Beautiful Torment Read Online Paige Laurens (Beautiful #1)

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Drama, Erotic, New Adult Tags Authors: Series: Beautiful Series by Paige Laurens
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Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
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When 3:10 rolls around, I’m still seated in my new seat in the very back. Madison lingers the longest, and I think she’s never going to leave. I try not to compare my desperation with hers. It’s like she’s seeing if she can outlast me, which she obviously can’t.

“Have a good night,” he says to her, obviously her cue to go.

He still hasn’t even looked at me, and when she finally walks out, he starts erasing the board. I try not to stare at him, obsessed and consumed.

“Would it be better if I switched classes?” My voice is low, unsure. It’s not what I want, but I’ve thought about it before. Maybe now would be the right time.

“God no!” He throws the eraser on his desk and walks over, sitting backwards in the chair in front of me.

“I just thought maybe it would be easier if I did,” I shrug, my face sad.

“No,” his voice is firm. “I still have to see you.”

“Then why not the rest?”

He sighs, his face struggling, like he’s asked himself this very question a million times. “What do you think could possibly happen, Luci?” His mask is back up, he’s back to being angry and annoyed. “That we’ll go out, around town?” His tone hits me hard. “We could never be seen, anywhere. We could never go outside of these walls. And even here, it’s all in secrecy. It could never be real. We can never be real. You understand that, right?”

I nod. It’s cruel and honest, but I get it. But it doesn’t change how I feel.

“Something is better than nothing,” I confess. “I don’t need some sort of relationship.

” I hate how I’m practically begging.

“I know you,” he shakes his head. “And you’re wrong. I see the way you look at me.”

“And what about you?” I shout, irate over his attitude, the way I look at him? What about the way he looks at me?

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “I know the reality of it.”

“Okay,” I roll my eyes. “You’re clearly so much better than I am then.”

“Lu-”

“No, I get it,” I grab my bag. “See you.”

A week and a half passes and I’m miserable. It kills me, because I know he is too.

We’ve still been eating lunch together every other day, and it’s torture, not to mention a little weird.

I never wanted things to be weird.

I shove my books in my locker, picking up the ones that fall back out. It’s like my own locker is yelling at me over how stupid I am, screaming at me to get over him.

“Hola, Luci,” Mr. Pearl’s voice frightens me. It wasn’t the one I was expecting to hear. We exchange quick pleasantries in Spanish as he walks by: hello, how are you, I am good and you, I’m fine, thanks for asking.

I bend down to pick up the last book, ramming it back into the small space.

“Didn’t peg you as a Spanish taker,” he laughs, no doubt at the scene before him.

I suppose me arguing with my locker is quite amusing.

I knew he would show up, his smooth, arrogant voice making me tremble. I slam my locker in a huff.

“Why not?”

He shrugs in response, and I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself.

“It’s practical. A lot of people speak Spanish in this Country.”

“Okay,” he laughs, no doubt over how I take offense over the smallest things.

“What did you take?” I ask as we fall in line, walking down the empty hallway to his classroom.

“Je me ennuie de ton baiser. Vous êtes tout ce qui est dans mon esprit,” he smiles.

His mouth enthralls me, and I pause in the doorway, stunned. The way he moves over each word with such ease, his French perfect.

Wetness saturates me and I fidget as I enter the classroom.

“What does it mean?” I sit down, trying to adjust how uncomfortable I am.

He laughs as he turns to grab a chair.

I take the moment to jot down the sound of his words, determined to look them up later.

“I travelled a lot as a kid and fell in love with the language.”

“How artsy,” I joke and he snickers.

“Oh!” He bounces in his chair and I laugh. “I finally saw The Fellowship Of The Ring this weekend!”

“Ah!” I exclaim.

I’ve been waiting for him to see it, but my face suddenly plummets as I think about the last time he was at the movies, on a date.

“What?” He asks upon my unexpected mood change. “I thought you were dying to talk about it?”

“I am,” I shake my head, watching as the light switch goes off, ashamed that he knows what I’m thinking. Surely by now he’s remembering our conversation from a couple of weeks ago, how he pointed out we could never go out in public. He’s right, of course. We can do something as simple as see a movie together.


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