33. Breathe Me
brEATHE ME
PRESENT
I never told anyone the specifics about what Mr. Easton said in his office, not even my dad or Blythe.
They had already wanted me to sign the NDA before the photo even came out, so I knew disclosing the full details, like what he did to Charlotte Hinckley, would only further hurt my case.
They didn’t want any blowback, and once the picture came out, letting them know that Roland Easton happily admitted to destroying an innocent woman’s life by dragging her name through the mud would have been the nail in my coffin.
Hell, it didn’t matter anyway. The second word got back to them about my bare ass and skeletal frame being exposed for all to see, they demanded I go through with signing the NDA “or else.”
Unsurprisingly, nobody in the police department was particularly keen on looking into the matter either, not even after the photo leak.
It was obvious I hadn’t uploaded it, but investigating child pornography wasn’t apparently high on RPD’s list of priorities.
Well, at least until Deputy Lanski moved to town.
And wouldn’t you know it? Some peculiar events began plaguing him, and he was all too happy to take up the job offer down south a month later.
So, I did as I was told, keeping everything to myself…
Until last night.
I had to. I had to tell Aria and the guys what she was in for if she pursued charges. I had to let her know that Mr. Easton would likely seek her out the way he had with me.
From there, it was just a matter of hashing things out, even after we brought Aria back home from the hospital. Surprise, surprise. Whatever she had been drugged with didn’t show up on the toxicology report, leaving us with some less-than-stellar legal options.
Considering the sleepless night we’ve all had, Maggie and I leave at eight o’clock to do a coffee run. The drive-thru is a mile long, so we opt to go inside. The short walk to the building is enough to leave my heart missing a beat, because the handful of people we pass all give us strange looks.
Maggie pulls out her compact and checks her reflection as I pull open the door, seeing what I see.
Nothing.
We’re both fresh-faced and wearing some clothes Aria lent us. We may not be dripping in designer labels like the other ladies here, but we don’t look like we just came rolling out of the bushes, either. Still, that doesn’t stop countless others from staring.
The café is divided into two sections: one for beverages and the other for baked goods.
Wanting to get out of here as fast as possible, Maggie and I each take a line.
Only then do we realize the stares are exclusively aimed at me.
Nobody gives Mags a second look, unless you count the guy standing behind her in line now ogling her ass.
I’d happily switch places with her if it meant escaping the leers and whispers and—
Did that girl seriously just take a picture of me?
A nauseating sense of déjà vu hits, because the last time people looked at me like this was just after Trent and Sienna released that photo of me in the locker room.
Thankfully, there isn’t any new footage for them to use, and even if they released something old, no one would recognize me from the girl eighteen months ago.
But that begs the bigger question: why are they looking at me like this now?
Like a life raft in a sea of eyeballs, a much friendlier face approaches me. He looks to be in college, wearing a polo and khakis, and up until five seconds ago, he was sitting at a nearby table with a group of guys dressed similarly.
The smile he offers could melt butter. His words, however… “Hey, we were just curious. Do you do bachelor parties, or is it only a one-on-one thing?”
Huh?
Almost immediately, he starts snickering, along with the rest of his “bros.”
Thank God I’m next in line, because I get to ignore him in favor of the person behind the counter.
I order and pay, but sadly, I have to go off to the side and wait for the food.
On any other day, getting freshly baked croissants would be a godsend, but right about now, I’d take a donut that’s been sitting out for the last three days if it meant leaving here faster.
I’m stuck waiting for another five minutes when I see a genuinely friendly face.
Or, at least, that’s what he usually gives me…
Wes doesn’t appear to notice me at first, but when I give a subtle wave at him, I don’t get the response I was expecting. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, turning his attention towards the front door, as if contemplating running out.
Approaching him probably isn’t the best idea, but with the fifty eyeballs currently trained on me, I’ve reached my breaking point. If he has answers as to why, I’m getting them. Now.
Going over to him, I’m immediately leveled with another emotion I didn’t expect.
Anger.
Wes clenches his jaw so tight that the muscles in his cheeks visibly strain. When I try addressing him, he just runs a hand over his face and mutters that he “can’t do this right now.”
“You can’t do what ?”
He shakes his head, steps out of line, and moves towards the door.
Seriously?
Too bad for him, I haven’t had my coffee yet and therefore am far too tired to give a shit about propriety.
