For once, he’s the first one to break eye contact. He turns his focus toward the windshield, and his jaw tightens as he takes a deep breath. “That’s not what Rosalind’s for,” he mutters.
The statement confuses me. What does he mean, that’s not what she’s for? Sex?
Are he and Rosalind not sleeping together?
For a moment, I’m curious if there’s trouble in paradise, but then I tell myself I shouldn’t care. Their relationship has nothing to do with me.
“Well, it’s not what I’m for either,” I retort. I go to open my door, and he lets me unlock it and leave. I fight every urge within me to look back as I make my way to my dorm, but I can’t stop myself from wincing when his engine roars to life and he takes off down the street.
The next morning, I’m determined to put the whole sordid night behind me. I slept like shit, tossing and turning as I couldn’t get my mind to slow down. It jumped from thoughts of Jenn and the way she denied being in that picture, to the danger I was in at the bar, to Saint’s weird comment about Rosalind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get that one little point in our interaction out of my head.
I’m exhausted and irritable as I reach the quad in front of the dining hall.
And that’s when my phone buzzes.
I grab it, thinking it’s likely Loni and unlock the screen. My eyes widen and the air leaves my lungs in a rush when I find a picture waiting for me in my inbox.
It’s a photo from last night. Of me, sitting in Saint’s car in front of my building.
His cheek is pressed to mine, and his hand is in my hair and it looks like we’re…
There’s a caption beneath the picture like it’s a fucking newspaper headline.
CWT (Crack Whore in Training) Mallory Ellis Sucks Dick for Ride!
My heart’s racing and I suddenly feel nauseous. Who could’ve taken this? If they sent it to me, who else did they send it to?
I stop outside the dining hall doors and look up from my phone. Maybe I shouldn’t go in there. Loni and Henry are supposed to be meeting me, but maybe I should text them and tell them I’ll see them later in class.
A spike of anger stabs through me, and I hate feeling like such a coward. It’s just a picture. The people at this school have done so much worse, and I’m sure Saint will shut down any gossip that might be going around. He wouldn’t want to upset Rosalind—even if their relationship isn’t nearly as perfect as it seems.
Fuck it. I’m not letting this ruin my day.
Squaring my shoulders, I open the doors and march into the building, making my way to the hall. The second I walk inside, though, I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake.
“Can’t keep your hands to yourself, slut?” someone immediately shouts at me.
“Whore!”
Everyone’s turning to stare at me. My hands curl into fists as my shoulders tense. I gaze around, boldly meeting the sea of glares before me. More terrible names are thrown my way. A few threats. I do my best to ignore them, scanning the crowd, but I don’t see Loni or Henry. They must not be here yet.
Shit.
My eyes suddenly land on Laurel on the other side of the hall. She’s standing with her arms crossed, smirking as she watches the show. She looks like she was expecting this, and it hits me like a blast of lightning.
She took that picture—or at least she knows who did—and apparently sent it out to everyone.
I’m about to make my way toward her to rip her goddamn throat out, when a group of pissed off looking Barbies cut me off.
“What the hell is your problem, bitch?” one of the girls, a short brunette with a bob cut snaps at me.
I raise my hands, taken aback by their direct attack.
“Whoa, who are you guys?” I ask, my eyes bouncing among them.
A second girl, a slender blonde, points a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Not a nasty slut who fucks guys with girlfriends,” she replies sharply. “You better back the fuck off Saint.”
Why is it that I’m getting all the blame for this? If people really think Saint would cheat with me, where’s the outrage toward him? Is it because he’s the guy? Or because he’s their lord?
Either way, the double standard grates my nerves.
I grind my teeth before saying, “You know what? I don’t have time for this bullshit. You’ve got a problem, take it up with Saint if you think he’s not loyal.”
They all gape as I push past them. I’m sure none of them are used to being talked back to, but I’ve got enough diva bitches to deal with as it is. I don’t need a flock more of them.
I’ve got Laurel in my sights, and I’m going to make that bitch pay for what’s she’s done. Enough is enough. She shouldn’t be able to get away with this shit anymore.
Her eyes slowly widen as I draw near, and I think she can tell I’m out for blood. Good. I hope she’s afraid.
I’m about ten feet away from her when the can comes out of nowhere and nails me in the shoulder.
“Fuck!” I yell as pain radiates from the point of impact. My eyes drop to watch the projectile hit the floor next to me. It’s an unopened soda.
I whip around, readying to confront the psychopath who threw it at me, but a handful of scrambled eggs hits me in the left side of my face.
Spinning in that direction, I open my mouth and shout, “Back the fuck off!”
I don’t know who I’m yelling at, necessarily. I guess I’m just warning everyone in that moment. Someone sneaks up behind me, though, and shoves me to the floor. I crash against the cold tile with a grunt, disoriented and filthy.
Laughter surrounds me, and I’ve never felt so low in my life. They pelt me with more food and garbage, and something hits my cheek hard. I cover my head with my hands to protect myself as best I can.
“This is a pretty sight,” an evil voice cackles from above me.
I glance up, and Laurel’s standing there, holding a tray full of food in her hands.
“You’re exactly where you belong. Groveling at my feet like the bitch you are.” She sneers then reaches onto her tray, dragging a handful of tater tots through ketchup and tossing them toward my upper thighs. “There you are. Right at home, fetus-killing slut.”
She moves to tip the rest of the tray’s contents onto me, and I flinch, readying for the impact.
“What the fuck is going on here?” a deep voice booms.
Laurel freezes, the color draining from her face. I turn my head to see what she’s staring at, and I spot Saint, Rosalind, and Liam making their way towards us with Gabe trailing a few feet behind. It appears they’ve just arrived at the dining hall. Now, the only question is, are they here to help me?
Or Laurel?
Rosalind and Saint stop within a few feet of me and each glare at Laurel, who meekly lowers her tray.
“I said,” Saint growls, “what the fuck is going on here?”
“I … it’s … well, you see, Mallory….” Laurel stammers. She falls apart so easily around Saint, I almost pity her.
“We’re just giving this whore a taste of her own medicine,” the brunette from earlier snaps. They’ve moved to stand to the side of the gods, and there really must be strength in numbers because I can’t think of anyone at this school that would dare glare at those three the way those girls currently are. “She shouldn’t take what isn’t hers, Saint. We were doing it for Rosalind.”