22. Loaded Cotton
twenty-two
Loaded Cotton
Onyx: 2024
A fter countless jump scares waking me from tiny catnaps, I gave up and hauled my ass to the shower. As I dry off, I study the dark rings circling my eyes.
Realizing I have time to kill since it’s barely 5 a.m., I decided to put some effort into my appearance today. Actually, taking the time to curl my hair once I’ve blow-dried it and pushing myself to follow through with my full makeup routine, both things I haven’t done for school in years.
Mornings are for happy assholes. Not bitchy night owls.
The early morning sun glistens on the dirty water as I cross the bridge, headed to get my caffeine fix. The thought of sleep, a distant reminder of a luxury I’ve not had in years. That’s gotten worse recently since waking up in the hospital.
By the time I turned thirteen, the panic attacks hit with a vengeance. Most days, I remember being a walking wreck, hiding behind an award-winning smile.
Needless to say, I’ve discovered the darkness doesn’t care what I do.
Surviving turned into catnaps and stolen moments to rest my eyes, which made functioning a constant chore that Mom loved to call me out on. “A teenager shouldn’t have dark circles under their eyes.” Constantly reminding me I’d be easier to be around if I was nicer.
Whatever, it’s hard to be nice when someone’s picking you apart.
Over time, I started focusing my energy on other things. I learned how to mask the exhaustion, started working on growing my popularity as a sun-shiny bitch, and ended up breaking every rule shoved at me.
Speaking of rules… I wonder how mad Vexen will be when he figures out I’m not home, waiting on my doorstep like the perfect puppet he tried to order me to be.
What does the idiot expect? He’s worked me into a frenzy twice and left way before any hint of an ending in sight. So, no, I’m not waiting around for him to give me a ride to school.
Fuck, is he going to want to court me next?
The annoying cluster of tiny bells tinkle, alerting the place to my arrival. The rich scent of butterscotch starts to calm my nerves as I step in line, more than ready to get my morning wake up. I barely notice the man standing beside a woman in front of me until he turns, and I feel him watching me. When I look up, his eyes dart up to meet mine.
I glance down, wondering what he was looking at, but only find empty space between us. Confused, I raise my head and am met by the woman’s narrowed eyes as she tugs the man, forcing him to turn around. She raises an eyebrow, shaking her head, before turning away full of disgust.
Lowering my head, about to chalk up her rudeness to… my thighs. The bitch is jealous because he was checking out my legs. How is me wearing a skirt any of their business? Sure, it’s a little short. But I’ve got a point to prove to a controlling narcissist.
I watch as the man starts to twist around again, but the woman catches him, smacking his shoulder before dragging him to the counter beside her. The whole scene has me stifling a laugh as they order.
Until recently, I’ve never been a morning person. Mom loved to lecture me about the importance of being on time. Sometimes, she’d rant until I literally wanted to rip my skin off. “Tardiness shows weakness, Onyx” was her motto. Where mine was more, “It’s not that serious, Opal.” In case it isn’t blatantly obvious, we clashed often.
“Someone’s gonna lose their eyeballs when they see you,” Amy gasps approvingly, wiggling her brows and flashing me a crooked smile.
Her vote of confidence is appreciated and unwanted at the same time. I’m not advertising for free attention. There’s only one person I want to notice me because revenge comes in all shapes and sizes. Or levels of nudity.
Whatever, it’s just some skin. Stop staring at me!
If my brain wasn’t so clouded from fatigue, I wouldn’t have miscalculated the attention my outfit choice would draw from not only the narcissist but randos. Worst-case scenario, I can handle a little judgment. It’s not like it’ll be the first time or the last.
Amy’s finger finds its way to one of her ponytails, twisting it as she says, “Rough night? Wanna talk about it?” Leaning over to rest her cheek on her free hand.
Awww, I forgot my brush. Guess we won’t be braiding each other's hair and sharing our deepest secrets. The Fuck?!
“Large black river, two pumps butterscotch, milk, and three shots espresso. That’s what I wanna talk about,” I answer shortly, locating donor Pop’s card.
She straightens slowly, eyes a little wide with shock. “Right,” she mumbles, leaving me in peace.
My phone vibrates in my hand, but she returns, plastering on her best version of a Joker smile. “It’s on the house, dark queen —”
“What did you just call me?” I hiss accusingly, blinking at her smiling face.
Her brows shoot up her forehead, eyes flaring wide as her smile melts from her pouty lips. Sliding the to-go cup across the counter. “I said, it’s dark bean. Drive safe, sweetie,” she tells me dismissively, already staring over my head at the person walking up behind me.
