Chapter 12
My hand clamps over my mouth, holding in the sob clawing its way up my throat as I cower behind the rec building.
“Laura!”
My heart crumbles into a million pieces when I hear him call my name.
“Laura, where are you?”
I crush my eyes shut.
Go back inside. Please, just go back inside and let me leave with whatever dignity I have left.
“I'm sorry.”
A small whimper slips out before I can stop it, and I inch farther behind the rec center, away from the parking lot and Scotty Hendricks.
“Laura?” His voice sounds defeated now, and it's what I want.
It's what I need.
Give up.
Go back inside. Please. Please. Please.
When I'm far enough away, I start running.
I don't think. I just run as far away from this place as possible, only stopping when my lungs are burning and my legs are cramping.
My feet are killing me—these stupid Princess Blanca shoes—well, shoe, singular now—were never made for running.
The remaining one is giving me a blister the size of Texas.
I push my tulle dress to the side and yank off the other shoe, throwing it in the trash in aggravation.
In what fucking world did I ever think going anywhere near Scotty was going to end any differently?
I wipe the tears from my cheeks, my mascara undoubtedly streaming down my face, as I duck around the corner of a closed-down convenience store, collapsing against the brick wall.
My breath is heaving, and the shot of adrenaline gives way to something worse: humiliation so complete it feels like I might die from it.
The moment I pull my fake lashes off, everything in me unravels. The tears come hot and fast, streaking through the layers of glitter and makeup, impossible to stop.
My legs give out, and I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the dirty sidewalk with the tulle bunching around me.
The blue is faded, the tulle is ripped, and there’s a line of dirt at the bottom, but there’s no point in fixing it.
The damage is already done, and I’ll have to pay for the dress to be replaced anyway.
Hell, I’ll probably get in trouble for leaving the paid gig the way I did.
I try to swallow down the humiliation, but it’s not working. It’s still there.
All those guys. All those hockey players. Staring at me. Laughing at me. Recording me for Scotty's stupid reality show. Capturing every second of me standing there like an idiot, holding a birthday cake while a room of athletes watched me unravel.
Their laughter hit me first—sharp, mean, and unmistakably about me.
All my hope died then. I was just something to laugh at. It didn’t matter that I worked my ass off to get good at something, or practiced singing until my throat hurt—I was just content.
The punchline for Scotty’s TV show.
He acted shocked, but was he really surprised, or did he know? Did he—did he do it all on purpose?
The thoughts come thick and fast in my head, each one more painful than the last.
How long had they been planning this? Was everything between us just a setup for his dad's fucking TV show?
I try to catch my breath between sobs, but I can't. Every inhale catches halfway up my throat. The air feels too thin, and the world starts to spin, my vision blurring like I’m swimming underwater and sinking fast.
A car passes by on the main road, and I fold forward, burying my head between my knees. Maybe from a distance I just look like some girl in a costume catching her breath, not the pathetic mess I actually am.
I need to pull myself together. I need to move before anyone else sees me…or Scotty finds me.
With shaking hands, I dig deep into the skirt tulle and pull out my phone.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing from Scotty.
No text. No missed call. No “I’m sorry” or “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that” or “Please don’t go, Princess.”
The tears burn hotter, because that silence says everything.
He didn’t call because he knew. He expected this. That’s why he wanted to offer me a lift. He knew he’d be here anyway.
If Scotty wanted to warn me, he would’ve.
A cold, hollow feeling spreads through my chest, settling heavy under my ribs.
If that doesn't prove it's a setup, nothing will.
I wipe my face, smearing more makeup across my cheeks, and dial Lyss's number. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, what's up? Are you still at that birthday party? I thought you had a date with Scotty after?” Her voice is casual—completely unaware I've been completely and utterly humiliated.
“Lyss,” I manage to choke out, my voice breaking on the second syllable. “I need you to come get me.”