When he sees that I’ve followed him outside, he finally relents, turning to face me. Though, the look he spears me with has me recoiling a step. He’s uncomfortable, not to mention mad, but there’s genuine hurt there, too.
My frustration has me wanting to snap at him, but I force my voice into something gentler. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on?”
This does nothing to temper his mood, because Wes scoffs. The only reason he lowers his voice is likely because we still have an audience as people pass us on the sidewalk. When he reads the confusion on my face, he laughs, though it’s hollow. “You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“You might want to check social media, and maybe get some more mindful friends,” he says, looking over my shoulder.
I follow his gaze, watching Maggie use her back to push open the front door as she balances two carrier trays in her hands.
Wes turns to go but thinks better of it, the anger dissipating.
And somehow, that makes it worse. He looks and sounds utterly dejected.
“I wouldn’t have cared if you told me you were a stripper or a Webcam girl or a goddamn porn star.
All I wanted was for you to be honest with me.
Instead, you sat there last night pouring honey into my ear, and for what? ”
I have no freaking clue what he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t wait for an answer, muttering that I’m “just like everyone else” as he disappears down the sidewalk.
“Did we stumble into The Twilight Zone or something? Because everyone is acting super sketchy,” Maggie says upon reaching me.
Given what Wes just said, I should be more than a little suspicious of her, but the instinct doesn’t come. Not only because she’s my Ride Or Die but also because she hasn’t talked to anyone apart from Jase, Reed, Aria, and me since last night. She doesn’t even have her phone—
That last thought has me scrambling for my own cell, praying to God that I’m wrong.
But I know for a fact that Trent not only got a hold of Maggie’s phone but also was able to take it from her when the screen was unlocked, since he could call me from it.
I pull up her profile on several social media apps, finding the same thing posted to each one.
That motherfucker…
I have to brace myself on the easel sign beside me so I don’t sink to the ground, because there is way too much to process in thirty seconds.
Maggie rips the phone out of my hand, demanding to know what the hell is going on, and immediately gasps.
Picture after picture after picture depicts a nearly naked redhead doing everything from straddling Trent in a lap dance to being on all fours with her ass in his face.
Oh so conveniently, she’s turned away from the camera in every shot, so you can’t see what she looks like, save for the last picture clearly of me in the Eastons’ hallway last night.
It shows the instant Trent forced his mouth on mine, his hand freely groping my breast.
And I recall the flash of light I saw out of the corner of my eye just before Sienna interrupted.
In the low lighting of the photographs, the girl’s hair color is pretty much identical to mine, except for it lacking the subtle highlights and undertones Maggie expertly added.
Likely a wig. They’ve also drawn or painted a beauty mark onto the girl’s back in the exact place as mine, and to drive the message home, Trent wrote in the captions, “#UglyDucklingTurnedSluttySwan,” tagging my account in the photos.
The amount of information that floods me has a cold sweat breaking out over my body despite the heat.
This wasn’t done in retaliation for last night. This had been planned in advance. That much is obvious, given Trent’s face isn’t beaten and bloodied in the photos.
When Aria confided in Maggie last night, she said Trent got a phone call before he could do anything, consequently locking her in the room and leaving for a few minutes.
She was so out of sorts that she barely managed to get off the mattress, only to collapse on the floor.
And when Trent returned, he was bragging about how they would have “company.” Aria assumed he invited some other sicko to join them, but it’s all too clear now that he meant me.
That’s why he stole Maggie’s phone. He knew in my panic I would run back to the house and up to the bedrooms to stop him from doing something to her…
…where he’d finally get me alone and do God only knows what to me.
And who would I be to argue? How could I reasonably claim he raped me when there’s evidence floating all over social media, seemingly posted by my friend, showing “me” doing all kinds of sexual acts leading up to it?
Once again, I’d look like someone who was just embarrassed that the footage got leaked.
I look down the sidewalk, hoping to see Wes so I can explain, but he’s gone.
I’m about to call him when my phone vibrates with two incoming texts from the Stepmonster.
Come home.
Now.
Anytime the woman uses separate messages to punctuate her statement, it is never a good sign.
Hopefully, she’s just pissed I broke curfew by never coming home last night, but I doubt I’m that lucky.
Either way, I’m in for a world of shit-talk and fury.