When he tells me that I’ll be next and that I will enjoy it, I have no doubt that at least the first part of that statement is true.
A shudder runs up my spine as I remember.
The things he said as he touched her, the way he compared how she was enjoying what he was doing to how I reacted the day before.
The way he spat at me that I was broken, useless. Nothing but a tease. Frigid. The way she giggled as if his words were a hilarious joke she couldn’t get enough of.
All of it turned my stomach, and the final one brought back memories of a certain birthday party that needed to stay locked in the box I’ve shoved them in.
Even now I can hear his words like he’s whispering them in my ear.
It shouldn’t have affected me, but I couldn’t help succumbing to the tears when he finally dragged her out. Thankfully, it was before he actually fucked her with me in the room.
I’d felt ridiculous allowing his vile words to hurt me but I couldn’t help it. I only have so much tolerance for his shit.
When the door opened once more, I was convinced it was him coming back to take more from me, to attempt to make me bend to his will like that slutty cheerleader who moaned like a whore every time he so much as glanced her way.
It was pathetic. Both of them were pathetic.
I was expecting him to be in my last class of the day, so when our teacher kicked things off and his desk was still sitting empty, I was more than relieved not to have to spend the hour feeling his hateful stares burning into my skin.
Everything is normal, well as normal as Rosewood High ever is, until the boy himself bursts through the door only a few minutes before the end of the day. Only he doesn’t look like he did earlier because he’s covered in blood. Not that it seems to bother him.
A collective gasp sounds out around the room and he stands proudly, displaying his injuries to his loving crowd.
“Jesus, what happened to him?” Amalie mutters beside me.
“Christ knows, he had it coming though.” As I say the words, realization hits me.
He did have it coming, and from someone I warned not to do anything.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
As the chaos continues, I slip out of the room after muttering to Amalie that I’m going to use the bathroom. Our teacher doesn’t even notice I leave, he’s too busy attempting to deal with Preston who is lapping up the attention of all the girls who are offering to be his personal nurse. I try not to gag at the thought.
Just before I turn the corner, I feel his hate-filled stare trained on me.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I hold his eyes for a beat. They’re cold, it’s not unusual, but I can’t shift the fear that snakes around my entire body.
This is not going to end well for me. Preston doesn’t take well to being threatened, and I can imagine even worse to being attacked.
Leaving him behind, I turn right down the hall instead of left toward the bathroom.
I might be wildly off the mark here, but I follow my gut all the way down toward the boy’s locker room. The trail of blood that I follow sure makes me think I’m on the right track.
Hesitating outside the door, I wonder if I’m about to make a massive mistake but then I think back to my warning about leaving this be, and my anger that he’s ignored me forces me to swing the door back and go marching in.
My lips curl as the smell of sweaty boy fills my nose but I don’t let it put me off as I march through, past the lockers and benches in the hope of finding the person I’m looking for.
The water that was running cuts off and my heart jumps into my throat as realization of what I’m doing hits me.
Walking inside here is probably the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done. Preston isn’t wrong when he tells me that I’m boring. I can’t help wondering how much of that is actually his fault. I spend most of my life trying to stay away from him, which means avoiding most parties and all other social events that most kids at Rosewood High live for.
I continue forward until I find one person with his back to me. Water droplets cover his wide shoulders and run down his back, soaking into the towel that’s wrapped around his waist.
I see no evidence that he was the one who made such a mess of Preston, but I don’t need to see any, I know.
He turns and I suck in a deep breath as I prepare for him to see me.
“Jesus, Poppy,” he barks, his eyes going wide and his chest swelling as he sucks in a sharp breath. “What the fuck?”
Squaring my shoulders, I take a step toward him. “Funny, because I was going to say the exact same thing to you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Shouldn’t you?” I quip.
“I was… eh… working out.”
“Were you?” Closing the space between us, I lift my finger, running it none too gently over the emerging bruise around his eye. “Treadmill fight back, did it?”
“Poppy,” he warns.
“Don’t Poppy me.” Dropping my hand to his, I grip his fingers and lift his hand so I can look at his knuckles. “I told you to fucking leave it,” I shout, throwing his hand back down with as much force as I can muster.
“Yeah, and I told you I couldn’t.”
“So that makes it right?” I seethe.
“Trust me, Pops. Nothing about this is right.”
“How many times do I have to say it, Zayn? This is not your fight. It’s not your place to get involved.”
“Really? So how else are you planning on making him stop?”
“I… uh…”
“Exactly. And what’s going to be next, huh? You might refuse to tell me what he’s doing but I know it’s bad. I can see it in your eyes, Poppy. I can see the fear, the sheer terror whenever he’s close, whenever someone so much as says his name. You don’t have to deal with this. You don’t deserve this.”
“Don’t,” I warn as he takes a step toward me, crowding me with his large frame.
It’s bad enough that he’s standing there in just a towel with nothing but water trailing over his bronzed, taut skin. I watch one droplet as it runs down from his collarbone, over his chest and drops down to his abs.
Fuck.
My eyes lock on where the towel is tucked around his waist, knowing that he’s naked beneath.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I try to imagine how it might look and wonder how easy it would be to pull it from his body.
“Go on, if you want to.”
My eyes fly up to his, shocked that he’s responding to my thoughts.
“W- what?”
“You’re staring at the towel as if you want it to disappear, so make it.”
“N- no, that’s n- not…”
“No?”
He steps forward and I’m forced to take one back to stop his body from brushing up against mine.
“What are you doing in here, Poppy?”
“I… um… I had a feeling that you’d be here and I… uh… wanted to…”
He takes another two steps and I find myself once again caged between him and the wall.
“You wanted to… continue what we started earlier?”
“What? N- no. I wanted to shout at you, tell you that you’re totally out of order for doing what you—”