Don’t Look Back (ACOTAR AU) - Part 14
It was 6:30 am, according the clock on the bedside table and Feyre’s mouth felt like the Sahara desert. Rhys was lying on his side next to her, his shirt completely unbuttoned and his jeans unzipped. Feyre tried not to think about how she was completely topless and bloody freezing. For now, her main priority was to relieve the desperate urge to pee.
She threw her clothes back on and went on her mission of finding a toilet before trying to find the hideous turtle neck that she found dry on the bath, smelling disgustingly of Tequila. She put it on anyway, fighting her heavy limbs and overwhelming nausea to return to the bedroom -passing the door that Rhys had pinned her against last night - which thankfully seemed to be the guest bedroom. She didn’t think Helion would let them live it down if he found out that they had…done things in his parents’ room.
Rhys was still fast off - my kids sleep like the dead, Ines had put it. Attempting to see whether Rhys was cold she put her hand to his chest and found that he was most definitely unnaturally warm. She tried to convince herself that checking his temperature was the reason for trailing her fingers softly down his chest and not because she simply wanted to touch him.
Rhys’ eyes started to flicker and she withdrew her hand quickly, but had to sit down because her stomach suddenly lurched in protest.
“My god, is this what dying feels like?” Rhys groaned, rolling over on his back and wincing at the movement.
It suddenly hit her in that moment, of the aftermath that was likely to ensue. She couldn’t believe she had given Rhysand Spera a drunken blowjob. She had kissed him in front of everyone. Everyone at the party would know why they went upstairs and didn’t come back down. The mortification overwhelmed her so quickly that she wanted to bury a hole that was 10 feet deep and just lie in it.
Rhys seemed to notice her embarrassment immediately as he sat up, zipping up his jeans awkwardly.
“Oh god gross, Velma and Fred got it on, this is some Scooby scandal.”
The pair whipped their heads to the door where Cassian was standing in the doorway looking rather drunk still. He wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, he had taken off his wig (replaced by Lucien’s pirate hat) and he was holding a broomstick. In the other hand he held a McDonalds bag.
Cassian then threw a box of chicken nuggets at them, “Here have some nuggs.”
Cassian’s feet then started moving towards the bed and he collapsed on it, face first, and Feyre winced as she heard the snapping of a broomstick. Their friend lifted his head up and realised he had also squished the brown paper bag.
“Fuck, not my nuggs.” He then proceeded to sit cross legged in front of them, delving in to his McDonalds bag and retrieving his squished chicken nuggets. Rhys caught her eye with a what the fuck look but she quickly looked away and she was suddenly grateful that Cassian had just barged in here in all his drunken glory. It meant that she didn’t have to face the flaming mortification that was running through her veins every time she looked at Rhys.
She had her mouth on his co-
“Are you alright Cass?” asked Rhys carefully. Cassian shook his head, his eyes were beginning to well up.
“I fucked up, man. I really fucked up.” He started sadly chewing on his misshapen food. She thought she might as well get settled if Cassian was going to pour secrets, so she brought her legs on the bed, crossing them like Cassian and eating her own chicken nuggets that he had thrown at them only a few seconds ago.
“I doubt you’ve done anything of the sort, brother,” said Rhys.
Cassian shook his head, “Nah, you don’t understand.” He then looked between Rhys and Feyre, his eyes wide. “Please tell me you wore a condom.”
Feyre felt like she must have resembled a strawberry and Rhys coughed awkwardly.
“…We were safe, Cass,” Rhys eventually said and Feyre was grateful that he didn’t say something like ‘nah man, didn’t go all the way, was just the stuff in between’.
“Thank god,” more tears dropped from Cassian’s eyes, “I love you guys, so much.”
Azriel was right, Cassian was the emotional drunk. Rhys looked to her to say, we need to get him home.
It was now a growing struggle to even make eye contact with Rhys and she hated herself for it. She wanted to go home, crawl into bed and dwell on her drunken decisions in misery by herself.
She couldn’t bear the thought of going to school Monday, the news of Feyre Archeron seen going up the stairs with Rhysand Spera at the Halloween party that would probably make headline news considering that Rhys was Head Boy and was constantly in the lime light.
So, when Rhys told her that his mother would pick them up, Feyre declined his offer and called Nesta.
Nesta arrived in her dressing gown, a miserable scowl on her face.
“Do you know what time it is? It’s a damn Sunday,” she growled out as Feyre nearly fell into the passenger seat, standing up was an extreme effort when fighting dizziness, nausea, tiredness and regret.
“Sorry,” Feyre managed to mumble out, it was still quite dark out, dawn not having even broken yet, marking the start of November.
