Chapter 12 Assholes #2
My eyes flash back to the dusty carpet. Ice replaces all the warmth in my body. Daniel’s voice echoes in ears.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He pulls me against him, grinding against my ass.
My chest tightens. No.
“Get off me,” I mumble. It’s hard to get the words out, but it seems the guy doesn’t get the memo, and his hands travel up and down my sides, then further grabbing my ass.
Something inside me flicks on like a light, and I whirl around and knee him in the balls.
He groans, doubling over.
“I said. Get. Off. Me,” I growl at the guy, feeling stronger now.
“You bitch,” he hisses through his pained grunts.
I glare daggers at him then scoff, turning away and grabbing Dakota’s hand, dragging her behind me to an area where a large white sheet is strung up between two trees.
“Are you okay?” Dakota looks over me. “What an ass.”
“Yeah, just… flashbacks.” I shiver. “Had to get some air.”
“I understand.” Dakota gives me a small smile.
I let the clean air fill my lungs and exhale all the negativity out of my body.
“What’s that for?” I nod to the projector some guys are setting up.
“They always do like a slideshow of photos of people and videos people submit. AV club likes to put shit on.” Dakota shrugs
“What an interesting thing to do at a party.” I crinkle my brows.
“Dakota!” Brynn calls, waiving frantically.
“Are you going to be okay?” Dakota squeezes my hand.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Go.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile.
Dakota goes to Brynn, who pulls her into the throng of people dancing. I turn and watch as the projector clicks on, and pictures of different parties are shown. Some people laugh at the various poses and pranks that have been done so far this year.
My eyes sweep across the party. Red cups tilted, secrets spilled, and everyone looks so at ease.
This is their world, and I’m just discovering it. I catch flashes of familiar faces in the crowd—Dakota, Brynn, Evie, Callie, and farther off, the boys. The bonfire creates dancing shadows, laughter buzzing like static all around me.
The music slices off mid-beat, leaving behind a jagged silence that makes the crowd falter. A sharp screech of feedback crackles through the speakers—shrill and sudden, like the scream of metal on metal.
Heads turn toward the DJ, whose hands are up in confusion. Conversations die mid-laugh. Even the firelight feels colder, like the forest itself is stumped.
A low hum starts from the speakers.
“No—please don’t—”
My heart stops. I slowly turn toward the screen.
The video is grainy but unmistakable. My dorm room. My bed. The nightlight in the corner. The shadows warping the space.
And me. Curling in the sheets, breath ragged. Thrashing.
“Stop—please—Daniel, stop—”
The crowd falls silent. My stomach plummets as if I’ve stepped off the edge of a cliff.
I know this nightmare. I know it like I know the shape of my scars, the hollow of my chest where trust used to live. I lived this night a hundred times before—but never like this. Never with the world watching.
“I won’t tell—I promise—”
There is something so obscene about hearing the words with my voice cracking in terror, echoing across the clearing.
A few people laugh—uneasy, confused.
Someone mutters, “Is this… is this real?”
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Then the laughter grows. Bolder now. Cruel.
“Holy shit, what’s wrong with her?”
“Is this a movie? Did she record herself having a mental breakdown?”
“This girl’s psycho.”
I’m still watching, frozen, as my own body screams on-screen. I whimper, gasp, and claw at the sheets like they are ropes that could keep me from being dragged under.
I can feel every eye. Every whisper.
They took this from me. The safety of my room, where I fall apart. They dug it out and fed it to the sheep.
The video cuts off with a sharp click. Then the music resumes like nothing ever happened.
But the sound keeps echoing in my skull. The begging. The breathless panic.
Everything I work so hard to keep hidden—on display.
I barely register the voices around me now, shouting, mocking, laughing. The burn behind my eyes. My nails are digging into my palms. The way the earth tips sideways beneath my feet.
I turn slowly to look across one of the bonfires burning, seeing the four boys I know are responsible for this stunt.
They stand just beyond the flames, their faces lit in flickering gold and shadow.
Jace in front, arms folded, watching me with that unreadable, storm-slick stare.
Luca leans in to say something to him, smirking, like this is all some private joke.
Tex looks bored, and Noah is tapping on his phone, probably queuing up the next round of humiliation.
I don’t move. I keep my spine straight and my chin high. My face burns—anger or shame, I can’t tell—but I meet Jace’s gaze and don’t look away.
They want a reaction. They want me to crack, to give them a reaction.
I won’t.
But inside, something fortifies.
As if I’m slammed back into my own body, I realize that I’m still frozen in place, still standing in front of the screen that projected my nightmares. My cup slips from my fingers and hits the dirt with a soft thud, liquid splashing out around it.
I blink, but the scene is still there. My worst moment on loop. My breathing. My begging. My terror. Broadcasted like a joke.
“Isobel…” Dakota runs up, and I push past her.
I can’t. I’m too busy trying to hold myself together.
Laughter crashes around me. I’m drowning.
My stomach churns. My lungs can’t take in air. My heart slams so hard against my ribs it feels like it’s trying to break free and run without me.
I walk as calmly as possible back out of the forest. Past all the laughing people, teasing and taunting. Past the people making out and grinding on the dance floor. Past people moaning in the darkness. I hold it all in all the way till the edge of the forest, then I run.