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His brows lower and I realize I’ve said too much.

Turning away from him, I scan the top of his dresser, which is immaculate. I take in the sleek, brown leather box sitting there, a watch discarded on top of it that is expensive. I recognize the brand because my father owns a few. I’m guessing that’s why August keeps his bedroom door locked.

My gaze lands on the tube of lipstick that’s sitting next to the leather box, and my stomach twists. I’m sure the last nameless, faceless girl he had sex with left it behind as some sort of memento, and without thought I stalk my way toward the dresser, swiping the lipstick off the top of it and taking off the lid. I twist the bottom of the lipstick, and the rich, dark red color has me so pissed, there might be steam coming out of my ears.

I would never wear lipstick like this. Would never allow myself to be used by a man like this ever again. It happened once before for an entire freaking school year, when I was young and stupid and defenseless, but not anymore. Tonight, I make a stand.

Emotion sweeps over me, possessing me as if a ghost entered my body, and I take a step closer to the dresser, pressing my stomach against the edge as I twist the lipstick to about halfway up, not wanting to break it off. I start writing with it on the mirror, my movements jerky, my breaths coming faster, and when I’m finished, I take a step back, admiring my handiwork.

“What are you doing?” August groans, rolling over on his side, and I chance a quick look at his face, noting that his skin has a pale green tinge to it.

“Leaving you a message.” I cap the lipstick and unable to help myself, I toss it at him with all my might, but my aim is for shit. It hits his leg.

“Ow.What the hell was that for? Fuck, I think I’m going to puke.” He doesn’t even look at me. Just scrambles off the bed and runs into the connected bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Ignoring the disappointment that threatens, I remind myself I did the right thing. A good thing. Studying the message I wrote on the mirror one last time, I turn and make my way out of August Lancaster’s bedroom, knowing that I’ll never see it—or him—again.

Good.

Chapter Seven

SINCLAIR

The past

“Flat-chested little freak.”

I hear the words despite his low-spoken tone and I lift my chin, trying to pretend I didn’t. He wanted me to hear them though. I know he did.

God, I hate August Lancaster.

I’m walking along the path that winds through campus, headed for the dining hall. I’ve been at Lancaster Prep for two weeks and while I’ve made a friend—singular—I wish I knew more people. That they would accept me into their cliques. I thought this place would be a fresh start, that we would all be on equal footing, but that’s not the case. Most everyone went to middle school together or their families move within the same social circles, while I’m new on the scene. Thanks to my parents coming into such a windfall, my mother wanted me to go to thebest school I could possibly get into. Did my father buy my admission?

I think so, though the words have never been said.

Hearing heavy footsteps behind me, I pick up the pace, hurrying toward the dining hall. I can feel his presence looming, drawing nearer and suddenly feeling a flash of courage, I whirl on him, causing August to stop dead in his tracks.

“Leave me alone.” The words are firm, despite the way I’m quaking inside and out. My knees are practically knocking against each other and I lock them, praying he doesn’t see any sign of weakness.

“Ah, so she does speak.” He tilts his head, his gaze running over me from the top of my head, all the way down to my loafered feet. Reminding me of how he looked at me on the first day of school. “You have freakishly long legs.”

I know I have long legs, but his comment makes it sound like a bad thing. I hate how he examines me. The longer he stares, the more I want to squirm under his examination. “Why am I only the sum of my body parts?”

“What exactly are you trying to say? Are you—standing up for yourself?” He sneers the words like they’re a curse, and oh God, I’m now irrationally angry.

“What’s wrong with that? No one else defends me, so I need to learn how to take care of myself.” I stand up straighter, hoping I look strong. Fake it till you make it, right? Guess that’s what I’m doing.

“If you actually stood up for yourself, you’d tell me to fuck right off.” His expression is amused, like I’m a plaything he enjoys toying with, and I curl my hands into fists, wishing I could hit him. Not that I could do much damage. He’s tall and broad and could probably squash me like a bug. “See? Look at you. You’re so mad, you can’t even manage a single word now, can you?”

An infuriated noise leaves me and I turn away from him,marching like a soldier toward the dining hall, blinking away the tears. I refuse to cry in front of him. It’s not that he hurt my feelings just now. More like I’m frustrated. He antagonizes me every chance he gets, usually in front of his friends.

Today though, he’s solo. Why? Does he hate me that much? What did I ever do to him?

“Hey.” He’s caught up to me, grabbing hold of the crook of my elbow and turning me around so I have to face him. I jerk out of his hold, hating how my skin tingles. Burns from his touch. It means nothing. My body reacts because I hate him so damn much. “I shouldn’t have called you a freak.”

I go still, waiting for the apology that will follow.

“But you do have freakishly long legs.” He grins, the sight of it stealing my breath and for a moment, I get lost in that smile.