Chapter 13
Sam
Idon’t sleep. Not really. I close my eyes, and I’m pulled right back into his room. Into his bed. Into that fucking moment that rewired everything I believed about my body.
It comes in flashes.
The weight of him pressed between my legs. His mouth on my skin. No chance to hide behind the girl I pretend to be. He stripped that mask off with his tongue and left me exposed.
There was only heat and desire.
And it hasn’t let up since.
The echo of him remains. The way his cock filled me so deeply it took my breath away. The sound that escaped my throat when he slid inside was raw and guttural. It wasn’t pain. It was surrender.
My pussy still aches from him. The way he moved, knowing exactly how to wreck me without even trying.
I remember how he watched me come, with that razor-sharp focus that made it obvious I was something he wanted to destroy slowly.
And he did.
I wake up soaked and panting, legs tangled in the sheets, chasing the memory of him—his mouth, his hands, his cock.
Fuck.
That’s the part that haunts me. It’s how easy it was to fall apart for him. How quickly he learned exactly where to touch and where to stay, how he made me feel owned.
And now?
Now I’m standing at my locker with books clutched in my hands, glaring at the metal door as if it personally screwed me over. My body feels like a mess. My head is a battlefield, and my heart is furious because it knows exactly who did this to me and still wants him anyway.
I slam the locker shut and take a breath that doesn't help steady me.
Fuck him.
And fuck me harder for wanting him to take me there again.
“Okay, spill,” Aubrey says, sliding in beside me and immediately squinting at my face. “You’re doing that thing with your mouth.”
“What thing?” I mutter, shoving textbooks into my bag with zero organization and a lot of aggression.
“That thing where your lips go all tight,” she says. “The one you do when you’re pretending you’re fine but your brain is actively lighting itself on fire. You’re spiraling.”
I pause.
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You’re twitching, then.”
“I am not.” I adjust the strap on my bag, tugging it a little too hard. “I’m fine.”
Aubrey tilts her head, unimpressed. “You’re never truly fine when you say you are. That’s just your way of sounding calm while everything's falling apart.”
I shoot her a look. “You’re dramatic.”
She grins. “And you’re one bad decision away from a full emotional breakdown. So, again.” She pulls at my arm. “Spill.”
I lean towards her, keeping my voice low. “What do you want me to say, Aub? That I did something monumentally stupid? That I let the school’s resident fuckboy turn me into some wide-eyed, gasping cliché? That I can’t stop thinking about him, even though I’m pretty sure I hate him?”
She stills. Her eyes widen. “You slept with him.”
I don’t answer because I don’t need to.
"Sam..." her voice is quiet now. Careful.
“I don’t need the speech,” I whisper. “I’ve already delivered it to myself five times before breakfast, complete with dramatic pauses. And don’t you dare tell Lola about this, because she’ll have it trending by the end of first period.”
I turn and walk away, with Aubrey falling into step beside me.
The hallway is noisy. Voices overlap. Lockers slam shut. Girls laugh loudly. Somewhere down the hall, a phone drops, and someone swears. It should all feel normal.
But it doesn’t.
Everything sounds distant and muffled beneath the static screaming inside my head. My skin feels tight, and my shoulders stay high as if braced for an impact that hasn’t arrived yet. Every laugh feels like it's aimed at me, and every group of girls makes my pulse race.
I’m waiting for the whispers. The “I-heard-Reece-totally-nailed-her” ones. The smug looks. The knowing glances. Waiting to hear that he had won. That the bet with Jace paid off. I brace for it with every step.
But nothing happens. No one looks twice or snickers when I pass by. No one leans in to whisper anything behind their hands. Conversations continue as if I don’t exist at all.
I swallow hard and keep walking, my heart pounding, knowing it’s not a matter of if it will happen. It’s a matter of when.
I see him at the end of the hallway before he sees me.
He’s with Jace and a few other guys. Shoulders loose.
Heads tipped together. Laughing as if nothing in the world has weight.
Reece stands a little taller than the rest, hands shoved in his pockets, that smug fucking grin carved into his face.
He throws his head back at something Jace says, laughter rough and easy.
I slow down unintentionally. My mouth becomes dry.
