Page 29 of Dirty Roulette

Chapter nineteen

Payton

The movie Beetlejuice plays on my computer, and I don’t think I’ve watched five minutes of it. It’s been seven days of purgatory with my head hanging from a pillory.

Hanging out with Ryder has never settled in my brain like it was a biological need before, but now the ache to be smothered by him is overwhelming.

We've texted here and there but I haven't gotten the courage to ask if I did something wrong. I’ve sat there typing out messages, but end up deleting them and waiting for the three little bouncing dots to appear, hoping he'll invite me to hang out.

But nothing. Zero is the number of times we've chilled since he buried his head between my legs. We hung out almost every day for the past three weeks, and I’m stuck with wondering where I went wrong.

After Charlie came storming up to me about the hickey, it’s like he’s taken a step back.

It’s left me with an uninvited feeling that I’m not sure what to do with.

The middle of my sternum burns, and it travels everywhere.

It’s worse inside my heart as if something demonic strangles the life out of it.

It’ll be easy to message him, maybe I should send him pictures of my boobs. Guys are into that. Ryder's a guy, he has to be into nudes. But girls who send nudes for attention are desperate. And I definitely am, but I’m not about to blow that wide open.

Our first away game is on Saturday, and we’ll be flying out together and staying in the same hotel.

I’m going to be living and breathing in his football universe.

I’d feel better if practice and the small lunches and help with algebra wasn’t the only time I see him.

He waves, he smiles, I get my forehead kisses.

But something still feels a bit off and Brittni won’t let up.

The playful pushing, the hair flips, her arms swinging over his neck – the irking persistence to win him back is pathetic.

Her lush pink lips, emerald eyes, and thick mermaid blonde hair burn into my cranium.

I’ve never felt a raging ache this deep, and it hurts.

I hate her so much. I’d gag her with a jawbreaker, tie her up, throttle the bitch in the back of a trunk, and drive her off a cliff.

I want her miles away from Ryder. What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m not the jealous type. I’m not jealous.

Why am I lying to myself? I’m drowning from the thought of him biting the edge of her lips, sucking on her neck as he did mine, or combing his hand through her hair.

I want to slam my head into a brick wall.

My brain swirls, imagining her every moan and sigh from him doing all those things to her that he did to me.

It’s suffocating. At this rate, she’s going to sneak into his hotel room and brag about it for days on end.

The ten bags of popcorn I’ve binged on and the dozens of Butterfinger wrappers living in my bed aren’t helping. Croaking alone in bed from a heartbreak must be a thing. Another day of this, I’ll have flies laying eggs inside my mouth, gaping open.

I get caught up staring at Ryder’s posts. The pictures, the thoughts he types up, and skimming through the comments from girls all over the campus swooning for him to notice.

Getting sucked into the loop is easy, and when I talk myself down and log off, I’m back online within thirty minutes. Staring at my messages, watching his icon go online, all of it wages war against my heart.

All week – and after every long day of classes, practice, and stupid sorority meetings – I cuddle up with my blanket in the dorm room with a thousand pounds of books and homework.

None of it pulls my eyes off social media.

Brittni’s stupid post sits on her feed and eats at me like crows pecking at a dead body.

EW the Trash got a hickey. Not even a fifty-year-old deadbeat would want to touch her with a ten foot pole. If she really thinks she can get with a running back, she’s out of her mind.

Naomi: What did I miss?

Autumn: Not a single guy was willing to kiss her the other night. Talk about gross.

Brittni: Right, and dressing for attention is trashy. Oh wait, she is Trash.

Charlie: Writing about my brother in the bathroom stall seems more trashy. He isn't your property.

Brittni: Oh, please. The bitch is lying to you and you consider her a friend.

Charlie: I can't believe anyone would consider you a good friend. At least she wouldn’t cheat.

Brittni: Whatever! Get off my feed!

Charlie: Peace!

Brody: She’s not Phi material, sweetheart.

Brittni: Trash.

Autumn: She should go Hannah Baker herself and we can burn it.

Brittni: Set it on fire, and get the hint no one wants you here.

Charlie: She’s not the reason why you and my brother broke up. That shit is all on you.

Naomi: I dig the no-bullshit attitude.

Ryder: YOU don’t stand a chance with me. Sounds like you’re angry at the fact someone came on the team with skills you can’t match up to. If Payt wants a running back, I’m all hers. She’s more of a woman than you will ever be.

