This hadn’t been the first time Trent did something like that. The fact that he felt emboldened to do it in public speaks volumes in itself. The fact that his father is so well-versed in NDAs? Trentisa serial offender, and I can only imagine how many other girls in school have been subjected to him. Since we’re minors, we can’t be held to NDAs. If someone gets the ball rolling, others will no doubt speak up. And what about Principal Harris and the chief of police? They’d have to tell the truth on the witness stand, and even if they lied, there’s no way to explain the video footage. Security cameras are placed at all the entrances to the school, as well as the front offices. There would be proof Mr. Easton was let into Harris’s officealonewith me. And if thefootage mysteriously gets deleted, that would only raise more suspicions.
“And what about the rest of us?” Blythe demands. My dad rests his hand over hers, likely to get her to stop, but she rips it out from under him. “No, Everett! This affects everybody. How much do you want to bet that your endorsement offers will suddenly dry up? No dance company would so much as look at Vanessa, let alone take her on. All of the donations to my charities will dry up, as will any career prospects for Derek. Ali can’t possibly be this selfish to ruin everything we’ve all worked for!”
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t push back. He doesn’t defend me.
He does nothing.
He doesn’t need to.
His silence says it all.
And I’m not sure what hurts more: the possibility that he doesn’t even believe me or that he actually does but is too much of a chickenshit to stand up for his daughter?
Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m not worth standing up for.
Blythe begins hashing out details about the payout, but I stop hearing it. I can barely process anything over the pounding in my ears. The floor may as well open up and swallow me whole, because I’m free falling into the chasm that used to hold my heart. All that’s left in my chest is rage and despair and unending hollowness, the combination leaving me numb.
The legs of my chair scrape across the hardwood floor as I rise from my seat, and I’m only vaguely aware of the fact that Blythe finally shut least for the moment. She rears back from me as I round the table, like I might hit her. Instead, I just grab my phone sitting in front of her and go to the back set of stairs. I don’t care that she’s yelling my name and demanding I come back.
I head to the bathroom, lock myself inside, and turn on the shower for the next hour and a half.
I don’t even haveto open the bathroom door to hear Blythe’s screeching from downstairs when I eventually shut off the water. Her voice carries through the vents just fine. Though, I’m pretty sure the sheer volume of it is enough for even the neighbors to hear.
It seems someone associated with the Eastons called my dad again while I was in the shower, and this individual was none too happy to hear I hadn’t signed the NDA yet.
Yeah, well, they can all take my noncompliance and shove it up their asses.
The simple act of securing the bath towel around my chest puts pressure against my aching rib cage, solidifying my stance. The hot water from the shower did nothing to soothe my bruises or my head, and the broken skin on my knees and palms still stings from the soap.
My phone hadn’t made a peep the entire time I was in the shower, and now I see why. The screen lights up with several notifications in a row, reminding me that I had set the device on silent mode back when I entered school.
In the few seconds it takes to unlock the screen, several more notifications come in, and when I change the mode, my cell starts doing its best impression of a vibrator.
Names of fellow classmates start popping up, indicating they’ve messaged me through the school’s directory app.
That’s…weird. The only time I ever get anything from anyone on here is when we’re working on a group project, which we aren’t.
I ignore them for the time being, seeing I’ve gotten a text from my sister.
Thank God.
Despite how distant our relationship has become, especially with her away at college, I know I can still confide in her about the big things. And right about now, I need my siblings more than anything else.
For a fleeting second, I think maybe Blythe or our father actually decided to fill Vanessa in on what happened andthat’swhy she’s reaching out, but instead, I’m greeted with a message that says:
Hey, I hope it’s okay that I gave out your email. Blythe said you weren’t feeling well, so I didn’t want to bother you.
One of your classmates texted me the other day, asking for it so she could forward the assignments and worksheets you’ve missed out on.
Huh?
I have no idea who she could be referring to, and when I open my email, I don’t find any messages from this supposed classmate. What I do find: at least seventy notification emails from the school’s directory app, all issued in the last half hour.
Did someone die? I’ve never gotten more than five notifications over an entire week.
The subject on the latest simply reads, “A REACTION TO YOUR RECENT UPDATE,” with a comment showing nothing but a line of vomit emojis.
Again, huh?
