22. VANESSA
VANESSA
I should have asked the Uber driver to take me anywhere but campus.
Going to class was pointless. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t hold a conversation for more than a few seconds before I spaced out.
I kept replaying Heather’s confession in my head, and the guilt in my chest festered like a disease.
I can’t believe I never noticed anything in high school.
Was I so caught up in my own drama with Paris that I failed to see what she was going through?
She’s my twin. I should have sensed that something terrible had happened to her.
The morning goes by in a blur, and by the time lunch rolls around, I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. I have no idea where I’m going, but it’s definitely better than staying and pretending I’m not falling apart.
It’s not until I pull my phone out to call an Uber that I see all the missed text messages and a couple of phone calls from Paris. There are also messages from Sadie, and a few other team members. Hell. I don’t want to talk to anyone, not even through texting.
What I need is to gather the courage to report Ryan, but every time I think about it, the fear that no one will believe me keeps me in a chokehold.
Paris would need to testify, a whole circus would form, and the personal details of my life would be cut open and dissected.
I don’t think I can solve this one alone.
I probably should make an appointment to talk to therapist. I will make one.
That decision makes me feel a little bit better. As for my teammates, I can blow them off for a few more hours, but I don’t want to do that to Paris. What we have is too new, and he could mistake my radio silence as a sign that I’m no longer interested in dating him. I don’t want to lose him again.
I scroll through his texts. They’re sweet at first, but then, they grow worried. He didn’t leave me any voice messages though. I stop near a bench and prop my crutches against it, then start a reply.
I don’t get farther than a couple of words before my phone is yanked from my hands. “What the fu—” The swear word gets lodged in my throat when I see it’s Ryan who fucking stole my phone.
“Who are you texting, darling?”
“Give me my phone back, asshole.” I step forward and wince when I put all my weight on my bad foot. At this rate, I’ll never get cleared to play soccer.
I don’t get the phone back, and I can tell from Ryan’s furious expression that he’s read most of the texts Paris sent me.
“That’s why you fucking blocked me, bitch? You’re screwing that meathead? How long has it been going on?”
“Fuck you, Ryan. I don’t owe you any explanations. Give me my damn phone!” I reach for his hand and try to yank it free, but he shoves me so hard that I stagger back and, thanks to having only one good foot, I fall and hit my face against the metal bench.
White hot pain flares across my cheek, and for a dizzying moment the world flickers to black. My ears are ringing, but I can still hear the sound of shouting.
A moment later, a stranger drops into a crouch in front of me. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” I touch my cheek and find it wet.
“You have a cut there,” he says. “Here, I got your phone back.”
“Thanks.”
“Can you stand up?”
I wish I could say yes, but I’m lightheaded as fuck. Now that I’ve regained focus, I look over his shoulder and search for Ryan. He’s gone, which is too bad, because he deserves to be punched in the throat.
“I may need assistance.” I tell him.
He pulls me up and immediately steps back. I appreciate his effort to make sure he doesn’t overstep. I pay attention to him. He’s young, probably a freshman, and on the scrawny side. I wonder if he was the one who yelled at Ryan.
“Thanks for intervening,” I say.
“Of course. I thought he was your friend at first, acting like an idiot, or I would have butted in sooner.”
“He’s an asshole. I’m surprised he didn’t start anything with you.”
“Too many witnesses.” He nods his head toward a spot behind me.
I turn and see the crowd that’s beginning to disperse. “And yet, you were the only one who helped.”
“I think someone else would have, too. I was just fastest.”
“Well, thank you for the assist. I’m not usually this pathetic, but I’m not in top shape currently.” I point at my foot.
“Yeah, which makes his actions even worse. You probably should take care of that cut. I can walk with you to the medical building.”
As much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t want him to witness me having another meltdown. I was barely holding it together already, and Ryan had to show up to fuck me up even more.
I search for a tissue in my backpack, and then dab the wound. “It’s okay. I can get there on my own. What’s your name?”
“Philip Meester. You’re Vanessa Castro, right? The Ravens’ midfielder.”
God, I wish he hadn’t recognized me. “Yup. Nice to meet you, Philip. I’d better get going.”
“Uh, do you want to report Ryan Watergate to campus police? What he did wasn’t cool.”
My eyebrows shoot to the heavens. “You know Ryan?”
Philip looks a little guilty, and I don’t understand his reaction. “Yeah. I met him during rush week. I ended up joining the Pikes, though.”