Eventually after a few minutes of listening to the positively energy inducing Sunday morning radio, Nesta said, “You got with a boy didn’t you?”
“What? How could you possibly tell?” Feyre spluttered.
“Because I know you more than you think. And you have a suspicious bruise on your neck.”
Feyre pulled at her turtle neck to find that Nesta was right. Damn it, Rhys.
“Rhys?” asked Nesta, and Feyre realised she actually verbalised her condemnation of Rhysand. “The kid who is head over heels in love with you?”
Feyre was far too hungover to even process the verity of that statement. “He’s not in love with me,” she mumbled, throwing her head back against the headrest, the motion of the car making the nausea grow worse with every turn.
Her older sister snorted, “Yeah and the sky isn’t blue.”
“It’s grey actually,” observed Feyre as she purposely opened her eyes to watch the oncoming storm.
Nesta turned a corner rather harshly making Feyre’s stomach lurch in protest.
“So, what did you do with him? Was it just an innocent make out, or did you go full out?” asked Nesta, a slight smile on her face. It was unfamiliar.
Her older sister had never asked about boys before. “Since when did you care about what I do with guys?” asked Feyre rather incredulously.
She shrugged, “It’s what sisters do, isn’t it? Talk about stupid things like boys.”
A drop of rain landed on the windscreen, and Feyre thanked the lord that it gave her the perfect excuse to stay in bed all day.
It felt strange to want to disclose things to her elder sister. The biggest secret that Feyre had told her sister was that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t actually real and Nesta had laughed herself hoarse at her 9 year old sister. Nesta had been a 13 year old witch then. But now, she wasn’t so bad.
“Not sex but…we did certain things.” Feyre thought she must have still been a little drunk.
Their house came into view, and Nesta pulled up with a sly smile. “Things, hm?” Her older sister made specific gestures in question and Feyre burst out laughing, indicating the ones that she most definitely did do last night with Rhys at the same time as covering her face that had no doubt grown exceptionally red.
Nesta brushed it off with wink before they both climbed out the car together.
It eased the embarrassment at least a little bit.
The halls buzzed with the usual petty gossip that bounced along the walls and floors to stretch throughout the entire school.
Every corner Rhysand turned he was faced with knowing looks from Seniors and he had to turn down a high five from a rugby player who told him, Feyre Archeron. Nice.
Well, it seemed everyone at the whole fucking party had seen him and Feyre escape upstairs.
Rhysand continued to do what he did best – pretending that everything was normal. Azriel walked beside him shooting menacing glares to anyone who gave him sly thumbs up. The football team including Tamlin were gathered at one corner, and it was almost eerie how they all ceased their conversations just to stand and watch them walk past with twisted grins on their faces. Only Tamlin’s mouth was set into a thin line.
If Cassian were here, he would probably propose a fist fight right there on the vinyl floors of the school halls but Cassian was at home, ill – hungover still, most probably, since he drank his body weight in alcohol. Ines wasn’t a pleased mother on Sunday and had expressed her anger by giving them plain pasta for dinner – completely plain, no sauce and not even salt.
He hadn’t spoken to Feyre since she told him she was getting Nesta to pick her up from Helion’s, and it kind of hurt him to see her avoid his gaze at every possible moment. It was quite obvious she was embarrassed. It wounded him even more so if she regretted it.
Because although Rhys regretted being drunk, he did not regret the things they did. A lot of it was hazy, but it was still imprinted on his mind and he had to get himself off last night just thinking about it. He hated himself for it, that now he had actually gained a physical memory to return to when he was sexually frustrated. He had been trying to get Feyre to text him back all day but to no avail.
The moment he saw her waiting in maths he let a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t that embarrassed to even arrive at school. He wondered whether she had experienced the same morning as he had.
She was doodling aggressively on her pink tinted paper and her face was flushed – probably from the hushed whispers from the bastards in the class who were obviously talking about them.
He noted that she was wearing her Wonder Woman t-shirt.
Taking his seat, he cleared his throat, attempting to catch Feyre’s undivided attention on her aggressive doodling.
Someone whistled and Rhys observed Feyre turn in on herself even more.
Fuck this, he was Head Boy. He had the authority to shut these idiots up.
“Anyone who believes insolent gossip must have inherited such feeble mindedness. Do something with your boring lives and get a bloody hobby,” Rhys announced, his voice laced with an undertone of threat. He watched as people turned back around in their seats, obviously ashamed at being called out by him. He noticed one of the football players however remained turned towards them, and they sent Rhys a malicious grin before turning back to the front to await their teacher.
