I LOCK myself in my room once I make my escape from West, stripping off my clothes and stepping into the shower, turning the water until it’s scalding hot. I need to burn his touch off of my skin, his words out of my mind. He’s cruel and awful and he says the worst things.
The most confusing things.
The water slides over me, and I stand under it, closing my eyes. But it doesn’t help. I can still see him. Feel his hands on my body. The way he licked my neck. My shoulder. When he said he wanted to taste every part of me. My body automatically reacted when he said those words.
It’s reacting now, my pulse throbbing between my legs, heavy and insistent. I reach down, my fingers sliding, sinking into nothing but hot wetness.
Oh. I cup myself, remembering how he touched me. So confident, so firm. I press my fingers against my clit, resting my other hand on the tile wall of the shower to brace myself as I start to stroke.
Within seconds, my orgasm is already building, and I lean into the wall, rubbing furiously, tight little circles on my clit. I remember how I gripped West’s hips with my legs, his mouth fused with mine while we were out on that balcony, and how scary that was.
How exhilarating.
I hate him. I really do. But I also …
Want him?
I see his face in my mind, too handsome, too smug. I think of how he had a date with stupid Mercedes, yet somehow sought me out after, and I don’t understand what that means.
The orgasm hits me out of nowhere, making me gasp. Making me shake. I moan into the cold tile, nearly stumbling, and when it’s over, when I’ve come back to my senses, I realize my entire body is still shaking.
I fantasized about his stupidly handsome face and fingered myself to an orgasm, and I hate myself for it.
I hate him even more.
THE NEXT MORNING I move through each class as if I’m in a trance, unable to focus during the lectures, answering a question wrong when I’m called upon in American Government. People laugh at me and when I chance a look at West, his expression is stoic.
Immovable.
Like I don’t even matter.
When it’s lunch, I don’t bother going to the dining hall. I find myself in the library, in search of Sadie, and when I come upon her sitting at a table in the very back of the building, I almost sag with relief at seeing her friendly face.
“Are you okay?” Her brows lower, her expression one of concern when she sees me.
I settle into the chair right next to her, not about to go into detail over what happened between West and me. I hardly understand what happened, or why I let him get to me so much.
“It’s just a Monday,” is what I say to her, which is the lamest excuse ever, but she accepts it.
Sadie nods. “Oh, I totally get that. Mondays are the worst. I had a pop quiz in American History. Who does that sort of thing on Monday morning, and in first period? Sadists, that’s who. I did terrible, but I think we all did, so I’m not too worried about it. Hopefully, he’ll grade on a curve.”
I listen to her babble on, grateful that she’s keeping up the conversation and I don’t have to say a word. My stomach growls, but I choose to ignore it. I hardly ate anything the entire weekend, too upset over the thought of West with Mercedes.
Too upset by West’s attitude and the things he said to me Saturday night.
It feels as if he’s in control of my every emotion and I hate it. I can’t let this boy do this sort of damage to me, especially because he doesn’t give a damn. I need to focus on something else so I will stop thinking about him. I should concentrate more on my studies. Work hard, get good grades and get the hell out of here.
“I have a question for you,” I say, interrupting Sadie midsentence.
She brightens, like she’s thrilled I want to know something about her. “What is it? I’m an open book.”
Her first problem, though I don’t tell her that. “Is there a boy at this school who interests you?”
Sadie leans back in her chair, her brows drawn together like she has to really consider it. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if there’s anyone who interests you, or you don’t know if you want to tell me?”
“Both.” She laughs, and I envy her carefree attitude. “There are cute guys here, I can’t lie. But most of them are such snobs, don’t you think?”
I am the biggest snob at this school. She just doesn’t realize it yet. “Some of them are, yes.”
“Most everyone is. Except for you.”
I can’t keep up the pretense. “I’m horrible, Sadie.”
She appears shocked by my words. “No, you’re not. You’ve been so nice to me!”
I slowly shake my head. “You caught me during a vulnerable moment. I hate everyone.”
“You hate your parents?”
I nod. Then shrug. “I can tolerate my father. My mother is vile.”
Sadie’s eyes are so wide I’m afraid they’ll pop out of her head. “Do you have siblings?”
“Yes. My brother is an asshole and my sister probably belongs in a mental facility.”
Sadie blinks. “Do you have any friends?”
“Not here.” Not back in London either. Oh, I called them my friends, but what a lie that was. They were my competition. We were all pretending to like each other when really, we’d have no problem slitting someone’s throat to get to the top of the dance company.
“You have me,” she says with the utmost sincerity.
My cold heart cracks a little at her words. “And I appreciate that. Though I probably don’t deserve your friendship.”
“Of course, you do. Everyone deserves friendship. Like I said, you’ve been nice to me. I don’t know why you’d say you’re so mean.” She smiles and reaches out, patting me on the arm.
I automatically jerk away from her touch, but she doesn’t even notice. “Lancasters aren’t nice people.”
“You’re telling me the entirety of your family isn’t nice? You’re all a bunch of snakes in the grass.”
I contemplate what she says, thinking of my family members. My immediate family plus my aunts and uncles and cousins. “Pretty much.”
Sadie laughs, like I’m telling her a joke. “I find that hard to believe. Maybe it’s not that you’re horrible, it’s just that you don’t know how to make friends with people. Why is that?”
Her face is so open, her question so genuine, that I don’t hold back when I answer.
“I don’t trust people.”
“You don’t trust anyone?”
“Everyone wants something from me, especially when they find out who I am. Who my family is. They want to be around us because we have money. Our name opens doors. Our name gets you into places that other people can’t ever obtain. I’ve been handed everything I’ve ever wanted my entire life. I don’t have to work hard, which means I’m spoiled rotten. I deserve nothing.”
My voice is flat, and I’m repeating words that have been said to me to hurt me. My mother has said that. Various people at any dance academy I was at, both staff and students. I’ve been told the same thing over and over as they try to hold me back and it hurts.
It hurts that no one believes in me. That no one thinks I work hard. It’s all I’ve been doing since I first discovered my love for dance. The only thing I do love is ballet and dance and performing, but they all try to hold me back. They all say I don’t deserve it. I don’t put in the work.
It’s as if I’ve been gaslighted my whole life, and no one realizes it.
“Are those your own thoughts talking, or do people actually say that sort of stuff to you? Because if it’s the latter, I feel the need to go cut a bitch,” she says with such vehemence, I start to laugh.
And it’s as if I can’t stop.
Within seconds, Sadie is joining me, and we’re leaning in close, our shoulders brushing. I don’t recoil. I actually enjoy the sound of her laughter mixed with mine, and how nice it feels to be honest with someone and not feel the need to throw up a wall all the time.
“Thank you for talking to me,” I say once our laughter has died. “I needed that.”
“Anytime.” Sadie grins. “That’s what friends are for.”
