Another fucking glitterbomb.
She’s hunting me.
This isn’t a prank. This is a power play. A filthy little breadcrumb trail she left knowing I’d follow it all the way to the edge.
I reach in, jaw tight, and flick the card open with two fingers, already bracing for some dumbass joke or passive-aggressive threat. Instead, I read:
I masturbated while wearing your glove.
That’s it. Just her unhinged, horny handwriting and that one line carved into my skull now.
Fuck.
I knew the glove wasn’t misplaced.
Nope.
She took it. She used it.
My fists clench, and for a second, I think about throwing the whole bag in the trash. Let her wonder if it landed. Let her stew. But then I think about that glove in her hand.
Or hell, on her hand. Around her fingers, slicked with her.
Fuck.
I sit hard on the bench, gripping the card like it might combust.
She wants me to see it. To picture her with that glove, my glove, pressed between her thighs, slick with need and smug as sin.
And she knew I would. She counted on it.
Fuck, Delilah. I hope it made you scream.
That scrunchie in my pocket feels heavier now, laughing at me.
I should throw it all out. Burn it. Pretend I’m not already planning what to do with that glove when I get her alone.
Should stuff it between her teeth and watch her choke on the taste of her own goddamn game. Should gag her with it while I fuck her senseless.
The fucking worst part is now I want it back.
Not to wear. Not for training.
But to ruin her.
I shove the cashews she left me like I’m some stray dog she’s trying to win over with snacks and chaos in my mouth. One, two, gone. Just like the last threads of my fucking self-control.
When I round the corner toward the front, Chad fucking Petergrind materializes like a jump scare from hell.
He’s too close. Too smug. Too fucking here.
I stop short. “I’m trying to work. My lawyer…”
“I don’t give a shit about your lawyer,” he snaps. “You and that little delulu bitch went too far. I’ve pressed charges.”
Bitch? Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him in front of the fucking vending machines.
My fists curl without permission. “You press charges on your own fucking reflection, Chad?” I ask, voice low. “Because that’s the only place I saw a bitch.”
