Chapter 3 #2
Lola looks at her. “Now? It’s dark outside.”
Aubrey shrugs. “Exactly. Best time of the night. No people, no noise, just stars and a boy who can’t keep his hands to himself. I’ll see you guys later.” And with that, she is gone.
“I think we should go too,” Liz says, her voice flat, eyes dull. She hasn’t enjoyed a single second of this night, and after the news she got earlier today, she never should’ve come.
“Yeah,” I nod, touching her arm gently. “I need to use the bathroom first. I’ll meet you and Lola in the car, okay?”
She nods once, already grabbing Lola by the arm and pulling her towards the door.
I turn and walk away, ducking past a group of guys doing shots, one of them yelling something unintelligible as lime juice drips down his wrist.
Two people are making out against the wall—his hands on her ass like he owns her.
A few feet later, I step over a guy passed out cold on the carpet, a half-empty solo cup still in his hand, his legs splayed like he didn’t quite make it to wherever he was going.
I keep moving.
Past the half-open door where two people are arguing in sharp whispers.
The further I go, the more the sound dims, music fading into a background thump, laughter bleeding into white noise. The air turns cooler, clearer, like the house itself is finally breathing again.
And then I hear it.
Two voices.
I know them now—too well—thanks to Noah keeping them in our orbit.
My feet slow on instinct. Breath-catching. Heart punching into my ribs. I press myself into the wall. The music thumps somewhere far behind me, but here… it’s quiet.
Reece’s voice hits first. Lazy and somewhat amused. “I told you,” he says. “Red bites. That’s what makes it interesting.”
Jace lets out a low laugh. “So, you like them angry now?”
There’s a pause, just long enough to stretch tight.
“I like them breakable.”
The words land like spit in my face. I flinch.
I stare down the hallway. The bathroom door is only a few steps away. I should keep moving, I tell myself. Walk away. Go in, lock the door, splash water on your face and pretend you never heard any of this.
“She hates you, man,” Jace says. “She’d never let you touch her. Let alone fuck her.”
Reece’s snort is soft, derisive. “Hate’s not the problem,” he mutters. “Hate’s just foreplay when you know how to play it right.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. My fingers curl into a fist at my side. I want to scream. Hit something, or maybe disappear into the floor.
But instead I stand there, frozen in place, learning something I wish I didn’t know. My stomach twists hard as if something rotten has just bloomed inside me.
“You really think you can fuck her?” Jace asks, as if this is a game, and I’m some faceless conquest in the lineup.
Reece’s voice follows. “Have you ever known me not to get them spread out, ready for me to take?”
There’s laughter. A pause.
“Yeah,” Jace says, “but she’s different. She doesn’t fall for your shit.”
Reece doesn’t hesitate. “Two hundred says I will. Before graduation. She’ll beg me for it.”
The words hit like a slap—open palm, full force. My chest caves in around them, breath bottling somewhere too deep to reach. Heat floods my face, all humiliation and rage and something else I can’t quite name.
“You’re on,” Jace says. “But there is no way in hell that virgin’s letting you stick it to her.”
Reece laughs. “Relax. I'll be gentle.”
They laugh again, loud, careless, and cruel.
My vision goes blurry around the edges. The soda I drank swirls sick in my stomach. I feel as though I might throw up. Or scream before I shove both of them against the wall and rip them a new one. God help me, I am so goddamn tired of being someone’s fucking game.
Something in me fractures and I step out of the shadows.
Their heads snap toward me, and for once, Reece seems not so sure of himself.
“Say it again,” I spit, slamming a hand against his chest hard enough to shove him back until he hits the wall with a dull thud.
Reece’s mouth curves, as though he received a present with a fuse. Jace pales as if he’s seen a ghost.
“I heard you,” I say, voice trembling but loud enough to leave a bruise. “Every. Fucking. Word.”
Jace’s hands lift in surrender. “I’m out,” he mumbles, backing away, disappearing down the hallway without even pretending to defend himself.
Fucking coward.
Reece pushes off the wall and steps into my space.
“Do you always listen to other people’s conversations?” he drawls, eyes glittering with something dark and unholy.