I wonder if they’re congratulating him. If Jace is patting him on the shoulder, calling him a legend, demanding details.
If Reece is casually feeding them pieces of me, like guys do when they think a girl is just a story.
I picture him talking about my mouth, my sounds, the way I lost control.
About how easily he made me forget my name.
The thought makes my skin crawl.
He shifts.
Our eyes meet.
Just for a second. Long enough for my chest to hurt.
Then he looks away.
He laughs at something Jace says and nudges his arm, casual and familiar, as if I don’t exist. He turns fully back to his friends and keeps talking, shoulders relaxed, grin back in place.
And somehow, that hurts more than all his teasing ever did.
Aubrey catches it instantly. Of course she does.
“He’s ignoring you,” she mutters.
“I noticed.”
“He’s a fucking asshole,” she says.
I swallow hard, my throat dry, as shame climbs up my neck and makes my skin tighten. “Don’t say anything about this to Noah,” I mumble. “Please, Aubrey. I know you two share everything, but I’m asking you. Don’t tell anyone.”
She glances at me.
“I just—” My voice wobbles before I can stop it. “I thought I wouldn’t feel this stupid. That maybe I wouldn’t just be another girl he fucked.”
The words come out tasting terrible. Too honest. Too raw.
We start walking again, weaving through the bodies clogging the hallway, lockers slamming, voices bouncing around us like none of this matters, like my chest isn’t caving in on itself.
“I won’t say anything,” Aubrey says firmly. “I promise.”
She looks at me. “Are you okay?”
I don’t even bother pretending. “No.”
The truth feels heavy and bitter on my tongue, so I let it sit there because lying would hurt more.
“You know, I thought that if I gave away that part of myself,” I say quietly, “it’d be to someone who—”
“Deserved it?” Aubrey finishes.
I nod, my throat tightening.
She exhales, looping her arm through mine to ground me when my feet feel a little too light. “It meant more to you than it did to him.”
“I knew that going in,” I say. “I know who he is.”
We slow down near the courtyard, sunlight spilling across the concrete, voices drifting from outside. Lola’s coming toward us, unmistakable even from a distance, full of her energy, opinions, and zero subtlety.
“I hate him,” I mutter, the words bitter.
“You don’t.”
“I want to.”
“Wanting and doing are two very different things,” Aubrey says, squeezing my arm.
I swallow, watching Lola get closer, knowing Aubrey’s right and hating her a little for it.
Wanting him is easy. It’s the walking away that is the part I don’t know how to do anymore.
Lola barrels toward us, ponytail swinging, phone already in her hand as if she’s mid-broadcast. “You will not guess what happened to me this morning,” she announces, eyes bright, grin feral.
“My coffee betrayed me, my bus driver hates joy, and my skirt blew up. I’m ninety percent sure I flashed Mr Carver as he got out of his car. ”
She stops.
Her grin flickers as she surveys us. Me with my jaw clenched. Aubrey too silent. The atmosphere all off.
“Oh,” Lola says, lowering her phone. “Never mind. Read the room, Lola. What’s wrong?”
I sense it then. The weight of it. The moment when, if I open my mouth, everything spills out and I fall apart in front of everyone.
“Sam.” Her tone softens completely. “What’s going on?”
I swallow and shake my head. “Nothing. I just need to go to the bathroom before first period.”
I don’t wait around for an argument.
I turn and walk, quickening my pace, eyes fixed ahead. I push through the crowd, past the laughter and the usual hum of a morning that doesn’t pay attention to me.
I don’t stop until I’m in the last stall, door locked behind me.
My chest heaves. My palms sting from where my nails dug in too hard. I sit on the lid and fold over, forehead pressed into my knees like I can make myself smaller, quieter, invisible.
I am so fucking stupid.
I let him in. Past every wall, past every lock. I handed him pieces of myself I swore I’d keep guarded. Let his hands explore where no one else ever has. He kissed me as if I mattered. Fuck me like he truly wanted me.
I believed it all because of the way he looked at me, as if it meant something. That the way my body reacted showed we were speaking the same language. That for one reckless night, I wasn’t just another girl passing through his hands.
And now?
Now he stands in these halls as if I don’t exist.