Ruin My Life (Mangled Masterpieces #1)

56. Win

56

Win

S ilverware screeches across ceramic. Chills zip down my spine. I shudder, twirling my fork through a mound of fluffy eggs going cold on my plate.

Horrific nightmares plagued me until sunrise. By the time 7 a.m. rolled around, Remy insisted on getting up. I managed to keep him in bed for an extra hour by sucking his dick, which quickly escalated into sixty-nine. We were getting dressed when Richard knocked on the door, announcing breakfast was ready at the main house.

It raised a host of red flags.

Richard came to get me instead of Mom.

We rarely eat together.

They should be at work.

But then Remy explained that he wasn’t the only one who saw the video. So not only has my boyfriend witnessed it, but my stepdad has too. And a bunch of investigators.

Fuck, I wanna get high.

Or drunk. Drunk would be fantastic.

Under the table, Remy squeezes my thigh.

“You gonna eat anything, love?”

Richard clears his throat and dabs his lips with a napkin.

“My appetite’s kinda shot,” I say, glaring directly at my stepdad.

Remy sighs, “I know,” and covers my hand on the table. “Can you try… for me?”

Taking a deep breath, I stab a chunk of egg. Out of the corner of my eye, Richard shifts in his seat, glancing at Mom, who is a porcelain statue. As if this wasn’t painful enough.

I drop my fork with an earth-shattering clatter. “Is this how it’s gonna be now?”

Deafening silence.

“Baby,” Remy warns.

“No, I’m serious,” I scoff, gesturing between my parents. “If you’re so uncomfortable, why bother with this fucking charade?”

Mom doesn’t even acknowledge me.

Richard’s famous scowl returns. “It’s not a charade, Winston—”

“Yeah, ok,” I scoff and lean back in my chair. “If you want me to believe it, maybe don’t be so fucking weird every time my boyfriend shows me affection.”

His nostrils flare, the corner of his eye twitching. “I have no issue with your relationship.”

He’s so full of shit.

“It’s no big deal as long as it’s not in your face, right?”

The parenthesis around his mouth deepen with a frustrated frown. “That’s outlandish. I didn’t even know you two were—”

My disgusted laugh cuts him off. “Of course you didn’t. That would require caring. ”

The table shakes as his elbow drops, knife pointed at me. “That’s not fair. We’ve discussed this already. I wouldn’t provide for you if I didn’t care.”

The hand holding mine grips so hard my knuckles grind.

“Put. The knife. Down,” Remy threatens, his tone lethal.

My stepdad’s lips part. He glances at Mom. She’s shaking, fixated on a glass of water vibrating in front of her, tears welling on her lower lashes. Carefully, Richard sets the silverware on either side of his plate.

A beat passes.

Mom sniffles.

Remy sits back, icy glare unwavering as he brings our joined hands to rest on his thigh. “Intimidate him again and we’re going to have a fucking problem.”

It’s a really, really inappropriate time to get hard.

But come on .

I’m pretty sure I have heart eyes.

The tense stare-down between Remy and Richard drags on for an eternity. While my boyfriend appears calm, collected and firm, I can feel the fiercely protective energy steaming off him.

He’s fucking livid .

Richard breaks first. Shoulders slumping, he wipes a hand down his face, massaging the bridge of his nose. I almost do a double-take. I’ve never seen my stepdad back down to anyone. Ever.

But when his hand falls away, bloodshot, shimmering eyes land on me. “You could’ve come to us. Said something. Anything .” He swallows, jaw trembling. “Why didn’t you?”

I’m numb as the truth effortlessly glides out.

“You never asked.”

Not once. They were too busy with work, too distracted with events or grades or violin to notice the warning signs. Sometimes, I wonder if I would’ve cracked had they asked the right questions. Maybe not. But I wasn’t given the chance. Judging by the horrified expressions on both Mom and Richard’s faces, they’re finally realizing it.

Pushing my chair back, I stand and tug my boyfriend’s hand. “Come on, you’re gonna be late to class.”

“Winnie,” Mom croaks.

Nope.

Can’t be here.

Can’t do this right now.

Remy takes one look at my face and immediately pulls his keys out of his pocket. Without saying goodbye, he laces our fingers and leads me through the foyer. Soft cries shoot at my back like bullets, puncturing layers of skin and muscle and bone. The barrage only stops once Remy closes the front door and guides me into the passenger seat of his truck.

I’m shaking. I can’t stop.

“I’ve got you, baby. Deep breath and hold it.”

I do as he says until my lungs nearly burst. As I exhale, he leans in and kisses my forehead, lips lingering. He’s still holding my hand, my knuckles white with how hard I’m gripping him back.

The pressure in my chest starts to lessen.

His thumb swipes under my eye.

Fuck. I’m crying.

“Y-you’re gonna be late—”

“I don’t give a fuck about class right now,” he murmurs, cupping my jaw and lifting. I have no choice but to look at him. Green and gold shine with warmth, empathy and love.

More tears.

“We’re going to campus and we’re getting you some coffee and those bacon egg bite things you love. Then you’re going to put your headphones on and watch some violin videos until I’m done with the lecture. Ok?”

My lip quivers.

“I love you.”

His smile hits me right in the heart. Then I’m tasting it as he kisses me slowly at first. When I open my mouth, his tongue sweeps in and any remaining tension dissolves. I’m about to beg him to skip class altogether and take me back to bed when he breaks our kiss, buckles me in, and shuts the door, jogging to the driver's side.

