Chapter 27
DARE
Déjà Vu- the phenomenon of feeling like one has lived through the present situation in the past.
He didn’t say where he was going, but he didn’t need to.
I could tell by the way he kept checking his reflection in the mirror, tilting his head this way and that, fussing with his hair like someone was going to look at him closely tonight. Close enough to want him.
And maybe that’s what got to me the most.
He didn’t look like the quiet boy who used to sketch cartoons on the back of his notebook. He looked… hot as fuck. Touchable.
I lounged on my bed as if I didn’t give a shit, textbook open on my chest, eyes glued to the page but not reading a word. Every shift of fabric, every creak of the drawer behind me snapped like a tripwire through my nerves.
“Where are you going?” I asked, striving for casual.
“To a party.”
That was it. No details. No invite. I didn’t exist in the world he belonged to anymore. The Tru I know, or used to know, didn’t do parties, which meant someone invited him.
His new boyfriend.
I, however, did do parties. Plenty of them. And in my vast and disreputable experience, there was only one main reason for bringing a date.
To get them drunk enough that they want to fuck.
He held two shirts up to the mirror—one plain, one tight and silky-looking, like something ripped from a Pinterest board labeled Hot Boys Who Break You in Two.
He chose that one. Of course he did.
“No,” I said, sitting up.
Tru glanced at me. “What?”
“Not that one.”
“Why not?” he asked, the edge of a smile tugging at his mouth.
I swung my legs off the bed. “Because you look like you're trying too hard.”
He shrugged, slipping the shirt on. “Maybe I am.”
I stared at him as my skin grew hot. The shirt clung to his chest in a way that made my mouth go dry. He smelled of fucking vanilla and citrus and something else I couldn’t name, something that made me want to pin him to the wall and scream.
“Take it off,” I said.
He turned, arms loose at his sides. “Excuse me?”
“Take. It. Off.” My voice was quiet and clipped. Dangerous.
“No.”
I stood up slowly. “It’s not a request.”
“Oh, I figured that out when you started growling at me like a jealous ex.”
He was baiting me. That little smirk on his face said he wanted me to rise to it. Maybe that’s what pissed me off most—that I did.
I stepped closer. “Take it off.”
He planted his feet, his eyes narrowing. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure if he was scared or turned on. “Make me.”
My vision tunneled. I didn’t think. I just moved.
Two strides and I was in front of him, my hands already in the fabric at his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back away. He just stared at me, daring me. Throwing a lit match into a puddle of gasoline.
My fingers brushed the side of his neck, the warmth of his skin, the pulse fluttering beneath it. I tugged hard, meaning to lift it up over his head. But the collar caught, the stitching pulled, and then— Rrrrip.
I tore the shirt in half, the sound obscene in the stillness of the room.
Tru blinked at me, stunned, his chest rising and falling like we’d just fought or fucked.
Maybe both. My hands were still fisted in the torn shirt, holding both halves like some stupid trophy I didn’t want.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
I shoved it into his chest. “Find another shirt,” I said coldly. “That one makes you look like a whore.”
His eyes flashed with anger and hurt, but he didn’t speak. Tru turned stiffly, tossing the ripped shirt onto the bed as he grabbed another one from the drawer.
I turned away with shaking hands and plopped down on my bed. If he thought he was going to walk around like that, wearing seduction like a second skin, I’d burn this whole fucking school down.
Starting with his boyfriend.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Tru fumed.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
I should’ve left it there. I should’ve walked out and let him go. Instead, I went to my side of the room, opened my top drawer, and pulled out a shirt of my own. It was gray and worn in, soft from too many washes. Something I used to sleep in. I walked over and held it out.
He looked down at it, then up at me, wary. “Seriously?”
I didn’t say a word. Just extended my arm further until he finally took it. He pulled it on, tugging it down over his torso. It fit like it was made for him, and I wanted to scream.
“Thanks,” he said, deadpan.
My throat tightened. God, he looked good in my clothes. Better than he should. I shrugged. “At least it won’t get you laughed out of the house.”
He stepped past me without looking back and left the room smelling faintly like my cologne. Like mine. I sank onto my bed, breathing through my teeth, my chest tight. If that boyfriend of his got too close tonight, I hoped he’d choke on the scent of me.
Because he might’ve caught Tru’s interest, but I was the one who dressed him.
And I was the one who watched him walk away like he didn’t already belong to me.