He felt Feyre exhale shakily beside him.
“Feyre,” he said lowly. She remained staring at her pad, her doodle were in fact just harsh scribbles, like she was colouring her pink paper in black. “Please talk to me.”
Her voice was completely flat as she said, “Did you know I’ve been called a slut three times and a whore twice? And it’s only first period.”
Rhys’ blood boiled at the inequality of it all. Where Rhys was met with high fives, Feyre was ridiculed.
“Tell me who they are and I will report them to the board,” he assured, trying to offer her some justice.
She let out a little laugh, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were empty and it pained him to see it. “It doesn’t matter. The thing is, it’s not even about what happened Saturday. Tamlin has started a rumour that I’ve slept with basically the entire football team, Lucien and now he’s claimed that I’m starting on you and that I probably will get on Cassian next. Or was it Azriel? I can’t remember,” she threw her hands up mock question. She leaned closer, “The thing is, you’re the third guy I’ve ever been with. Who I’ve ever even kissed.”
Tamlin must be truly hung over Feyre to start spreading such foul rumours. Rhys resisted every urge in his body to walk out of that door and wring his neck between his hands. Alas, Rhys must always resort to non-violent ways to ruin someones life. Thanks mum.
Feyre put her head in her hands. “I’m so stupid. This is my entire fault.”
A pang of guilt rang through him sharply.
“Feyre, no. None of this is your fault-“
“Rhysand,” said Mr Johnson sharply. And Rhys was obliged to shut his mouth as he watched Feyre return to her colouring. The left side of her hand was being coated with lead but she continued to draw, sometimes making quick sketches of what seemed to be members of the football team to then be stabbed with doodle knives.
He was desperate to talk to her. Tell her that he was glad they did what they did. But then he realised how selfish that sounded because surely drunken handjobs and blowjobs meant nothing to Feyre, especially when they have costed her this - while he was able to keep his reputation because he was a fucking male.
The pain was exceptional as Mr Johnson handed out an infernal test, first period Monday morning, eradicating any further chance to talk to Feyre when given tasks.
Today was going to be a long day.
Mor had somehow decided to persuade Feyre to eat with them in the canteen at lunch. Mor’s exact words being, if you let them get to you, they’re winning. Never let the unworthy win.
Wise words, but easier said than done when Feyre entered the canteen with the familiar looks from the typical mean girls and the typical boys who were now eyeing her up like she was going to throw herself at them next.
Today was an exceptionally bad day, each lesson, certain people would go out of their way to play upon the rumour that Tamlin had somehow spread like wildfire. Apparently, Feyre was not only fucking Rhys, Lucien and some Jake guy that she didn’t even know until today when she was going out with Tamlin, but she was also trying to get on Bron when he was still with his girlfriend.
Their thoughts meant nothing to her, but it was the attention that made her want to curl up on the floor and rock.
Feyre had made her school career out of staying in the background and now, she was in the limelight and it was hitting her at full force.
There were some looks of sympathy, but those were the looks that she couldn’t stand at all. She didn’t need fucking pity. She needed peace and some black out curtains.
The dream team minus hungover Cassian were sat eating as normal and Feyre swallowed at the sight of Rhys.
Mor and Feyre sat, pulling out their packed lunches. Nesta had actually made her a poorly constructed tuna sandwich, but she ate it all the same.
It was a quieter lunch time, the tension between Feyre and Rhys was pretty evident amongst the table, though Mor and Azriel did make conversation between them, with Amren piping up from her texting with Varian every once in a while.
At one moment, Feyre made eye contact with Rhys and the question behind his eyes were perfectly clear, please can we talk. She nodded reluctantly, and they both made a move to stand from their chairs.
It was like the entire canteen was put on mute as they walked out together, Feyre did her best to copy Rhys in how he walked, with his head up and the casual air of not giving a fuck. But it was difficult to maintain as they exited and she slumped back over in relief, returning to her natural tortoise state of withdrawing in her shell.
Her mouth was about to open but Rhys took her by the arm and pulled her away and into an empty classroom – away from prying ears.
The air between them was fraught with tension - an even greater amount since they were alone - and Rhys sat at one of the desks while Feyre decided to remain standing and pace instead. This was all her fault, and she berated herself for her drunken mistakes for what seemed to be the millionth time that day.
“I should have never kissed you,” Feyre blurted out. “I’m sorry.”
Rhys looked instantly hurt, and he didn’t make any effort to cover it. “Right, okay,” he croaked out.
Oh no, now she had just probably insulted his ego. “It’s just that, if I hadn’t kissed you, or dragged you upstairs then I wouldn’t be treated by shit by half of senior year. It was a mistake to kiss you. I was drunk and stupid.”
