Page 22 of Brat Baby (Sugar Life #1, #3)

Emery

The trembling of my thighs as I come up the last few steps to the landing of my dorm room floor is something I’m choosing to ignore. Just like I’m ignoring the way the skin beneath my eyes feels stretched and tight.

To be on the safe side, I’ve kept my face angled toward the floor from the moment I entered the building, avoiding the gazes of any of the residents who happen to look in my direction.

I have zero interest in the people using the common areas and hallways seeing the emotions written all over my face.

The fact that I haven’t been able to keep them packed tightly on the inside in over a week is another irritation altogether.

One fucking weekend with a group of lying liars who lie stripped me of all the defenses I’ve built up over the years.

I shrug my shoulders in an attempt to adjust the straps of my duffel and backpack, both of which are cutting into my shoulders. And I change the overflowing takeout bag from one hand to the other, since the twine handles are gouging the palm of my hand.

They never showed.

But food kept showing the fuck up. More food than I could reasonably eat on my own.

They knew I was there. They were looking after me while I was there. But they never actually fucking came to look after me.

I have so many emotions fighting for pole position right now, with humiliation in the lead.

The one good thing about all of this is that they didn’t actually see me hanging around their place, waiting for them like a goddamn lost puppy, begging for a fucking home, the entire stupid weekend.

Somehow the distinction between them knowing and actually seeing is reassuring. Still embarrassing as fuck, though.

Fuck. Them.

I’m done. My stomach is one big ball of lead.

They said we were over, that the contract is void for whatever fucking reason, and I’m finally going to believe them.

Not showing up in the privacy of their own space when they know I’m there waiting for them?

The message has been received, loud and clear.

I’m so done.

I stupidly thought we could work this out, that they didn’t really mean what they said on Monday, all because they have still been sending gifts and because Xavier checked my cuts and gave me an orgasm.

Am I a fucking moron? Like, seriously. Do I really need to be getting down on my knees and begging for these assholes?

I’m no better than one of the girls on those reality TV shows who keeps going back to the douchebag because he has a magic dick, even after every single red flag he has waved in her face.

No more ignoring the red flags for me.

I’ll take the last of my rewards and be done.

I’ll figure something out about getting the security card back to them.

There are only fifteen weeks left of the semester.

I can make it through that. I’ll move to the back of the class, make sure I am always early, and go through their TAs if I need anything.

I’m going back to concentrating on my goals.

Studying, getting through college, graduating, getting a stable job, buying my own place—and a cat.

Even thinking about my future white, fluffy friend has the uneven fluttering of my heart calming down.

Yes, back to the whole reason I am here in the first place.

My feet feel heavy as fuck and my emotions are all but flat as I drag myself over the last step and start down the hallway.

But I pull up short when I see the white box sitting in front of the door.

Forcing myself forward the last few steps, I don’t acknowledge the two girls having a conversation in the doorway opposite mine.

Or the music that is blasting from two doors farther down.

I simply unlock the door, shove it open, step over the box and head inside, beelining straight for the kitchen, where I pull open the fridge door, ready to jam the food in there, but it is oddly full of fresh food.

Frowning, I close the door and put the takeout on the counter, figuring I will deal with that later.

Then I go and dump the duffel and backpack on my bed before returning to the door to get the box.

When I open it, one of the girls makes eye contact with me and smiles. “It arrived maybe ten minutes ago?”

I offer her a barely there smile. “Thanks.” It’s the best I can manage.

Bracing myself for it to be heavy, I’m incredibly surprised when it is light as fuck. I almost throw my back out when I jerk upright with zero resistance. Thankfully, the two girls have disappeared into their room and didn’t witness my epic lack of grace.

What the hell did they send me now?

From the kitchen, I pluck a knife from the cutlery drawer and cut through the packing tape. Still feeling mostly dead on the inside, I unfold the flaps of the boxes and peer inside. There is something white, but it’s obscured by clear plastic.

