Sweet revenge_(1)

They say that little boys pick on the girls they like. If a boy steals your favourite dolly, he’s really trying
to steal your heart.
Ash Carlyle wasn’t the kind of boy to steal your doll. He was the kind of boy that would take the doll,
burn it and hand back the smoking remains. I find it easier not to speculate on how that corresponds
to his heart-related intentions.
He and I first met in school at the tender age of five. Even then he looked like trouble, all tousled dark
hair and wild grey eyes. It took him one week and several unsavory incidents (including, but not
limited to, the legendary theft of the class hamster) to gain a reputation as the school firebrand.
Looking back on it now, I’m surprised it took that long.
I was a shy and fumbling little thing back then, lacking even so much as an ounce of the self assurance
that Ash possessed. I had just one friend – Lucy Carlyle, Ash’s twin sister. She, unlike her
brother, was a quiet and self-contained soul, and she shared my discomfort in social situations. We
clicked immediately, our mutual awkwardness somehow resulting in a lifelong friendship. I met Ash
through Lucy. Little upstart though he was, he always took the time to check up on his sister. On the
third day of mine and Lucy’s friendship, Ash plonked himself unceremoniously down at our table
during lunch break and helped himself to a bite of my sandwich.
I stunned myself by outright telling him off. “That’s rude!” I hissed.
He flashed a careless grin. “Sorry, Carrot Top.” He tugged on a strand of my (admittedly, at the time)
hideous orange hair and snickered.
And that was how it began. After that Ash would visit our lunch table every day, always armed with a
cheeky smirk and a new taunt for me. What had begun with ginger jokes evolved into jabs at my
shyness, my freckles, my clumsiness. Lucy soon grew weary of his behavior and began demanding
that he stop, but this only increased his zeal and before long he was sitting with me in class too, just
to throw wadded up bits of paper at me or knock my pens off my desk. At first I endured his behaviour
with scandalised awe and flares of temper, though my terminal shyness would continually interfere
with that. I’d end up red-cheeked and stammering like a moron and he’d chalk up another victory for
himself. After a while, I simply gave up on responding. It took me several years to achieve complete
aloofness, not an easy feat while simmering with hatred, but that more than anything seemed to drive
him mad.
As time went by, Ash’s teasing remained an unfortunate constant in my life. Lucy and I spent our
educational years wearily awaiting his next onslaught – there were times when Lucy would find me
close to tears after one of his taunts. Every single time, she’d give me the apology that I’d never get
from her twin and then she’d sit quietly at my side until I was ready to face the world again. Some
days she’d say that she felt more like my sister than Ash’s.
As much as I’d like to say I outgrew my hatred of Ash, I never did. I did, however, eventually outgrow
my habitual stammer, shedding my nervous shell as my confidence increased. Puberty was kind to
me; after the expected lashings of pimples and hormones, my gangly body grew into something
resembling a feminine form, all curves and breasts and long legs. My hair left its ginger roots behind
and deepened into a much-welcomed shade of red. By the time I left school, I’d had several
boyfriends – much to Ash’s well-vocalised befuddlement.
By age twenty, I was living in a flat with Lucy and attending University. I studied Literature while Lucy
followed her passion for Psychology. Ash lived nearby with several of his friends and consequently I
still was not free of him. He made a habit of dropping by uninvited every now and then, ostensibly to
visit his beloved sister, though he spent most of that time finding new ways to irritate me. One
particular summer day, he invited himself into the house as I was attempting to write an essay. I was
curled on the sofa, my laptop perched on the coffee table in front of me, when I heard the familiar
sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs.
I didn’t glance up from the screen of my laptop as he sauntered through the door, bringing with him a
welcome waft of fresh air. Even with a popsicle stuck in my mouth and every window in the flat open I
was overheating. Consequently I was dressed only in shorts and a tank top.
“Lucy home?” Ash’s voice interrupted my essay musings.
I removed the popsicle from my mouth. In a bored drawl I asked, “What day is it, Ash?”
“Tuesday,” he answered promptly. “Has your brain fried in the heat, Carrots?”
I gritted my teeth but very maturely did not rise to the bait. “And how many times have you been told
now that Lucy has classes all day Tuesday?”
A brief pause. “You might have mentioned it. Can’t honestly say I pay much attention to you.”
Finally, I glanced up. As always, the sight of Ash provoked an instinctive response from me. One
look at his stormy grey eyes and I wanted to hit something; one look at his artfully messed-up dark
hair and I wanted to tear my own out. The same old mischief lingered in his expression, from the
slight arching of one dark brow to the hint of a smile playing around his mouth. Even I had to
grudgingly admit that he was handsome in a bad boy-ish kind of way, with his tattooed arms and his
nose ring. He’d hinted once that his body modifications continued beneath his clothes, but I tended to
actively block that thought. The fact of the matter remained that he was a smart-mouthed nuisance.
I dragged my gaze off him and made a show of typing away on the laptop. “Well, you know now.
Lucy’s not here; I recommend that you follow her example,” I said curtly.
As usual, Ash ignored my obvious lack of patience with him and dropped onto the sofa next to me.
He wore jeans and a tee with some band logo on it, and he was obviously too warm. He blew out a
breath and fanned himself with one hand. “If I didn’t know you better, Olivia, I’d think you were trying
to get rid of me,” he grinned. The use of my actual name was a once-in-a-blue-moon phenomenon. I
stifled the urge to comment on it.
“I’m working; go away.” Of course, it was entirely impossible to concentrate now with him just inches
away from me. A breeze, invited in by the open windows, coaxed the delicious scent of him toward
me. I could feel his body heat from where I sat. I stuck the popsicle back in my mouth, in drastic need
of a cool-down.
Ash made no reply. When I flicked a glance his way, I found that his gaze was riveted to my mouth.
He licked his lower lip. Puzzled, I removed my icy treat from between my lips. His eyes flared,
following the movement with hazy intensity, as if he were only half-aware of what he was doing.
“Want one?” I ventured.
He blinked, swallowed hard. His gaze found mine. “I – what?”
I waved the popsicle in his face. “There’s plenty in the freezer. You look a bit flushed.”
“Oh.” His dreamy expression shut down. He seemed to struggle for words for a moment before
recovering. “I see what’s going on now – luring me in with phallic-shaped ice products, all the while
hoping to seduce me. I’m sorry, Foxy Locks, but I’m just not interested in you.” He flashed a smug
grin, evidently pleased with the new nickname.
I rolled my eyes and shut the laptop, giving up on my misguided idea of getting him to leave. He’d
hang around until he got bored or until Lucy came home and ousted him. “Am I that transparent?” I
asked, dripping with sarcasm. “Please, take me now.”
“Don’t you wish.” He paused, a contemplative look crossing his handsome features. “Bet I’d be better
than that last boyfriend of yours – Mick, was it? He looked like a one-thrust wonder. That is, of course,
assuming he could get it up.”
I bristled. Ash had absolutely no conversational boundaries. He especially loved to provide unwanted
commentary on my past boyfriends. “It’s Mark,” I corrected automatically.
Ash made a dismissive gesture. “Is that why you broke up? He was shit in bed?” he pressed. His
eyes glinted.
“Ash,” I said warningly.
“What? I’m just curious. Your relationship escapades are a source of great entertainment for me.
Now tell me how shit he was in bed.”
I pressed my eyes shut. Maybe when I opened them he’d be gone. Nope, still there. “Your face is a
source of great entertainment for me,” I shot back with venom.
He was undeterred. Leaning in close, he invaded my personal space. I inhaled the smoke-andpeppermint
smell of him and edged away.