Charlie: Seriously Ryder?

Brittni: oooo burn. I’m so offended that I might go cry in a corner.

Ryder's comment has more wow faces than the entire post. I’ve read the post a million times. Reported it. The response is that it doesn't violate any community standards when they legitimately want to throw me at the stake and burn me like a witch.

I don’t know why I’m drowning in what everyone says. There should be some type of strength in me not to give a fuck about them but it’s hard enough to be myself around anyone.

The only thing that’s given me any relief is Charlie not drilling into me about Dirty Roulette.

I’ve grounded myself in the dorm, writing papers in English and talking to the wall in French.

The one time I’ve left other than for classes and cheerleading was to find the old man tutoring algebra in the library.

Today turned gloomy. The sun isn’t supposed to set for another hour, but heavy gray clouds race across the sky, leaving us with endless dusk all afternoon. The onslaught of rain hasn’t stopped pattering against the window for the last hour. It fits my glum mood.

The obsessive compulsion hits an all-time high when Ryder posts a new picture of himself, shirtless, sitting in his Jeep by the lake.

The devil horns, his tongue sticking out.

Oh my god, he is with someone else. The pit of my stomach flops more.

His biceps flex, the chiseled tan abs. It ruins me.

Smears of mud and paintball residue make him look like an edible candy bar.

Naomi: I’m sweating.

Jared: Can I pour oil all over you and give you a back massage?

Ashley: Watch out, hottie on the loose!

Nick: Bro, stop it. You’re stealing all the thirsty girls.

Katie: I think you’ve made my panties wet.

Brittni: Hey, remember the other night? When are you gonna invite me over again?

Ryder: In what universe were you in?

Anessa: Want to know what would look good together? Me and you.

Ryder: Lol

Payton: Fuck you...

I just did that. I typed it up. What the hell is wrong with me?

He’s gonna see it. I can’t delete it now.

Pursing my lips into a flat, hard line, I try to ignore the way my body flushes from hot to cold.

I pitch my phone hard against the wall and crumble to the mattress, ready to burst into an ear splitting scream of blubbery tears any second now.

He said we’d hang out, he’d find the time, but he won’t even tell Brittni to piss off.

Charlie pulls an earbud out and cocks an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?” I sink my palms deep into my eye sockets, and it pours out. Gross and disgusting waves of tears run down my cheeks as I heave a sob.

“Fuck this, and fuck him!”

“Him? Are you finally gonna tell me who this guy is?” When I don’t answer, Charlie slams the computer shut, scoots off the bed, and crawls into mine. “You need to get out of the dorm. You are bed rotting.” Charlie grabs the metal bowl with popcorn kernels and places it on the nightstand.

“I’m not bed rotting!”

Charlie stares me down, then reverts her attention to the computer screen.

“Then who the hell are you sobbing over?” She crawls across the mattress and leans to pick the phone up off the floor. “Why is my brother calling you?”

I swallow the bulge lodged in my throat, and it sinks to my stomach like a hot rock.

“I don’t know.”

“Cut the crap! You’ve been ditching me for him, haven’t you?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.” She scoffs.

I wipe the edges of my eyes, but tears pool into little streams of agony falling down my cheeks. It hurts to the core, ripping the skin off my bones.

“I swear his birth certificate is an apology letter from a condom factory.” Charlie gawks down at the phone ringing in her hand. The stupid little crab icon swims across the screen. “I really want to know what he wants.”

“No, wait!” With my elbows, I prop myself up and reach for the cell, but Charlie slides off the bed and answers it.

“Why are you calling her like that? Pretty sure I’m not blind and it’s the third time in a row!”

Ryder’s voice is muffled, and I’m unable to hear a word he says. “Uh-huh... yeah... sure.” Maybe I shouldn’t care, but deep down I do. “Okay, but you’re not explaining to me why you are calling, and she’s sobbing right now. So, what the hell have you done?”

I lace my fingers tautly until my knuckles turn white. I choke on the sob and climb off the bed to reach for the phone. “Just hang up!” Charlie shoos me away. Her brows furrow and her eyes search as if she’s trying to soak in whatever he says.

“Charlie!” I rip my claws into her hands, grab the cell phone, and pitch it against the wall. Sinking back to the bed, my hands tangle into my uncombed hair.