Darkness wraps around my insides, twisting my gut into sickening knots. Anxiety uses my spine as a ladder, leaving my steps unnoticed as I blink at the side of the Jeep, wondering how I got here.
Needing the cool air, I turn, leaning my back on the door, and breathe in until my lungs are full and ready to explode. Slowly, I count to seven before exhaling, starting the process over again.
I’ve gotta get some sleep soon, shit’s getting crazy.
My phone vibrates in my hand, reminding me of the earlier notification I ignored. Climbing into the driver's seat, carefully placing the steaming cup into the holder before swiping the screen to life.
I’m surprised to see two texts that aren’t from Nolan. I figured it was him telling me what he had found out about the privacy.
Your King: Don’t be late
Your King: I’m gonna enjoy making you pay
When the hell did he put his stupid contact in my phone?
Anger covers me like a warm blanket, melting away the last bits of anxiety into forgotten puddles. My nails smack at the screen, the tapping filling the silent cab.
Me: Poor and Lonely - How pathetic.
Immediately, I lock the phone and toss it into the passenger seat as I pull out of the small gravel lot.
I take my time gathering my things, strolling into the polished maze without a care in the world.
Fuck him and his worthless threats.
Although, I hope to get lost in the crowd and slip by the psycho unnoticed. I’d at least like to finish my coffee before dealing with his brand of crazy.
Bodies fill the senior hallway, gifting me the perfect cover as I make my way down the center. I’m enjoying my stroll until, out of nowhere, the bodies in front of me split, dodging an obstacle like a rock in a stream.
Vex stands dead center, watching me saunter towards him. Zoey’s twin and douchy boyfriend perched behind him like warriors ready to storm into battle.
My eye starts to twitch as I narrow my gaze. “Move,” I huff, trying to step around the three of them.
He slides to the left, shaking his head. Silver blazing down at me. “What did I tell you last night?” he growls, staring at the strip of belly my crop top’s showcasing.
Annoyed that he’s treating me like a child, but proud of his reaction to the outfit I selected. It’s got me teetering between happiness and anger.
Taking a sip of my coffee, pretending to think. “Say it again. Maybe I’ll remember this time,” I finally answer, innocently batting my lashes at him.
His jaw muscles flex, turning his stare hotter than the sun, while he drops a bag at my feet. “Change. Now,” he orders hatefully, and I swear my eye twitch jumps to an astronomical rate.
“I’m not a sad puppy whimpering for your attention,” I throw out lazily, sipping my coffee, noticing the stream of bodies turning stagnate, clogging the hall.
“You’ve got thirty seconds before I do it for you,” he grits, daring me to disobey.
Our eyes collide, brows raised. “You wouldn’t.”
He straightens, smiling evilly. “Zeke,” he says, and the asshole moves like a panther, stalking behind me to box me in.
Vex reaches for the hem of my skirt. “Stop!” I order through gritted teeth, catching the obnoxious blonde bitch cackling behind him with her clown Mal. He pauses, watching me bend at the knees and scoop the bag from the floor.
“Here,” he says casually, snatching the to-go cup from my hand.
Brows shooting to my hair, eyes close to watering from the burn. “Excuse me?” I hiss, completely baffled.
He’s seriously more deranged than I thought.
Peering at me over the lid, sipping my coffee. “I didn’t stutter. Two seconds,” he warns seriously.
Apparently, he woke up embracing his inner Satan today. But here’s the issue, my dumbass picked the tiniest thong I own for my little revenge session. If he lays a hand on me, my ass is going to be plastered all over socials in seconds.
Peering into the bag…
The demented fuck busted a load on his sweats and expects me to frolic around in them like they’re cat nip.
Slicing his jugular with my eyes as I kick off my Mary Janes, snatching the sperm-saturated cotton from the bag before gracefully shoving my feet in them. Then proceed to strategically shimmy them up without giving a show for the nosy assholes pointing their cameras at me.
“Happy?” I groan, arms wide. He nods at the bag, and I notice the hoodie. I growl, bending over to get it, and quickly pull it over my head.
Anxiety fills me like an IV drip, slow and steady, crackling over my skin as I notice the few phones pointed at me.
He leans close to my ear. “Now everyone will see who you belong to. Dress like a whore, and I’ll treat you like one.” He hands me back the cup and grabs the empty bag from the floor. “See you at lunch.” He winks, walking backward, grinning like a demon. “Check.”
My knees grow weak, nerves fizzling in my gut. The crowd disperses, ignoring my inability to move. With concentration, I’m able to get myself to the row of lockers. Leaning my shoulder on the hard metal, using it to hold me up as I creep down the empty hall to the bathroom.