The words only seemed to wound him more as his face became solemn and dejected. Feyre was angry at herself for being so insensitive and angry at him for no apparent reason other than the fact that he was completely unharmed by the aftermath of what they did. It was a vicious circle of unnecessary anger that wouldn’t even be churning in her if it wasn’t for Tamlin’s rumours spreading like the damn plague.
He swallowed thickly before saying, “So, everything we did. None of it meant anything? When you kissed me it was because you were drunk and nothing else?”
Feyre was choking on her own words. It was one thing to admit that you like someone when you’re absolutely pissed and go kiss them, but it was another when you were sober. When you were staring that someone right in the face.
“I think so, yes,” she lied. She didn’t know why. Feyre hadn’t had much practise in the arts of admitting that she liked someone.
He stood up, “Well I think you’re lying.” He was looking at her with so much intensity in that moment like he was willing the words out for her. It infuriated her slightly that he thought that he knew her so well. Fuck, Feyre didn’t really understand herself that much.
“What do you want from me, Rhys? Do you want me to stand here and give you a full fucking signed admission?”
He seemed to splutter on his words, “Yes! That’s exactly what I want from you!”
“Fine,” she spat, “I admit that I’m not like you Rhys. I admit that I can’t just brush off vile rumours as easily as you can. I admit that I really enjoyed what we did Saturday but I’m struggling to even look at you because I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that everyone knows. And I’m angry that Tamlin has twisted something like this into something shitty against me. So now everyone thinks I’m a slut because apparently I’ve been fucking three guys at once. Alright?”
Feyre closed her eyes. She expected today to be awkward, as they had crossed a line that most definitely surpassed any level of platonic relationship. She hadn’t expected to come to school being depicted as the new High School whore, courtesy of her bastard ex-boyfriend and his vile yuppies.
She felt him move closer, and a tentative hand reached out to take her own hand. She opened her eyes. Feyre wanted to trace the frown on his face with her finger and draw on a smile instead.
“They won’t get away with this, Feyre,” he said firmly. “They shouldn’t be allowed to treat anyone like this. But please. Please don’t let them win, they are unworthy winners.”
“That’s exactly what Mor told me.”
“It’s one of my mums sayings,” he said with a small smile. He is so, so beautiful.
He swallowed, playing with her fingers. She watched as he traced his thumb over her knuckles.
“I’m glad we did what we did Saturday. I’ll admit that I wish we weren’t drunk, but I wanted you. I wanted you then and I-“
The door to the classroom opened, to find a group of people that Feyre most definitely did not want to see. Rhys and Feyre’s hands slipped apart.
“I don’t think Mr Weaver’s classroom is an appropriate place to fuck now is it,” said Bron with an infuriating grin. He was followed by six members of the football team, including Tamlin.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something right now?” retorted Rhys, “I don’t know, maybe mindlessly kicking a ball around for 90 minutes?”
Where Feyre had began to freeze up in the presence of so many boys who went out of their way in telling her keep your legs open Feyre, we want a go as she passed them in the hallway at break, Rhys stood with his usual mask of cocky Head Boy swarm. His hands were neatly in his pockets of his black jeans, his head was cocked in arrogance. Instead of inching behind him, however, she stood at his side and attempted to put her greatest face of indifference.
The searing gaze of Tamlin was burning into her skin. Instead of ignoring him this time, she had somehow mustered the confidence to look back. And she held his gaze with such vehemence behind her eyes that he imperceptibly flinched. That was a win.
The team filtered in through the classroom, casually brushing their hands across desks. One of them closed the door, the soft click permeated through the room.
“Are you big boys going to try and beat me up now?” asked Rhys, he looked at his watch, “We only have 10 minutes to the bell, might as well make it quick.”
The football team sniggered, whereas Tamlin stood stoic by the door, not sharing some of the sadistic smiles of the others.
“Go on, Tamlin,” said Hart, “He’s basically given you an open invitation.”
Feyre’s heart was basically in her mouth when Tamlin stepped forward towards them. So she willed her legs to move in front of Rhys, facing down her ex-boyfriend as he stood just over a metre away. She would not let Rhys become a part of this.
She decided to aim for the heart and take a good stab. “What do you think your mum would say about this?” she spat out and Tamlin’s eyes flashed in hurt. Good. “She would think how pathetic you are. I don’t understand why you think it’s acceptable to spread bullshit about me. If I had known that you would have been like this then I would have never agreed to be your girlfriend.” She huffed a laugh, “And now, you want to beat up Rhys? In an attempt to assert your ugly masculinity in front of your douchebag friends? If you’re going to throw a fist Tamlin, hit me. I’m the one who cheated on you after all, right? With Lucien, Rhys and that Hybern guy whose name I only learned today.”
