BRIANNA

18. YOU'RE IMAGINING THINGS

JC'S POV

As I stirred from sleep, the first thing I became aware of was the throbbing headache pounding in my skull, each beat a reminder of the poor choices I’d made the night before. The ache was relentless, an unwelcome companion that forced a low groan from my lips. Slowly, I opened my eyes, only to regret it instantly as the light in the room assaulted my senses. It felt impossibly bright, the kind of brightness that made you question whether the sun had a personal vendetta against you. Squinting, I tried to adjust to the glaring light and take stock of my surroundings, but it didn’t take long for confusion to settle in. I wasn’t in my room—that much was obvious.

The walls were painted in soft, soothing tones, and the faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air, subtle but distinctly feminine. I frowned, my mind struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. This wasn’t one of my friends’ rooms either—there were no beer cans littering the floor, no sneakers or hoodies tossed carelessly around.

This place was tidy, almost unnervingly so, and as my gaze roamed the space, I realized there were no personal touches either. No photos, no quirky decorations, no evidence of who the room might belong to. That absence of identity only added to my disorientation.

I tried to push myself into a sitting position, but the dull ache in my head made the effort feel monumental. Where the hell was I? My memory was a blur, snapshots of the party flashing through my mind without any real coherence. The music had been loud, the drinks plentiful, and at some point, the faces had all started to blur together.

I could vaguely recall leaning against a wall, drink in hand, but everything after that was a fog. Now I was here, in an unfamiliar room that screamed of order and calm, neither of which aligned with the chaos of my typical nights.

Before I could spiral further into my confusion, a voice broke the silence, startling me enough to make my headache spike. “You’re awake, that’s good,” the voice said, light and teasing, but with a trace of amusement that immediately put me on edge. I turned my head toward the door, where a girl stood leaning casually against the frame.

She was dressed for school, her uniform neat and pressed in a way that suggested she actually cared about her appearance, unlike most of the people I associated with. Her expression was calm, but there was a sharpness in her eyes, a glint of something I couldn’t quite place.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it to school today,” she continued, her tone shifting slightly, as though she found the situation amusing. “I may not know a lot about you, Jacob Charles Jr., but I do know that skipping school isn’t your thing.” Her words sent another jolt of confusion through me. Not only did she know my full name—something I wasn’t exactly thrilled about—but she spoke as if she had some insight into who I was, which was absurd. I didn’t recognize her at all.

She straightened slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and offered a small shrug. “Though I like being proud of my achievements, I don’t want you to hate me because I took you to my apartment and ended up being the reason you missed a day of school.”

Her apartment? I stared at her, the implications of her words sinking in slowly, like molasses dripping into a jar. My mind raced, trying to piece together how I’d ended up here and why this girl, whoever she was, had gone out of her way to bring me to her place. The fact that she seemed entirely nonchalant about the situation only added to my bewilderment. There was an ease about her, a calm confidence that made me feel even more out of place.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. What was I supposed to say? Thank you? Who are you? Why do you know my name? A thousand questions swirled in my head, each more urgent than the last, but the pounding in my skull made it impossible to organize my thoughts. All I knew was that I needed answers, and I needed them fast.

“I might not remember a lot about last night, but I am pretty sure that I didn’t sleep with you,” I said, my voice tinged with frustration and a headache-induced weariness that I couldn’t shake off. My words came out flat, a feeble attempt to assert some level of control in a situation where I felt utterly off-balance. I know I sounded like a jerk and that's because I decided to be one.

Her laugh was sharp, devoid of humor, and laced with an edge that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “And I don’t remember saying that you slept with me,” she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm and disdain. “Trust me, I tried to have my way with you—after all, you insisted that I take you to my apartment, and I thought I might as well make the most of it. But for the first time in my life, I have never been so thoroughly disrespected as I was last night.”

Her words hit me like a freight train, and the sinking realization that she wasn’t exaggerating made me wince. She wasn’t done, though, and the more she spoke, the clearer the picture became. “Do you have any idea how excited I was? I mean, there you were, practically begging me to take you home, and I thought, ‘Well, maybe tonight’s going to be interesting.’ But then you had the audacity—the gall—to tell me I wasn’t the reason you were so hard?” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”

I sat there, frozen, the weight of her accusation settling over me like a thick fog. My brain scrambled to piece together the events of last night, but all I could manage were blurry fragments: my slurred words, the cab ride, her irritated but amused expression as I insisted she take me to her place instead of my own. And then there it was—the sharp, embarrassing clarity of the moment I’d blurted out those thoughtless words.

I mentally cursed myself, the regret sinking in like a lead weight. Why had I said that? Sure, it was true—she wasn’t the reason for my arousal—but some truths were better left unspoken, especially when you were drunk and at the mercy of someone who could easily twist the situation to her advantage. Girls like her didn’t take rejection lightly, and I could already see how this would play out. By the time the sun set today, the entire school would know that Jacob Charles Jr. had been so smitten with some mystery girl that he couldn’t even get it up for anyone else.

Brianna has ruined my life with her presence, and there’s no other way to put it. I’ve been walking around with this unshakable frustration ever since she showed up at school, and it’s all her fault. It is true that I was thinking about her last night when this girl approached me, but let’s get one thing straight: it’s not because I love her. The idea is laughable. Love? That’s not even in my vocabulary, let alone something I’d associate with her. What I was thinking about—what kept replaying in my mind like some irritatingly catchy song—was the idea of what it would be like to have s*x with her.

