Chapter 3 #4
He stands over Liam, looming, chest heaving with each ragged breath. His jaw is locked tight, muscles straining beneath his skin. His fists are still raised, trembling with the urge to keep moving. His breathing is uneven, rough, as if every inhale is dragging nails through his lungs.
He looks unstoppable, as if he could keep pounding Liam into the tile for hours if no one dragged him off.
Harvey’s voice booms again, desperate this time. “I said that’s enough! Office. Now.”
Zane shoves Liam away with a hard push, releasing him as if he is nothing but dead weight.
Liam crashes back to the ground, shoulders slamming against the tile.
Blood runs from the corner of his mouth, staining his chin and collar.
His chest rises unevenly, but his eyes are steady, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
They burn with smugness, as if he believes he has claimed a victory in this mess.
Zane bends down, and grabs his bag off the floor.
Then he turns, and our eyes meet.
In that single second, I see all of it.
The fury burning under his skin, the weight pressing into his shoulders.
The years of rage carved into every muscle.
I see the silence he has carried, the fists he has thrown in dark corners where no one bothered to watch.
The battles he fought just to keep breathing.
I see the boy he used to be, the one who learned to fight because no one ever fought for him.
The one who has never had anyone to protect, until now.
He walks out.
The door swings shut behind him, cutting him from the room, but the storm he left behind keeps raging in my chest.
Phones are still up.
Some are pointed at Liam, still sprawled across the floor like a broken puppet.
Others are aimed at me. They’re recording my face, my reaction, my everything.
Some people are whispering, some don’t bother at all.
Their voices bleed together in waves.
“I bet she spreads her legs for him behind the gym,” someone chimes in, louder, eager to feed the crowd. “Wouldn’t take much. Bet she begged for it.”
Another voice cuts through, meaner than the rest. “Look at her. She’d open her legs for anyone who gave her a second glance. Trash never says no.”
Liam wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jersey, smearing blood across it like war paint. He looks like hell and he looks proud of it.
Cassie leans closer, her shoulder brushing mine, her voice low but edged with steel.
“He’s a fucking dick,” she mutters, eyes locked on Liam still sprawled on the floor.
One of his asshole friends finally lowers his hand and reaches down, hauling Liam up by the arm.
Liam staggers but stays on his feet, his grin twisted and wet. Blood drips from his split lip, smeared across his chin, glistening under the harsh lights.
“Guess she’s a good fuck if Rivera’s willing to throw hands over her,” he mutters, his voice thick, lips shining red as he spits the words out for everyone to hear.
I turn toward him before I can stop myself, my body betraying me. My gaze lands hard on his face, sharp enough to cut, but instead of shrinking, he feeds on it. That’s what this is for him—provocation, power, proof that he can still get a rise out of me even with blood dripping from his mouth.
“Didn’t think street rats cared who they fucked,” he adds.
His eyes glint with challenge, daring me to break my silence, daring me to let him win.
I hold his stare, locking onto it until the rest of the room fades away.
Heat pulses through me, demanding an outlet. I want to grab the edge of my chair and hurl it into his smug face. I want to scream until my throat is raw. Scream that I am not what they think.
But I don’t owe any of them the truth.
“Fuck you,” I say.
Heads turn.
Desks creak as people lean in, hungry for the spectacle.
Liam doesn’t blink. His sneer cuts across his face, blood still on his lip.
“Don’t worry, foster girl,” he spits. “If you ever get tired of the street rat fucking you, I’ll show you what a real man feels like.”
Every muscle in my body coils tight, but I keep my expression carved in stone.
I have heard shit like this before. In houses where the doors never locked, where shadows lingered in the hall. In kitchens where men stared too long over half-empty bottles.
That is why I ran from those foster homes and stopped letting anyone get close. That is why I learned how to make my glare a weapon sharp enough to cut.
I lean forward, only a fraction, enough to show I am not afraid.
“I’d rather fuck a cactus with teeth than touch you,” I say, my tone surgical. “At least it wouldn’t ask if I came when it barely lasted thirty seconds.”
Gasps ripple through the class, sharp little intakes of breath that bounce off the walls. A few people cough into their hands, trying to bury laughter they can’t quite swallow.
Cassie exhales beside me, and it sounds suspiciously like pride. Her smirk is hidden behind her notebook, but the pride radiates off her all the same.
Liam’s jaw locks so tight I can see the muscle twitching, his teeth grinding down on whatever comeback he wants to spit but can’t find. He blinks hard, twice, then narrows his eyes in a glare he thinks still has power.
“Bitch,” he spits.
I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s the best you’ve got?” I ask, tilting my head. “Jesus. No wonder your girlfriend’s always crying in the bathroom.”
Before Liam can say a single word, another voice cuts through the room.
“Miss James.”
Mr. Harvey.
The vein in his forehead ticks, pulsing with irritation. He points at the door. A lazy, silent dismissal that says everything his mouth doesn’t bother to form.
He is done.
I stare at his finger.
For a moment, the fight claws at my throat, begging to be let out. But I swallow it whole.
The assholes never get in trouble.
They are the chosen ones, grins painted on, all teeth and charm, and somehow the world keeps mistaking it for goodness. The school protects them, funds them, builds banners with their names in bold black letters, monuments to boys who will never be held accountable.
They are untouchable.
But girls like me?
We are disposable. Warning labels. The easy blame.
The dirt swept under the rug so their shine never dulls.
I should be used to it by now.
But today, it crawls deeper than usual, reminding me that no matter how hard I fight, no matter how sharp my edges become, I am still proof that some people are born without value.