ROME
Chapter thirty-four
Rolling over in bed, I stretch my arm to the empty space beside me. It’s been two days since Rain was hauled away, and guilt is eating me alive. No one will give me information about what’s happening, but I know that’s Rain’s doing.
I missed training yesterday after explaining to my coach what had happened.
The sun was rising by the time I’d cleaned the blood off the floor, and Aaron helped me nail the tarp to the window frame to stop any rain from getting it.
I then spent the rest of the day in hospital with Kilah, apologising profusely, and she threatened to duct-tape my mouth shut if I didn’t stop.
Once she had ten stitches put in her hairline to close the wound and was cleared of any head trauma, she could leave. I stayed the night with the girls, then took a ball to the face during training this morning while we were playing a scrap match.
I’m falling apart more now than when Rain first entered my life. He’s sitting in a jail cell while I’m here, wishing he was pestering me.
I sigh and roll back the other way, staring at the drawer. Minutes pass as I close my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep. When it doesn’t happen, I flick them back open and reach out a hesitant hand. As I push the front, the drawer pops open, and I slide my hand in, removing the black box.
Sitting up, I swipe back the hood of Rain’s jumper and lift the lid. The silver ring flicks in the light of the TV, and my heart thrashes in my chest as I look left, sliding the ring onto my middle right finger.
“Fuck you. Fuck you for forcing your way into my life. Fuck you for not judging anything about me. Fuck you for making me care about you.” I drop my gaze to the ring. “And fuck you for taking the fall for me.” I close my wet eyes, throwing my head back. “Fuck you, you stupid prick.”
I was doomed from the beginning, wasn’t I?
The night Blade pulled Rain from Indie’s recital, I wanted to go into the bathroom and rid the mess he made of me, but I followed him.
I didn’t like the way his brother was holding him, didn’t like the thought of him being hurt.
Once they were speeding down the road, I’d tried to convince myself it was because I don’t like anyone being held the way he was. That was a blatant fucking lie.
I’d tried to purge him from my life, but he kept coming back, despite my rude language and actions. Maybe relentlessness isn’t a bad thing.
My life has crumbled inward since he appeared, only because he’s exposed my father for who he truly is and made me question everything about myself.
I’d never explored much sexually, but I liked what he was doing.
So much so, I wanted to confirm I wasn’t alone again in enjoying something many may deem disgusting.
My phone lights up, buzzing with notifications, and the last intact pieces of my deteriorating world crumble.
Charlie: Happy for you, but what a shitty way for the world to find out.
Brad: I’m assuming you didn’t know. I’ve reported it.
Sergio: I’ve reported the video.
It’s there, the first thing I see when I open IG.
He was recording me.
Shame opens its mouth wide, swallowing me whole as the video of me fucking Connor plays, the wet sounds of pleasure spearing through the pound in my ears. My entire body is visible as I thrust in and out of him, only his waist and ass in view, keeping his identity hidden.
I continue scrolling to see it everywhere.
No, no, please, no.
A call rids the videos and sounds blasting from my phone.
“Give me his fucking address!” Xan shouts.
“It’s everywhere,” I choke through the disbelief lumping in my throat.
“I’ve reported every post I’ve seen, and Ma is still going, trying to get it taken down. That sick fuck will pay for this.”
I’m always anxious about talking to Xan on the phone, especially when he talks like this. He’s a well-known drug dealer, and I’m always under the assumption the police have tapped his phone.
“Everyone’s seen it… Everyone knows.”
“Give me his fucking address, Rome!”
Tears drip to wet my screen, still buzzing with incoming messages.
All I want is to shrivel away and die as I read the comments on the first post. No wonder he’s a bitch on the pitch. Rome Asstown. This faggot doesn’t deserve to be playing.
“Rome,” Xan calls.
I hang up, and my fractured heart splits seeing one particular message.
Private.8: I tried to call you, but your number’s changed, and you blocked me. I love you, Rome. Everyone knows now. We don’t need to hide anymore.
I stare at the message until the screen turns black. This prick has just released a sex tape of me, and he has the audacity to message me?
Me: Do you understand what you’ve just done??
Private.8: I did it for us.
He’s fucking crazy—even more than Rain, and that’s saying a lot.
Me: There is no US.
Private.8: Don’t say that. We’ve had problems, but I just solved them. I know you love me too. I can see it in the way you look at me.
A laugh of utter disbelief falls from my lips as I screenshot the message chain and then turn off my phone.
If I ever came out, I wanted it to be my way, on my terms.
Pulling the hood back up, I take Rain’s pillow, squeezing it to my tight chest and focusing on the woodsy scent of his cologne as I drown in the bursting floodgates of shame.
I can feel the empty space behind my house crowd with judging eyes, my heart unable to beat through the shattered pieces as tears cascade down my cheeks.
I bury my face in his pillow, a scream tearing my throat.