“You were always a jerk wrapped in good-boy looks, Daniel. You might have charmed everyone, but I saw the ugliness in you. I saw the boy who was so disgusted with himself, he made it his mission to make everyone love him. Daddy issues, wasn’t it? I saw you that day, when we were twelve. You witnessed your father with a woman who wasn’t your mother and came out from the restaurant, then threw up your food. It’s why you’ve hated pesto and parmesan ever since. Why you barely eat anything, why you’re pickier than royalty and just as snobbish. Your little-boy dreams about your father were tarnished, so you decided to grow up into a worse version of him. You grew up into a cardboard imitation of a human. I pity you, I truly, most definitely do—”
My venomous words are cut off when he abruptly stands up, erases the distance between us, and grabs me by the arm, then flings me against the wall. And it’s a full-blown fling.
A yelp spills from my throat as my back hits the wall and he stands in front of me like a ruffled savage.
He’s breathing so harshly, his dress shirt nearly rips from the abrasiveness of it.
Only an inch separates my breasts from his heaving chest. If I take a deep inhale, I won’t only be able to smell him, I’ll also become one with him.
As tempting as that option is, the expression on his face isn’t. For the first time since that “night,” he’s not put-together or businesslike in his coldness.
Something is melting his ice. Anger, maybe, or rage—the black kind.
“How dare you say you pity me when you’re the pitiful one? You came begging for a job as my assistant. A job where I can eat up your life for breakfast and throw out the leftovers for the dogs. You’re no longer in your untouchable tower, Nicole. You’re no longer a princess or a bloody fake goddess, so don’t pretend a crown is sitting on your fucking head.”
“Maybe you should stop pretending that the world revolves around you.”
“Never pretended. My own world does revolve around me and you’re a mere nuisance in it. One I’ll crush before it becomes an issue.”
I try to pretend his words didn’t just cut me open, slide into my wound, and ruin its infected stitches. I try to pretend I’m not affected by his words or his accusations or his…presence that’s enveloping me in a vise-like grip.
“I should’ve never given you my lollipops,” I whisper quietly, lamely.
Every time he hid from people to throw up from the sight of food, I followed close, pretended I saw him by coincidence, and slipped one of my precious lollipops in his hand.
In his bag.
In his jacket.
On the bench beside him.
Anywhere.
Then I stayed behind to see if he’d throw it away like he does with food when no one’s looking. But he didn’t. Every single time, he stuck the lollipop in his mouth and then crunched it instead of savoring it.
He still ate it, which was all that mattered.
And I made it a habit to slip a lollipop or two in his bag every day.
He probably forgot about that, though. He seems to have crossed the past from his life.
“No, you shouldn’t have. I hated them as much as I hate you.” He leans close, so close that I breathe in his air. “You also shouldn’t have come here after everything that went down.”
“It wasn’t on purpose.”
“We’ll rectify that then. Get out and don’t ever come back. If we meet by chance, pretend you don’t fucking know me. I’ll do the same.”
A hiccup the size of a ball gets stuck in my throat, but instead of bawling my eyes out in front of him, I run out of his office.
Out of his reach.
Out of his toxic presence.
Then I finally let the tears loose.
Just like I did eleven years ago.
13
NICOLE
AGE EIGHTEEN
Three months.
It’s been three whole months and two weeks since that night everything went terribly wrong.
Except for the popping my cherry part—yeah, that one went perfectly right.
It’s probably the rightest thing that’s happened to me after being born.
The only thing that’s surpassed my every fantasy.
And that’s where the problem lies. Due to being an experience out of magic land—or filthy land—semantics—I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Not even after Daniel ditched me like a used condom—that he didn’t put on while deflowering me or the gazillion times after.
I still think about the people who looked at me as if I’m a nutcase and should be admitted to a psych ward for sitting at the step of a literally burning mansion.
The similarities weren’t lost on me and they were probably right. After all, I sat on those steps, watching the entrance like a pole dancer watches the Queen’s notes.
I didn’t blink, didn’t move, and definitely didn’t pay attention to the chaos unfolding around me.
It’s how unhealthy obsessions work. The world kind of ceases to exist, and the only time it does is when it’s working as a vessel for the subject of my obsession.
Who, if you didn’t gather already, didn’t show up.
The one who did was my mother. She grabbed me by the elbow and kind of shoved me into her car, which was very unlike her. Showing any violent behavior, even while enraged, is very unladylike-like.
I chalked it up to the fact that she was mad for finding me in the process of killing myself.
Daniel didn’t call or text that night. Granted, we don’t have each other’s numbers.
Correction—he doesn’t have my number. I stole his from Astrid’s phone when she was too careless to leave it unlocked three years ago.
He’s gone through an excessive change of nomenclatures on my phone since then.
Lollipop.
Peaches.
Snow Globe.
Fantasy.
Obsession.
Unhealthy.
And the very latest is my favorite.
Bloody Idiot.
No clue why I had his number for years when I never called or texted him. I guess knowing he was in there was enough before.
Now, it’s not.
So what if he didn’t have my number? If he wanted to change that, he could’ve asked Astrid for it. Despite my strained relationship with my stepsister, we do have each other’s numbers.
But then again, she’s the reason he ignored me all summer. That night, Astrid was involved in a hit-and-run whose culprit remains free.
They found ecstasy in her bloodstream, due to the shot Daniel snatched from me and gave to her. Uncle Henry has been mad at her for doing drugs.
To be fair, I’m sorry about that, but not enough to out myself in front of Uncle Henry. Mum would kill me. Well, not exactly, but being disappointed in me is no different than that.
After my peaches incident, she didn’t speak to me for three months and only got back to talking to me when Uncle Henry started to notice. I still have nightmares about that.
If she hears I’m the one who unintentionally drugged Astrid, she’ll think of ways to erase me from her existence.
And I’m kind of invisible to someone else so I don’t need that double torture.
Besides, ever since her accident, Astrid has possessed Daniel’s attention worse than his favorite tacky action films.