“You always bet on girls like we’re scratch-and-win cards?” I snap back.
He shrugs, all smug. “People bet on sure things.”
My laugh is sharp enough to slice open his ego. “I’m not a fucking thing to bet on, Reece.”
“No,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “Oh, but you are a challenge.”
My smile is all teeth. “Then I hope you like losing, you fucking asshole.”
I slam my shoulder into his chest, knocking him back hard enough to make a point. He stumbles—only half a step—but it’s enough. I don’t wait for him to find his balance, don’t wait for the comeback already loading behind that smug mouth of his.
I turn, shove through the hallway as if I’ve got steel in my spine, not jelly for legs.
My boots hit the floor too loud, too fast, my pulse racing ahead of me as I charge toward the bathroom as if it’s a finish line. I twist the handle, shove the door open, and slam it shut behind me. Lock it with fingers that won’t stop shaking.
Now it’s just me and the mirror and the girl I don’t want to be.
Flushed cheeks. Red-rimmed eyes that don’t dare spill. Lips pressed tight to hold in the scream clawing its way up my throat. I grip the sink so hard my knuckles blanch, breathe through my nose, trying to hold the fury in.
I will not cry. Not for him. Not here. Let them fuck themselves on their own egos. I’m done being the thing they pass between them like a dare.
A soft knock breaks the silence.
One tap. After that, I hear Lola’s voice.
“Sam, are you in there? You’ve been gone for a while.”
I don’t answer. Simply twist the lock and pull the door open.
Lola’s eyes skate over my face, before shifting to the way I’m gripping the doorframe. She doesn’t speak right away, but her brows pinch together and her mouth pulls into a line she’s biting down hard on.
“Did one of those bitches say something to you?”
“No,” I mutter. “Let’s go.”
The second I step onto the porch, the cold air hits.
It slaps the heat from my cheeks and makes everything inside me ache sharper.
The night hums… music spilling out the front door behind us, voices raised in laughter that feels miles away from where I’m standing.
The stars hang carelessly overhead, scattered like they don’t give a shit about anything happening down here.
I keep walking. Fast. Focused. Trying not to fall apart.
Lola’s boots scrape the gravel behind me. “Are you sure you’re, okay?” she asks, racing to catch up. “I think Liz is about to lose it. She’s barely said a word since we got into the car. I think we should take her to the Sugar Spoon. She doesn’t want to go home yet.”
I nod once, not trusting my voice.
Because going home… That sounds worse than staying out. Going home means quiet. Means being alone with my thoughts and letting everything he said replay itself again and again until it buries me.
Ice cream at midnight with Liz and Lola doesn’t fix what happened. But perhaps it’s enough to halt the bleeding. For the time being.
The car door slams behind me, loud enough to rattle something loose in my chest. Liz starts the engine. Lola leans out the window and flips the house off without a word, her expression set in stone.
As we pull away, the glow of the porch lights disappears in the side mirror. The road ahead stretches out, lined with houses that blur past in silence.
The sound of Reece’s voice claws at the back of my mind, twisting deeper with every mile. I can still hear the smug tilt of it, the way he said it as if I was a game he planned to win. The humiliation clings, now impossible to shake.
I turn my face to the window; forehead nearly pressed to the glass. Something shifted tonight. I sense it in my bones. In the hollow behind my ribs. Reece Wilson crossed a line, and I won’t forget it.
He can rot in fucking hell.
I am done with him… completely.
I will not give him another second of my time, another ounce of attention. Not a single fucking inch. He can keep his smirks and bets and cheap arrogance for girls who mistake noise for confidence. I am not one of them. I never was.
He is a fuckboy who treats people as entertainment. I am not built that way. I’m someone who works for what I want. I earn it and don’t play games with bodies or hearts simply for dominance.
And it hits me.
The assessment.
The one I am partnered with him on.
I let out a breath that tastes bitter.
Fucking perfect. Another thing I will have to endure with my head high and my temper locked down tight. I will survive it, though, because I will not sink to his level.
And if he so much as breathes the wrong way in my direction and fucks with my life… God help him, because I am done playing nice.