My fight or flight instincts kick in and I try to dart away again, but her friends crowd in closer on either side, ensuring my captivity as Chelsea grabs for my bra. The front clasp snaps, the straps digging into my skin as she ruthlessly rips it down my arms. I choke on a shocked yelp, slapping my hands over my bare breasts.
“Nah, can’t be her tits,” Aimee quips, mortification burning through me as I slowly turn my gaze on her. She smiles back at me, clearly deriving some sick sense of superiority from my humiliation. “We did you a favor, that top was hideous,” she adds with a cruel chuckle, eyes flickering down my nude upper body, then traveling lower. “Honestly, the skirt’s not much better. Tartan hasn’t been cool since the 90’s.”
“Well, since we’re doing favors,” Chelsea snickers, grabbing for my skirt.
“No!” I gasp, shoving her back as hard as I can.
A little piece of me cracks when I hear the distinctive sound of ripping fabric as she stumbles backwards. My eyes widen in shock, mind struggling to process the sudden rush of cold air against my now-bare lower half. I blink in disbelief at the tattered remains of my ruined plaid skirt, still clutched in her grasp.
“No,” I whisper feebly, tears springing to my eyes.
That was my favorite skirt. It made me feel sexy and powerful whenever I wore it, but now, standing here in only my underwear and ankle boots while these girls laugh and demean me, I’m not sure anything will ever make me feel that way again.
Piece by piece, Chelsea’s stripped me of my dignity. She’s torn away more than just my clothes.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, rage and indignation taking hold as I stare into her mirthless blue eyes.
How fuckingdareshe?
The smugness in her expression pushes me over the edge, and I just…snap. I lunge in Chelsea’s direction, a flash of surprise crossing her face moments before my fist connects with her nose. Blood explodes from her nostrils on impact, spraying the floor and my bare chest. She lets out an animalistic howl, clutching for her face while I stumble back, horrified at what I’ve done.
I’m a monster. They’ve turned me into a monster.
“You fuckingbitch!” Chelsea shrieks, launching herself at me. She shoves me back against the counter, her perfectly manicured fingernails clawing at my skin as I try to fight her off. “Help me hold her!” she barks out to her friends.
“Getoffme!” I scream, kicking and punching wildly as the three girls grab at me from all sides, maneuvering my body around until I’m facing the sink. Someone kicks the back of my knee and it buckles, sending me collapsing forward onto the counter. My chin smacks against the hard surface, teeth clacking together, eyes darting to the mirror just in time to see Chelsea reach for the back of my head. Pinpricks of pain break out over my scalp as she grabs hold of my hair, forcing my face into the sink. The faucet’s still running from my stupid hand-washing distraction tactic, and I choke on the frigid water as it pours over my mouth and nose, fighting like hell while the three of them hold me down.
Oh my god, they’re trying to drown me.
Panic takes hold and my brain short-circuits. I can’t breathe, I’m just sucking in water, aspirating it into my lungs. Just as my vision goes fuzzy around the edges, the hand holding my head suddenly lets go. I shove upright, coughing and sputtering as I suck in greedy lungfuls of air. Chelsea grabs onto my arm, pulling it to turn me toward her.
“This is your last warning, bitch,” she snarls, blood from her nose coating her upper lip and staining her teeth. With a fierce shove, she sends me hurtling toward the nearby wall.
My bare back slaps against the cold tile as I crash into it, sliding down the wall and crumpling to the floor.
The click of Chelsea’s heels echoes through the room as she strides over to the paper towel dispenser, pulling a few out and pressing them to her nose. Crimson blooms on the white paper and she cuts me a final glare, then continues toward the exit, motioning for her friends to follow.
I flinch at the soft thud of the door closing behind them, a shiver racking my body as I pull my knees to my chest and curl in on myself. Water drips from my hair, my clothes lying in tatters on the floor. Still, I don’t cry. As the adrenaline ebbs, I’m strangely numb. Perhaps I’m in shock.
Or maybe I’ve died and gone to hell, because that’s exactly what this place is.
I hate it here.I hate the musty smell of the old buildings, hate the stupid double C’s brandished on everything. I hate the vile people on this campus. The only decent human being I’ve come across is Bryce, but I can’t even see him without risking the Kings’ wrath. I hate the Kings with a burning passion, and I hate my mom for abandoning me here, then dropping off the face of the earth when I need her most.
She said Raf would take care of me, but he’s the worst of them all.He’sthe reason I’m in this position right now, half-naked and shivering on the bathroom floor.
He was so different when we were kids. I looked forward to Gideon bringing Raf along when he visited; the two of us would laugh and play for hours. He actually had a heart back then. I remember mentioning that I liked licorice ropes, and every time he came over after, he brought me one. He was thoughtful like that. Kind. A far cry from the devil he is today.
The bathroom door bursts open with a sudden force, andthere he is, as if I conjured his presence by simply recalling those old memories. Raf storms into the bathroom like a dark cloud, his features drawn and his jaw clenched tightly. I drop my head in defeat as he stomps in my direction, those tears that wouldn’t come before suddenly welling in my eyes, threatening to spill over as his presence fills the space.
The toes of his boots appear in my field of vision as he abruptly halts front of me, descending into a deliberate crouch.
“Who did this?” he demands in a low, menacing tone.
I raise my head, locking onto his piercing dark eyes. A tear slips from the corner of my own as I open my mouth to respond, but the words get caught somewhere in my throat, my chin quivering in silent agony.
Raf lunges forward, grabbing me underneath the armpits with a grip so fierce that it steals my breath. He yanks me up off the floor like I’m nothing more than a ragdoll, planting me on my feet. As if the weight of his stare isn’t enough to pin me in place, he closes in further, pressing in on me and crowding me against the wall.
“Who did this?” he asks again, the vein in his neck bulging, chest heaving.
