Page 86

CHAPTER

SIXTY-THREE

REMI

Weed fills the air and the sweet, earthy taste lingers on my tongue. Beside me, a guy I just met has his hand gliding up my thigh, his mouth on my neck. I tilt my head, allowing him to suck and bite my skin.

Three weeks since Cortland broke up with me, and I’m doing just. Fucking. Fine.

Sloane is on a date with Asa.

Van is somewhere in this house now, and he’d probably be pissed if he saw me, but I don’t care. He’s busy with Ryann, which is how I need him. Preoccupied.

I’m not the girl who started this year. I don’t need him to hold my hand anymore.

Because he’s gone.

There’s been no more texts. No more calls. Cortland is gone. He’s not here, and that fantasy I had in my head is all… over.

He was feeling guilty, and just like me, he wanted a do over.

He got his, and I got out. And it’s not all bad.

I haven’t heard from Silas since I left the restaurant.

As far as I’m concerned, we’re done. I was able to pick up a few shifts, working at the on-campus gym, and when I can’t… I do things like this.

I close my eyes, force myself back to this room, a moan escaping my lips as the guy’s hand trails under my short skirt, his fingers along my inner thigh. I don’t even know his name.

The lights are dim in the upstairs room of this frat house, the bass thudding under the floor we’re sitting on, but in here “Can You Feel My Heart” by Bring Me The Horizon plays as a few other students of EU fuck around with a Ouija board in the center of the room.

Lyza, that chick from my dorm, is in the middle of them all.

The two guys on either side of her are looking much more interested in her tits, barely covered by the low-cut crop top she’s wearing—light blue against her olive skin—than their hands on the planchette.

Turns out Lyza is pretty cool. Or maybe I’m just really high.

“Where are you from?” Lyza asks the spirit, her voice unwavering and strong as she stares down at the board, candles flickering around her and the guys on either side of her, a couple of people on the other side of the board.

I tip my head back against the wall, eyes still closed as I part my thighs wider, my white Chucks planted on the floor.

This guy is whispering in my ear as his fingers slip over my black silk underwear. “You like that, Remi?” he breathes over my mouth, my fingers curled around a beer bottle, a lighter in one hand, both by my sides as I let him touch me.

In our five-minute conversation before the lights got turned down and the candles were lit, I learned he’s in his third year here at Ely. He’s a political science major. With his hand under my skirt like this, he’ll probably be an excellent politician.

His hand teases the top of my underwear, one finger beneath the thin silk barrier, and I tense, panic and fear crowding in beneath my high.

There’s one moment. A moment of terror. Anxiety. Dread. It makes my stomach twist into knots, and I’m wearing hoodies and covering every inch of my body all over again.

He’s cupping my face, his thumbs brushing over my lips. “You’re okay, pretty baby.”

Then I’m on his porch.

He’s telling me to leave. He’s walking away. My heart is in pieces all over again and?—

“Stop,” I tell the guy, my voice firm. Turns out, I did learn how to use my words.

The guy freezes. Retracts his hand.

Turns out, too, some boys actually listen.

I drop the lighter, bring the beer up to my lips and tip it back as this guy starts asking me questions like, “What did I do wrong? Are you okay?”

I laugh and finish my beer, ignoring him.

“Do you wanna fuck us?” Lyza asks the spirit she’s contacting over there on the Ouija board, and I smile against the bottle as this guy switches tactics and starts kissing my neck, my freshly-dyed orange hair over one shoulder to give him better access.

“I wanna fuck you,” he whispers against my throat.

I consider it, aware that Lyza and her boys could look up at any moment and see the wanna-be politician all over me, but it’s dark. Besides, I don’t think Lyza has the moral police on her shoulder.

I turn my head, and this guy’s mouth is instantly on mine.

He moans against my lips, and I open for him, his tongue flicking my tongue ring. He huffs a soft laugh over my mouth, and he tastes like marijuana and beer, but I like it.

He plays rugby, he’s got curly brown hair and a lot of tattoos and I’m not so sure how that’s going to work in the political science field, but it’s not really my problem. Besides, he knows how to use his tongue, even though he doesn’t bite me.

Again, that night flashes in my head.

Cortland’s eyes holding mine. The numbness sweeping over me, like it is now.

Despondency. Checking out.

I swallow, pulling away from this guy.

I hear another guy’s laugh, a girl’s moan—Lyza—and I try to get myself back in the mood, the music washing over me. The marijuana still trying to lift me higher. But all I can see behind my closed eyes is Cortland’s fingers covered in my blood.