She did not understand how she was able to step forward, her body inches from Tamlin’s. Perhaps it was the searing heat running through her veins that did often have the capability to give her such confidence.
“Move on, Tamlin. Call me a slut and a whore. But you of all people know that isn’t the truth. And you know how much your mother hated liars.”
She stepped back, and the usual anger that would emerge from Tamlin when she fought back wasn’t there. Indeed, Tamlin’s body was tense and his lips were set into a thin line, but it looked as if he were keeping himself in check.
“Let’s go,” Tamlin eventually said, indicating for his friends to leave.
But no one moved.
“What the fuck man, you said you wanted Spera on the floor?” growled out Hart.
“Is that with physical or sexual intent? I can never tell,” purred Rhys with an infuriating smirk. He actually winked at Hart.
Hart stepped forward past the desk he was standing behind, coming into the clearing of the classroom only a few short steps from where Feyre and Rhys stood. His fist was clenched.
“I ain’t a damn homo like you or your fucked up family,” Hart grounded out.
“You say such enlightening things,” said Rhys and Feyre touched his arm in warning but he continued. You idiot Rhys, you damn idiot. “Tell me, Hart, do you say that before or after you’re done sucking Bron’s cock for him?”
It was instant. The fist that went flying through the air was enough to make time stand still.
Feyre braced herself, her breath stuck in her throat as she attempt to push Rhys out the way but Hart’s fist was already caught within Rhys’ own.
“Everyone saw that was self-defence, right?” said Rhys as he yanked Hart’s arm so hard that he went flying past them into the teachers desk. Feyre had never seen him move like that, it was so perfectly executed like he already had practiced such moves before.
The next few seconds could only be described as shock, as each football player looked to each other in silent question.
She felt a hand pull on her arm away from Rhys as the silent whistle blew, and half of Prythian High School’s football team charged at him.
It was something like a movie scene, but not the kind of scene where a badass hero would be kicking down all of its opponents in the blink of an eye. No, this was the kind of scene from a Stephen King novel where the bullies were beating the shit out of its victim.
Rhysand wasn’t fighting back. He let Bron’s fist connect with his face and he didn’t move away when he saw another fist go into his ribs. The sound of fist meeting flesh was sickening and Feyre screamed in protest.
Two hands were holding her arms in a death grip and she kicked and swore, she needed to stop this. Tamlin’s unmistakeable voice rang through her head, “Don’t get yourself involved.”
The classroom door burst open and Feyre thanked all things that had ever existed as Mr Weaver stormed in, students gathering outside the classroom. Tamlin had let her go to help Mr Weaver break it apart, seizing arms back and pushing them away.
Rhys was sitting on the floor, propped up against the teachers desk, blood pouring from his nose like a crimson river.
Feyre was suddenly beside him, pulling his face towards her urgently to inspect the damage. His cheek bone was undoubtedly going to bruise, and his jaw was left with similar marks. Blood was pouring over his mouth and down his chin, Feyre scrambling for tissues to stop it.
Her hand was shaking as she pressed the tissues to his nose. A twisted smirk began to emerge on his face and Feyre almost punched him herself.
“You’re a stupid prick,” she snapped out. “Why didn’t you fight back?” People were being dragged out of the room behind her, the shouts of teachers rang through the hallways.
“Your freckles are adorable, especially up close,” he said, his voice ragged.
“Answer my fucking question.”
The tissues were being coated in scarlet and Feyre had nothing else to offer to stop the wretched bleeding. She resorted to tearing a bit of her Wonder Woman t-shirt, pressing the white fabric to his nose. Where in the Cauldron were the teachers?
“I told you they wouldn’t get away with what they’ve started, Feyre. They will have suspension or expulsion on the cards for them right now. Violence is not tolerated in any form in Prythian high,” he murmured with a devilish smile, voicing one of their head teachers most used phrases, although he winced from the pain of doing so.
Feyre was torn between giving him a smack around the head and kissing him, because Rhys had just gotten himself beaten up to basically ruin the lives and careers of half of the football team.
“You’re still a stupid prick, Rhysand.”
oooooooooh kay so this was rushed. i so wanted to get something out for you guys. I hope you enjoyed all the same.
OKAY im completely free of schedule tomorrow!! so writing time! and imma make sure the last few parts are of 103029302/10 quality for u all including a lot more smut and sadness and anger and all that good stuff
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