Her tone changes instantly. “What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I'm—”
I look around, trying to figure out where exactly I ended up. A gas station? A side alley? I can’t think straight, so I just drop my location and send it.
“Shit, Laura,” she breathes. “How'd you get all the way out there?”
“I couldn't stop running,” I whisper. “Can you come and get me? Please?”
“I'm already grabbing my keys,” she says, and I can hear the jingle in the background. “Stay right there. I'll be there in ten minutes. Are you safe?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just… hurry. Please.”
“On my way. Stay on the phone with me, okay?”
I close my eyes, letting Lyss's steady voice wash over me as she keeps talking, asking gentle questions I don't answer. She doesn’t press me to, either. She reverts to telling me about her day—anything to keep me on the phone.
By the time her car screeches to a stop, I’m still curled against the wall, my hair a mess and my dress filthy and torn.
She jumps out of the car without even turning off the engine and rushes to my side.
“Laura, oh my God.” She kneels beside me, taking in my tear-stained face, the missing shoes, the disheveled costume. “What happened?”
I shake my head, not able to form words yet. “Can we just go home? Please?”
“Of course.” She slips an arm around me and helps me up, guiding me to the passenger seat. “We'll talk when you're ready.”
The drive home is quiet, with Lyss occasionally glancing at me with concern. I stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together as fresh tears well up.
“I’m switching out of English Lit,” I blurt, breaking the silence. “I never want to see Scotty Hendricks again.”
Lyss doesn't push, just nods. “Okay.”
“He's a cocky, arrogant asshole,” I continue, the words spilling out now. “I knew that, but I still let myself fall for this bullshit and let my guard down.” My voice cracks. “I was so stupid, Lyss. I swear I’ll never let that happen again.”
“Whatever happened, we'll figure it out,” Lyss assures me, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “You don't have to talk about it, but I’ll help you any way you need.”
I swallow hard. “Thank you,” I croak out.
By the time we pull into our driveway, the tears have stopped, but the hollow feeling in my chest remains.
I don't know if it will ever go away.
I'm at rock
bottom. I thought I reached that point when my parents didn't show up for me in high school, but no.
This…this is worse than anything they've ever done.
I trusted him…I really liked him, and I was just a TV show segment.
Embarrassment doesn’t even come close. Humiliation doesn’t cover it. It feels like someone scooped out everything soft inside me and left the shell.
He told them.
He told all of his teammates and let them make a mockery out of me.
They laughed so much.
I feel a fresh wave of anxiety washing over me, and I take in a sharp breath, trying to stop myself from crying again.
“Come on,” Lyss says quietly, helping me out of the car. “Let's get you inside and out of that costume.”
I take her hand and let her guide me. The pebbles on the path dig into my bare feet, sharp little stings, but I welcome it. Pain is easier than whatever is happening inside my chest.
We walk up the porch steps, past the broken swing.
Last night I kissed Scotty there. The memory, which had been so sweet, now feels tainted, poisoned by tonight's humiliation.
“I'm going to get Aiden to get rid of that,” Lyss mutters. “He's been talking about burning it down for months. I'll just let him.”
I swallow down the pain. I know I should tell her not to. It's her grandmother's swing, and this house is all she has left of her, but I can't. I'm not big enough to push past my grief and tell her she needs to keep it to protect her memories, because in doing that, it sustains mine.
Memories I want burned.
I don't remember how I got up the stairs and into my room, but Lyss is right there by my side, offering me clean clothes.
She helps me unzip the dress, runs a brush through my tangled hair, and then wipes away the remains of the glitter smearing my cheeks.
All the while, she doesn't press for details. She just mutters about how hockey sucks and how she’s going to “accidentally” break the rink coolers if anyone comes near me. Yep, destroying property is a habit she’s learned from Aiden.
She doesn't even know what they did. She doesn't have to—I guess that’s what best friends do.
It's only when I'm wrapped in my oldest, most comfortable sweater and leggings that I finally feel human enough to speak.
