Chapter 25 #3
“I—” Winnie cuts off, swallows, not sure what to say. Her pulse quickens as her stomach churns with an odd sense of foreboding. She blinks, trying to clear the sensation away. This is her friend. Her friend. She wouldn’t— Winnie shakes her head, dispelling the doubts. “What do you mean?”
“We had a great time,” Cynthia purrs, sounding nothing like the girl Winnie thought she knew. “I mean, not as good as some people. We didn’t sleep together, if you were wondering.” Then she huffs, a cruel smirk playing over her lips. “Actually, we didn’t sleep much at all.”
Cynthia studies Winnie’s face, as if searching for a wound.
But Winnie still doesn’t understand, still doesn’t believe this is real, not until Cynthia parades past her and slouches off her sweatshirt, revealing the seemingly simple white crop top underneath.
My shirt.
Winnie sucks in a sharp breath.
My missing shirt.
Like dominoes, the pieces fall, banging into each other, one after another after another, leaving a trail for her thoughts to follow.
The writing on the mirror. The notes in her suitcase.
The missing clothes. The cruel, terrible, twisted pranks all meant to get in her head and completely fuck her up.
Winnie just assumed Nina was working with Victoria, giving her access whenever Winnie’s back was turned. But it wasn’t them.
It was Cynthia all along.
The worst, most awful acts against her were all carried out by someone she mistakenly called a friend.
“Why?” Winnie asks, struggling to find her voice as the hurt winds itself around her heart, a boa constrictor on the hunt.
“Because I knew the second you walked in the mansion that none of us had a shot in hell of winning, so I decided that if I was going to lose anyway, I’d be the worst damn loser this show has ever seen.
” Cynthia leans in close, lowering her voice.
“Infamy is better than anonymity. I can’t go back to being a no one from nowhere. I won’t.”
She eases back onto her heels.
Quick as her transformation came, it’s gone, like a mask sliding back into place, as if the person Winnie knew was just a role she sometimes liked to play. Cynthia’s expression softens. Her eyes clear. Hurt etches itself into her features.
“Aren’t you happy for me?” she asks, vulnerable and uncertain. “I was happy for you. I thought we were friends, Win.”
“Don’t call me that,” Winnie snaps, the sound of her nickname like a slap to the face. Only people she loves are allowed to call her that.
“What?” Cynthia frowns, unable to completely hide the twinkle in her eye as the punch lands. “Win?”
Winnie stares dumbstruck at the goading gleam in Cynthia’s gaze, struggling to understand where it came from, why it’s there, how someone she once called a friend is actually doing this to her right now.
Part of her wants to yell and scream and rage, to demand answers, even though she knows nothing Cynthia says could ever make this okay.
Part of her is too hurt to speak.
And part of her finally sees the truth.
All her life, Winnie thought it was her own weaknesses staring back at her every time she met a bully’s gaze.
But looking at Cynthia now, she realizes, it was never a reflection she was seeing.
It was never her own vulnerabilities, her own hurt, her own fears pinging back at her.
It was theirs. Eyes, after all, aren’t a mirror—they’re a window.
And she doesn’t know how it’s taken her twenty-five years to realize that, but in this instant, it’s never been clearer.
Cynthia’s got her own demons. Beneath the vicious zeal lighting her golden eyes lies a deep-seated pain she doesn’t know how to face.
And if Winnie dug deep, she might find answers.
She might even be able to help. But frankly, she doesn’t care enough about Cynthia to even try, not anymore, not after what she’s done.
The reason Cynthia behaved this way has nothing to do with Winnie, and that’s all Winnie needs to know.
She’s not broken.
She never has been.
Sure, she likes to keep an open mind and an open heart. And yes, sometimes that leaves her open to pain as well. But caging herself in, running from the world, that’s not the answer.
Maybe she did pick wrong when it came to Cynthia.
Maybe it is biting her in the ass right now.
But that’s Cynthia’s cross to bear. It doesn’t mean Winnie shouldn’t trust herself. She can. She does, especially when it comes to Tyler.
“I’m glad you had fun,” Winnie says pleasantly, giving nothing away.
For once in her life, her blank look isn’t contrived or painted on or carefully crafted to hide the bleeding.
She actually doesn’t give a fuck what Cynthia has to say, because she finally sees it for the bullshit it’s always been. None of it has the power to hurt her.
“You are?” Cynthia frowns. Cracks fracture across her irises, providing glimpses of the doubts and anger and insecurities hiding underneath. Worry pulls at her lips.
She’s yearning for this scene, this made-for-TV moment, this time to shine.
She needs it.
Well, screw that.
“Of course,” Winnie says with a shrug.
Cynthia sputters. “But—but—”
“I’m gonna go get ready for the puzzle ceremony.”
Winnie turns around, not bothering to look back.
On her way to her room, she catches Nina’s eyes.
The woman is inscrutable, not an ounce of emotion on her face.
There’s no way to know how much she was involved, but it doesn’t matter.
It was enough. Someone helped Cynthia stay this long.
Someone made sure Charlotte and Harper were the first of their little group to leave.
And someone is standing by right now, keeping the cameras rolling, wanting, hoping, praying the worst parts of Winnie will come out to play.
Tough shit.
Standing up for herself doesn’t need to be loud.
It doesn’t need to be screaming and yelling and pushing and shoving and any number of things Nina is waiting with bated breath to capture.
It’s all been leading up to this moment—one last chance for that desired showdown they can tease the viewers with all season.
Every taunt, every goading comment, all the ploys, all the plots, all the deals, all to try to push Winnie into biting back.
But sometimes silence is the most ear-splitting sound of all.
So, despite the urge to stop, look Nina in the eyes, and yell, IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT? , Winnie just steps calmly by.
There’s a difference between running and walking away. She sees that now. And she’s perfectly content to let her indifference do the talking. If these people want some big, crazy scene, they’re going to have to find another puppet.
I’m done dancing, Winnie thinks.
Then her mind flashes back to that night with Ty in the dream suite, and that hungry look in his eyes as she pulled her dress provocatively up her swaying hips.
A smirk curves her lips.
Except maybe for Tyler.