There’s something about her—something so untainted, so annoyingly innocent—that gets under my skin. She’s not like the other girls around here who’ve seen and done it all. She’s a clean slate, and her presence at the party yesterday only confirmed what I’ve suspected since the day I first laid eyes on her. Brianna hasn’t experienced much of life yet; she’s sheltered, untouched by the messiness of the world I live in. And the thought of introducing her to something as raw and carnal as s*x… God help me, but it made me hard again just standing here thinking about it.

“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” the girl in front of me teased, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts. Her lips curled into a sly smirk, and I could feel the weight of her gaze as she studied me. “I wonder who this girl is who has managed to touch that stone of a heart you carry around. She must be very pretty.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap at her. Of course, Brianna is beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that. But admitting it out loud felt like giving her power she didn’t deserve to have over me. And besides, beauty isn’t enough to soften my resolve. I reminded myself of that as I stared back at the girl, forcing my expression to remain unreadable. I wasn’t in love with Brianna—not even close. Being interested in her is one thing, and being in love with her is another, and neither of those things applies to me.

The only thing I’m interested in, the only thing that has my attention, is the thought of having s*x with her. And I know exactly why that thought won’t leave me alone. Brianna is like a puzzle I want to solve, a challenge I can’t resist. The way she carries herself, the way she looks at the world with those wide, curious eyes—it’s like she’s daring me to pull her into my orbit, to show her what life can really be like.

Sleeping with her would be the easiest solution to this problem. It would get her out of my head, rid me of this infuriating obsession that’s been plaguing me since the day she arrived. That’s all this is—lust, plain and simple. I’m not about to let myself be entrapped by a girl’s beauty, especially one who would complicate my life more than it already is. Brianna is a distraction, and I don’t need distractions right now.

My jaw tightened as I thought about the chaos she’s already caused without even trying. If I give in to this… interest, if I allow her to become anything more than a fleeting thought in my mind, she’ll unravel everything I’ve worked to build. My reputation, my control, my carefully constructed walls—they’d all come crashing down. And for what? A girl who doesn’t belong in my world, who would probably run the other way if she saw the real me? No, that’s not going to happen.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, forcing a smirk onto my face as I looked back at the girl in front of me. “You’re imagining things,” I said, my tone dismissive. “She’s just some new girl. Nothing special.”

The lie rolled off my tongue effortlessly, and I almost believed it myself. Almost. But deep down, I knew the truth. Brianna wasn’t just “some new girl,” and that was precisely the problem.

“I have to go, or else I’ll be very late for school,” I said, keeping my tone as indifferent as possible while grabbing my jacket. “Whatever happened between us shouldn’t be today’s hot topic at your school. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, though I highly doubt that after failing so spectacularly to pique my interest last night, you’d be able to convince me to give it another shot. Just think of a way you want me to apologise, and I’ll fulfill your request.”

I didn’t bother waiting for her response. The conversation had already overstayed its welcome, and I wasn’t in the mood for her melodramatic reaction. Without so much as a glance back, I strode out of her apartment and into the crisp morning air. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I called my driver and told him to pick me up. It was a relief to find that I hadn’t wandered too far from home during last night’s drunken escapades, so it only took him five minutes to arrive.

As soon as I climbed into the back seat of the sleek black car, I leaned my head against the window, hoping to ease the dull pounding in my skull. The ride home was short, but it felt like an eternity as my thoughts churned. I couldn’t shake the frustration that seemed to follow me like a shadow. The girl I’d just left behind wasn’t the issue—she was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. No, the real problem was still Brianna. Even now, as I tried to focus on the upcoming day, her face kept flashing in my mind, and the memory of how she looked last night at the party only made it worse.

When I finally arrived home, I wasted no time heading straight to my room. The hot shower I took was quick but refreshing, the water washing away the remnants of last night’s mistakes. By the time I stepped out and grabbed a towel, I felt marginally more human, though the headache still lingered at the edges. I got dressed quickly. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I ran a hand through my slightly damp hair before grabbing my bag and heading downstairs.

As I passed the dining room, I caught sight of my parents seated at the table, their usual composed figures framed by the soft morning light streaming through the tall windows. My dad was, as always, impeccably dressed and absorbed in the newspaper. When he glanced up briefly, his eyes flicked to the watch on his wrist, a silent reminder that I was cutting it close. His disapproving look said it all, but I had no time to dwell on it.

“Good morning,” I greeted, keeping my tone light. My mom, ever the graceful presence, barely looked up from her plate, but she gestured toward the lunchbox neatly placed at the edge of the table.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, making sure to walk over and kiss her cheek before grabbing the lunchbox. It was a small gesture, but one I knew she appreciated. Her faint smile, though fleeting, softened the tension in the air. My dad didn’t say a word, which suited me just fine. I had no interest in hearing another lecture about responsibility or punctuality.

As I stepped out the front door and slid into the waiting car, I let out a sigh. The morning had barely begun, and yet it already felt like a marathon. The day ahead promised to be long, but if nothing else, I was determined to get through it without letting my thoughts wander back to Brianna. Or at least, that’s what I told myself as the car pulled out onto the road and headed toward school.