Carefully, I reach into the box and gently take hold of the item. Whatever the crinkly plastic is protecting, it’s incredibly soft and squishy. As soon as I see the first squished but fluffy ear, I know exactly what I have in my hands.

Once I have the entire thing out of the box, I rip the plastic off and drop it onto the floor. A small piece of paper and one of those sachet things that keep stuff dry flutters to the ground, but I ignore them.

A perfectly white bear, with fluff so soft that it feels like it should be a part of a baby’s blanket. His eyes are little dark beads, but his nose… his nose is a cute, stitched blue heart.

Hands wrapped around his body, I rub my thumbs over his tummy, staring at the heart.

They’ve sent me three hearts now.

Perfume.

Necklace.

Teddy bear nose.

I close my eyes, the backs of my eyelids used to the familiar prickle of tears now. Why are they doing this to me? It’s fucking torture. This push and pull—I can’t keep doing this. It hurts too fucking much.

Maybe I should send them a message and tell them to stop sending the rewards? Just end it now. Tell them to stop contacting me? To lose my number?

The mere thought of losing this connection shoots a violent pang through my chest. The feeling is so violent, I’m the tiniest bit worried that my heart actually did beat out of rhythm for a second.

But I have to, right? For my own sanity. I can’t live in this state of limbo anymore. It’s too fucking hard.

Carrying my new bear—Blue—I go to my room to retrieve my phone from my bag. I sit on the edge of my bed, Blue tucked under one arm, quickly update the note with the rewards list, and then open my messages.

It opens to my thread with Xavier and my photo from this morning. Because, even without any of them showing up, I’d still been a good girl for him and sent the pictures all weekend.

I exit out of that and tap on the group chat but pause. What do I even say? Stop sending me gifts, assholes? Fuck off? You broke me, now leave me alone?

Inhaling, I try to clear my thoughts. Try to think past the feelings. I don’t want to come across as a pathetic child. I also don’t want to sound like a hysterical female. I want cool, calm, deliberate.

Words start to come to me, and I turn them around in my mind. As I’m thinking, my phone vibrates, and I glance at the top of the screen to see a SugarLife vault notification. My vault is empty, the last of the transfers clearing on Friday. Why is it sending me notifications now?

Frowning, I tap on it and wait for the app to load, log in, and open my vault.

And then I stare. And stare some more.

SugarLife

Your vault balance is $2,310.

Two-thousand, three-hundred-and-ten dollars?

A light bulb turns on inside my head.

That is sixty-thousand dollars divided by twenty-six weekends.

Did they just pay me for the weekend? Are they honoring the contract?

What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

Sweat forms down my back, nausea churns my stomach, and I feel like I’m going to pass out.

I don’t get it. Like really, really don’t get it. Fuck, I wish Oakley was here. I need someone to talk to.

Dropping my phone, I raise Blue up to my face and scream into his stomach. He doesn’t muffle the sound very well, but I kind of feel better. Not really. Not at all, actually.

They are goddamn assholes.

Big hairy ones, with pieces of shit stuck to the side.

What the hell is their problem?

They are the ones who ended this. Why the hell are they continuing with this bullshit?

What game are they playing at? And why the hell can’t they tell me the damn rules? I don’t even care what they are. Just knowing them would level the playing field.

I stare at Blue, then drop my gaze to the bracelet and reach up to the necklace, toying with the key. It’s like they are saying they want me but don’t want me at the same time. Keeping me on the hook, so to speak.

Well, if they want to play games with me, then maybe I will play my own game with them. If they aren’t going to let me in on the rules of their game, then I am going to make up my own.

The churning in my stomach turns into a nervous flutter at the thought.

Sparks of energy flow through my veins, lighting me back up to a level that I haven’t felt since last weekend. Ideas form in my head, and I turn to scan my wardrobe until I spot the outfit I’m thinking of. A grin crosses my face that I’m pretty sure looks unhinged, but I don’t care if I look crazy.

They made me crazy.

Now they can deal with the consequences.