“They tricked me,” I say quietly.
I sit on the edge of my bed, glaring at the leather-bound book Scotty gave me. Three weeks of late-night reading. Three weeks of letting his thoughts seep into mine. Three weeks of thinking I was getting to know him.
“The hockey team,” I go on, my voice feeling weak. “I was told it was a kid’s birthday party, but it was actually for Scotty.”
Lyss's eyes go wide. “What?”
I nod, humiliation creeping up my throat again like it’s trying to choke me. “They had him handcuffed to a chair, while the cameras were rolling for his stupid TV show. I walked in, completely unaware, and started singing 'Happy Birthday.' Then the lights came up, and—”
The words die at the back of my throat. Even remembering it makes my stomach twist.
“They were laughing. It was all a big joke to them. I was a joke to them.”
Lyss inhales sharply. “They're fucking assholes. Actual, legitimate assholes, and I'm going to break every single one of their hockey sticks before shoving the broken edge up their asses.”
Despite myself, I smile. “Please don't do that. We already have enough issues with the football players next door. We don't need to add the hockey team to our list of problems.”
“You sure?” she asks, raising a brow. “Because I'm ready to ride at dawn for you.”
“I know.” I stand, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you, but please, I don't want to give those idiots any more of my time.”
“How did it even get to the point that you were out there singing happy birthday? Didn't you meet anyone before starting?”
“Yeah,” I sigh out. “Neanderthal One. You know, one of the naked idiots, but I don't know, I thought he looked familiar—I just couldn't place him.”
“Not surprised. Scotty's donkey dick was flying across your face. Anyone would’ve blacked out from trauma.” She shakes her head. “But do you think he was actually in on it? Because I've—”
I lift my hand to stop her. “It doesn't matter if he was in on it or not. He told them about my job, which is something he promised he’d never do.
Even if he didn't plan it, he's still part of a team that thinks it's hilarious to humiliate someone.
To trick me into doing my job like it's some kind of strip-o-gram.”
Lyss winces at the comparison but doesn't argue. “Oof. Yeah, that sucks.”
“I'm never talking to him again,” I say with finality. “I'm changing classes. I’ll take a different route to campus. Whatever it takes to never see that asshole again.”
I'm done with Scotty Hendricks.
Done with the butterflies in my stomach when he smiles.
Done with believing anything he said.
Done with letting him close enough to eviscerate me.
“Laura—”
“No,” I snap. “I mean it. I can't face him after this. I can't face any of them.”
She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Okay, well, I hope he doesn't know what to do with that donkey dick of his and he has lackluster orgasms for the rest of his life.”
She says it with such ferocity, I know she means it. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“You never could.” She squeezes my shoulders. “You're the only person who puts up with the idiots next door, and you're my best friend. That always counts for something.”
I nod gratefully, placing my hand over hers. “Thank you for always being there for me.”
“Ditto.”
Sighing, I say, “I think I'm going to try to sleep.”
“Good idea.” She gives me one final hug before heading to the door. “I'll be right downstairs if you need anything. Goodnight, Laura.”
“Night, Lyss.”
When she’s gone, I curl into a ball beneath my blankets, drowning myself in the darkness. I don't want to see anything that reminds me of Scotty, and unfortunately, my room is full of constant reminders.
The book, my dress, our study notes…I can’t. I just can’t.
I close my eyes, letting the tears fall, but trying my best not to make any noise.
The last thing I want is for Lyss to come in here and comfort me again.
I try to fall asleep, but every time I do, the memory of their laughing faces comes to mind.
Humiliation burns in my chest, the betrayal cutting so deep, I don't know how I'll get over it.
I hear Lyss open the front door, and some muffled arguing—her and Aiden, I assume, since he's always bugging her. That little piece of normality gives me enough of something to latch onto, and I finally manage to fall asleep.
Tomorrow will be better.
It has to be.