gave the hall a quick scan, checking for hidden cameras, before pulling together some words that hopefully sounded calm and intelligent.

"Text me your address. I'll be over later," and then Asher hung up on the Saxon Rush.

"Better not keep Krista waiting," Ryanel said, waggling his eyebrows in a highly suggestive manner.

"I need you to do me a favour," Asher began. "If my dad calls you—"

"—I'll tell him you're staying over, but currently unable to come to the phone because you're in the bathroom. Gotcha. Now, go meet your supermodel."

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