Shit. That means he knows Leo, Heather’s boyfriend, since Leo’s the president of that fraternity. That also means Philip probably knows that Ryan is my ex.
“I’ll deal with Ryan later,” I say.
He stares at me a beat too long and then says, “I hope you do. I’ll back you up if needed. Take care, Vanessa.”
I watch him leave, and I wonder if there was a hidden meaning behind his comment. It’s almost as if he knows more stuff about Ryan than what he witnessed a moment ago.
The sting on my face snaps me out of my musings, and it also serves as a wake-up call.
I have to report Ryan. Not to the campus police though.
They’ll involve the school administration, and they’ll do anything they can to smooth things over and avoid a scandal.
The school’s reputation took a hit when Nick Fowler, a former soccer player at Rushmore, posted a sexist list that included all female athletes.
The sting from the cut doesn’t burn as much, but if even it’s superficial, it’s bleeding a lot. Instead of going to see a nurse, I head into the first restroom I come across and try to stop the blood flow. The cut is minimal, but my cheek is swollen from the impact.
I think about what Heather told me, and how our mother reacted.
Would she have told Heather to keep quiet if she knew who her rapist was?
It’s hard to tell with Mom. She’s so focused on appearances though, hence why she created all that drama after the stolen wine incident.
She wanted to make sure there was no doubt Paris was the one who tried to corrupt me.
Shit. Paris. I never texted him back. How am I going to explain my messed-up face? I don’t know how he’ll react, even if I say I’m ready to report Ryan. He might do something to that bastard first.
Maybe I should just tell him I fell. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gone after Ryan yet. If he knows how I got my new injury, he might do something that for sure will fuck up his future. I can’t have that on my conscience.
I clean up the blood and then grab a new paper towel and dry off my face. I go through several until I’m confident I don’t look like an extra from a slasher movie, and then I head out.
It’s just my luck that the man I need but should avoid right now finds me before I can get the cut taken care of.
Paris’s face is closed off at first—a sign that he was already thinking the worst about my silence.
But when his attention shifts to the cut on my cheek, he goes from serious to concerned in zero point one seconds.
He reaches me in a couple of long strides, stopping short of invading my space completely. “Kitten, what happened?”
“I... uh, I fell.” The lie feels bitter on my tongue, but I’m doing this to protect him.
“You fell? How?”
“I’m not really sure. I tripped and hit my face on a bench. I’m on my way to the infirmary.”
He’s watching me closely, almost as if he doesn’t believe me. I never lie, so it’s no surprise I’m terrible at it. My body is trembling, and my heart is beating so fast, it’s hard to believe he can’t hear the thumping.
Before he can see the deception on my face, I say, “I’m sorry I never replied to you. It’s been nonstop for me this morning, and when I finally had a break, this happened.” I point at my cheek.
His expression softens. “I was a little worried, if I’m honest. I did blow up your phone. I thought that maybe you...” He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
The adorable expression makes me feel even guiltier about lying to him. I want to kiss him and forget that I’m being a total bitch for not telling him the truth. But he was the one who wanted to keep our relationship a secret for now, so I don’t dare any PDA.
Although… Ryan already knows I’m dating Paris.
Pretty soon the news will be across the entire campus and, knowing that piece of shit, he’s going to spin a story that will make me look bad.
He was already insinuating that I was screwing Paris before I broke up with him.
I’m running out of time. I need to go to the police, but I don’t think I can bring Paris with me. No, I have to do this on my own.
“You thought that I what?” I ask.
“That you changed your mind about us.”
A knot forms in my chest. The vulnerability in his tone makes me want to be truthful with him about something at least, even if it’s going to blow up in my face.
“I won’t change my mind. I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen.”
He doesn’t speak for a beat, just stares at me. But then laughter bubbles up his throat. He shakes his head, and I feel like an idiot.
“Okay, then. I’d better go now and find a hole to hide in.” I make a motion to circle around him, but he raises his arm, and blocks my path.
“You’re not going anywhere, kitten.” He steps into my space, snaking his strong arms around my waist. “Not until I kiss you.” He leans down and presses his lips softly against mine.
I melt into his embrace, wanting more than an innocent peck on the lips, but Paris eases off before I can attack his mouth. “Come on. Let’s get that booboo taken care of.”
“Okay,” I reply dreamily, forgetting for a moment that we aren’t thirteen anymore.
I wish that we were.