Free Instinct by Mattie Dunman Page B

His eyes
flicker and become uncertain before he pushes away, stumbling a little as he
shoves the chair back with his foot. The back of the chair bumps against the
desk, stirring me from my petrified state.
    He is lying.
    Jake runs a
hand over his face and turns away, gripping his own chair with white knuckles.
I have an odd impulse to put my arms around him and ease the rigid tension in
his shoulders, but feeling rushes back into my limbs and along with my ability
to think, a sudden blast of anger follows. I’m not a combative person by nature,
but if you corner any animal, even one so harmless as a hamster, it will bite.
Leaping to my feet, I grab a notebook from the desk and launch it at him with
as much force as I can muster. It strikes the back of his head with a
satisfying thwack, and he spins around, hand to his head, a comical expression
of surprise replacing his earlier fury.
    “What the hell
is wrong with you!” I shout, fighting my own urge to choke the breath from him.
He blinks at me and takes a step forward.
                “Stop right there.
You take one more step toward me and I’m going to scream and tell everyone how
you think it’s fine to threaten a girl you’ve just met.”
    Jake’s face
flushes red and he balls his fists at his side. “I didn’t threaten you,” he
says, affronted.
    “You
physically intimidated me while telling me something wasn’t my business. I
could press assault charges,” I inform him, working hard to keep my bravado
going.
    “I didn’t
touch you!” he protests, anger replacing confusion.
    “Your knees
did. And it counts anyway, because you pinned me to the chair and practically
put your mouth on mine…you know what? It doesn’t matter. You can go right ahead
and try to explain how what you just did wasn’t assault to the principal. I
don’t see any reason to cut you a break,” I spit out, angrier than I’ve ever
been with a relative stranger. Fear is driving most of my outburst, but I hate
being pushed. Hit me hard enough and I’ll hit back.
    I stomp toward
the door, fully intending to go out and tell my pervert teacher what just
happened, but Jake grabs my elbow and yanks me back so hard my arm feels like
it’s ripping from the socket. I gasp in pain and he releases me almost
instantly, but I can feel that I will bruise. Tears sting my eyes and I glare
up at him, ignoring the softening in his expression as he sees how upset I am.
    “Don’t ever
touch me again,” I growl, holding onto my pride with grasping fingers. I am
humiliated he can see how much he has frightened me. “You probably killed Miranda.
That’s why you don’t want anyone looking into her death. What’d she do?
Threaten to tell someone you’re an abusive asshole?”
    Jake stumbles
away from me drunkenly, the livid red draining from his face until he is so
pallid I worry for a second he might pass out. With the distance between us, I
begin to feel the immediate threat dissipate and strengthen my grip on my
emotions. He stares at me unseeing for a moment and then sinks to his chair.
    “I’m sorry,”
he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I just get so angry
sometimes…”
    The violence
of the moment before has faded, but I still keep a safe distance between us.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. You just really freaked me out,
you know?” I am not sure why I am apologizing to this boy who a moment ago radiated
brutality by just breathing, but the stricken look he wears makes me feel
awkward and somehow at fault.
    “No, you’re
right. I may as well have killed her.” Jake sighs wearily and rubs his forehead
as though he has a headache.
    I glance
around the room, totally unprepared to deal with this abrupt transformation. “I
don’t understand,” I say warily. He laughs bitterly and looks up at me.
    “I can’t
believe I just said that to you. It doesn’t matter, okay? I’m sorry I frightened
you. It won’t happen