The taste of him and me on my mouth.

Him leaving me on that porch.

My stomach churns again.

Abruptly, I stand, the guy jerking away from me as I lean against the wall, swaying a little.

“You all right?” he asks me.

Nope. I smile anyway and nod, taking a breath. With clumsy steps, I make my way through the room, past the Ouija board.

I just need the bathroom.

I just need a second alone.

“You good?” I hear Lyza call after me.

I hold up a peace sign and she laughs. “Let me know if you need me, Rems!” she calls over her shoulder as I open the door of the room and walk out, stumbling into the narrow hallway.

I’ve drank way too much. Smoked way too much.

My pulse is racing, and I can barely see, but I notice a door ajar ahead.

I push it open.

There’re tile floors.

A toilet.

Oh, thank God, the toilet. I’ve been feeling queasy lately, and I’m not so sure it’s just all the drinking.

I don’t bother closing the door behind me or flicking on the light as I walk to the toilet, sink to my knees in front of it, my stomach churning. I’m not scared of the dark anymore. I’m not scared of anything anymore.

I should’ve known when they circled me in those woods that it was all over. That I should’ve ran like I didn’t before. I should’ve dropped out. At the very least, avoided him.

I shouldn’t have let him touch me.

It’s too late now.

I hear the floor creak outside of the bathroom, the music playing in the background, something I don’t recognize. At least it isn’t Deftones.

A shadow looms in the doorway and I tilt my head up, blinking in the darkness. Light in the hall surrounds the shadow, and I can’t make out a face.

I scrub my hand over my eyes.

The shadow comes closer.

I’m really fucked up. I laugh to myself, putting a hand over my mouth, wondering if it’s Van coming to get me. Drag me home.

He’s been disappointed in me lately.

I can relate.

The shadow steps into the bathroom, closes the door behind it. My heart kicks up speed, and for the first time, I feel fear.

I open my mouth to say something, but before I can, someone grabs my arm. Yanks me to my feet. Shoves me against the glass shower door.

A voice is in my ear before I can take a breath. “Hello, Remi.” Hands tangle in my hair, slamming my cheek hard against the frosted glass. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t be all alone in pack territory? I thought I already taught you that.”

“Chase.”

His name leaves my lips as fear, too late, coils in my gut, making my knees shake.

“Yeah, Rems. It’s me.”

I try to catch my breath, try to say something else. Anything at all. But just like that night, I can’t.

I can’t speak.

I close my eyes tight as Chase’s hand comes up my thigh, flipping up my skirt. He cups my ass, then presses his erection into me, groaning.

“So glad I got to see you again, away from Cort .” He kisses my neck and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but I don’t open my eyes. I don’t say a word.

I try to think of the best way to hurt him instead.

“After we shot at him, we thought he’d stay away for good, but I think he’s obsessed with you, Remi. Storm, too. I think they want you as their very own little toy. They’ve been following you, and I can’t have that.”

Shot at Cortland?

I try to think as Chase’s fingers come around my front, slipping under the edge of my tank top.

“Shot?” I echo, confused.

Chase palms my breasts and laughs against my mouth.

His breath smells like beer and my skin crawls.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? Didn’t wanna ruin his image, huh?

Yeah, my dad aimed a gun at him and pulled the trigger.

” He laughs again and something besides fear awakens under my skin as he drags his hand across my chest, his erection still pushed against me.

“He dropped like a fucking pussy, covering his head with his hands?—”

I shove against the shower door, pushing back. “He shot at him?” Those words are little more than a whisper as I imagine a bullet hitting Cortland. “He fucking shot at him?” That’s a snarl, growing louder, and I’m shoving harder now, trying to spin around to get my hands on Chase.

“Oh, now you wanna fight? You wanna fight for your boyfriend, pretty baby?”

I open my mouth and scream, shoving with all I have against the glass to push myself back and out of Chase’s grip. “Fuck you, Chase.” The words are slurred, but I get them out. I say it. I bang my fist on the shower door, so someone will hear me as I scream again.

His hand comes over my mouth.

I bite the skin of his palm hard enough to make him bleed. He hisses, moves his hand and wraps his fingers in my hair just as his other hand edges under the hem of my underwear.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that,” he snarls.

I open my mouth to scream again but he slams my head, hard, against the door.

Pain reverberates in my skull, the words leaving my lips, my ears ringing.

I try to breathe. To hold onto the anger. The fight. But as Chase touches me, I feel almost resigned.

Numb again.

Like before.