My eyes dropped to the thin curl of red fabric lying like a wound on the floor, all that was left of his shirt. I didn’t know if I was proud of what I’d done. But I knew I’d smell him on that shirt when he brought it back. And right then, that was all I could think about.
The party was loud, bass vibrating through the floor, laughter spilling out from the kitchen, the backyard, and every goddamn open window. I was already on edge from the exchange with Tru, and I’d taken his obvious interest in coming tonight as my unofficial invitation.
Tru wasn’t hard to find. He never was. He stood out in a crowd like a neon sign flashing Do not touch.
I watched him from across the room, leaning against the fridge with a cup of something too pink. His hair curled a little from the heat, lips red from the drink, or maybe from that guy he came with.
That guy.
I didn’t know his name, nor did I care. In my head, he was simply fuckface. I just knew he stood too close and touched Tru too often. I counted every time he did it. By the fourth time, I nearly crushed the plastic cup in my hand.
It was barely even a touch, fingertips resting just above the waistband of those jeans Tru had no business wearing in public, but it made my vision blur. Something in my jaw clicked. I took another sip of the beer I didn’t even want.
I told myself it didn’t matter. That I didn’t care. But I was lying. And I was so goddamn sick of lying.
That asshole got to stand next to him like he deserved to. Like Tru was his to lean on. To laugh with. To kiss.
I hated it. No—I hated him.
It was easier than hating myself. Easier than thinking about how I’d told Tru to take off the shirt earlier, then offered him one of mine instead. Because I wanted him in something that smelled like me. Because I wanted anyone who looked at him to know he was mine.
Except he wasn’t. Not really.
And watching him laugh and blush with someone else was killing me.
The guy handed Tru another drink. I counted them. Four now. Maybe five. How many did he need to loosen up? To say yes? I hated the way he leaned in to whisper in Tru’s ear. Hated the way Tru smiled at whatever he said.
Look at me! Want me! Convince me to be as brave as you are.
My nails bit into the red plastic of my cup. My heart thudded like a war drum behind my ribs. And the worst part? Tru didn’t even look for me.
Not once.
The guy’s hand slipped lower. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but I saw it. I saw everything.
Tru didn’t move away. He didn’t even blink. He just laughed at something that asshole said and tipped his head back, not a care in the world. Like his whole fucking heart hadn’t once belonged to me.
I took another drink, trying to drown the burn in my throat, but it didn’t work.
Because here’s the thing no one tells you about jealousy—it’s not just anger. It’s grief. It’s watching someone else unwrap the life you could’ve had and knowing it’s too late to stop them.
I should’ve been the one making him laugh like that. Should’ve been the one who knew how he liked his drink and what cologne made his skin smell like home.
Instead, I pushed him away so hard he fell straight into someone else’s arms.
My fault. All of it.
I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things they might do. All the firsts that should’ve been ours. His first college kiss. His first real sleepover with someone who gets to hold him all night. His first time trying that stupid couple’s pose in a photo booth. That dumb matching hoodie thing.
He’ll do it all—with him.
Not me. Not the boy who used to know the exact way he liked his toast and the sound of his laugh when he got the giggles at 2 a.m. Not the boy who knew how many laps he could swim without tiring. Or his favorite cartoon. Or his favorite Pokémon card.
Not the boy who kissed him in a dark closet and then broke everything afterward.
I pressed the rim of the cup to my lips but didn't drink. I couldn’t. My stomach was already full of acid and regret.
If I’d just been brave enough…
If I’d just tried…
But no. I let the years slip away. I let him become a stranger while I carved out a version of myself that my dad could tolerate and I could barely stand. Now I was stuck watching him live the life I never let myself want.
The next time I go home, the ramp, our ramp, will have
Tru + Fuckface
written in Sharpie where our names used to be.
Shit. I’m gonna be fucking sick.
Someone must’ve noticed I was spiraling. Or maybe I just looked like I was five seconds away from throwing a punch or throwing up.
“Yo, Carter,” one of my teammates called from across the room. “You look like you need a distraction.”
I didn’t answer.
He grinned anyway. “Truth or dare?”
I looked up slowly and felt every eye in the circle shift to me. Including Tru’s. His smile was gone, his arm still loosely draped around his boyfriend’s shoulders, but I saw the way his fingers twitched. Like maybe he wasn’t as relaxed as he looked.
“Aren’t we a little old for that?”