The engine rumbles to life as he speeds in the direction of FMU, one hand resting on the wheel, the other palming my thigh. I sink into the bucket seat, drumming my fingers over his to the beat of the song drifting from the speakers. We do exactly as he promised after parking and head straight for the campus coffee shop. (The same one he came to with Mr. Toothtastic, who thank fuck is nowhere in sight.)

My appetite returns the second Remy hands me a paper bag of egg bites. I stuff one in my mouth, moaning, “So fucking good.”

Remy wrinkles his nose. “I’ll never understand why you like those things.”

I shrug. “Grease.”

He snorts. “That checks.”

Crumbling the empty bag, I chuck it into a waste bin and take Remy’s free hand. Since he missed his first class, we take our time walking to his second one. The comfortable normalcy of sipping overpriced coffee and strolling through campus smothers the incessant radio static of anxiety blaring through my brain. It’s never fully gone, but I happily embrace the quiet.

It lasts until we approach the lecture hall.

“It’s only an hour,” Remy promises.

An hour .

Suddenly, I notice how exposed I am. White noise cranks the volume to full blast. My skin is too tight and my clothes itch. You’re overreacting. A tug and I stumble into his chest. Strong arms surround me. The effect is immediate. Peace washes over me, warm and thick like honey.

Lips press to my temple. “You gonna be alright?”

Closing my eyes, I memorize and examine this feeling. A complex web of sensations and emotions that amount to something so simple. So vital to my survival.

“I think so.”

A squeeze.

A kiss.

A whisper. “Text me.”

Then he’s tapping a keycard and disappearing inside.

I’m thrown into the deep end of a pool, drifting and sinking, screaming without sound. Lost, I glance around. On this side of campus, older trees decorated in swaths of Spanish moss cast shadows on red brick facades— a stark contrast to the majority of newly renovated buildings and bleached concrete walkways. After a few minutes of awkwardly standing in the center of the courtyard, I spot a bench with a direct line of sight to the door Remy entered. Settling on the slatted, weather-worn wood, I pop in my headphones and tap on the playlist Remy created. (We’re continuously adding songs that remind us of each other now.) As I doom scroll through social media, my eyes flick to the door every five seconds.

Forty minutes drag on for an eternity. A few scattered raindrops smack my head. My arm. My back. Groaning, I stand and stretch. I need to find an awning or something to hide under before it starts pouring.

Thunder booms.

The hairs on the back of my neck raise.

The trance-like state I’ve slipped into while waiting instantly vanishes. Every sense switches to survival mode. Careful not to alert whoever might be watching me, I remove my headphones and tuck them into my pocket while opening my text thread with Remy.

“You’re a hard guy to get alone.”

My pulse pounds. Stomach acid rockets up my throat as I slowly turn, coming face-to-face with Jessica’s cold, dead eyes.

“No need to call your guard dog. I just want to talk.”

This vile woman defiled me. Abused me. Assaulted me. And she wants to…

“Talk?” I snarl. “The only thing I have to say to you is: Fuck. Off.”

She holds her hands up in a terrible imitation of surrender. “Down boy. Let’s have a civilized conversation like mature adults.”

She can’t be serious.

“No.”

Crossing her arms, she releases and exasperated sigh. “Look, we can help each other out here.”

This bitch is outside of her goddamned mind.

Towering over her, I growl, “Why the fuck would I help you?”

A demonic smirk curls her lips. “Because you don’t want that video out in the world either. Grant and Marcus are fucked regardless. But us? We can avoid all of the publicity and court bullshit if you just tell them you wanted it.”

My. Blood. Is. Boiling.

“Wanted it?” I seethe. Each breath comes in faster. There’s lava in my chest and it’s on the verge of bursting out. “Is that what you tell yourself to live with the shit you did? Have you convinced yourself that it was consensual? That the worst day of my life was no big deal? Are you that fucking demented?” I huff a sardonic laugh. “Who am I kidding? Of course you are. You’re a fucking predator and you’re finally getting what you deserve.”

Her mask disintegrates under the increased drizzle to reveal the hideous evil beneath. She hisses, “I’ll destroy you.”

I’m hanging on a precarious ledge above a tempting void of darkness and violence. I shake my head.

“You already tried. I’m still here.”

Done with her threats, I step back—

A hand wraps around my wrist, nails like talons digging into my skin. Instinct takes over. With strength I didn’t possess back then, I wrench out of her hold, gearing up to swing—

Someone cuts between us, halting my fist.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Remy snarls. His stance widens, broad shoulders rolled back, a thick vein pulsing in the side of his strained neck. His presence instantly dials down the riot within.

Jessica scoffs, “I didn’t do anything!”

Remy advances. “Bullshit. I know exactly what you did and I don’t give a fuck if you’re a woman, if I ever see you near my boyfriend again, I’ll disfigure your face so the outside matches the inside.”

Her overfilled lips part, eyes wide.

Remy reaches behind, his knuckles bumping mine. My trembling fingers hook his and hold on for dear life. Lightning cracks. My boyfriend glares down at Jessica, her pristine blowout wilted and frizzy, nose wrinkled and frozen brows trying desperately to lower in a furious scowl.

Her vitriol aims at me over Remy’s shoulder; a silent promise to keep her word before marching in the opposite direction.

Remy deflates, spinning around and cradling my face. Then he’s kissing me hard. Icy rain pelts every inch of exposed skin and rapidly soaks our clothes.

“We have to go back,” he whispers against my lips.

Back home.

I close my eyes, absorbing the strength he gives me.

Time to face the music.