Page 40 of Play Dirty (Villalargos University #1)

Chapter Thirty - Three

Shiloh

I don’t remember the walk back to my dorm or even finding sleep without constantly seeing the look on his face as they took him away.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I turn to face June’s empty bed.

I did what I promised her I'd do, so why does it feel so wrong? It’ s a new day, a fresh start to the week, yet it feels like it’s suffocating me from inside a soundproof box.

The sun pushes through the curtains like it’s trying too hard to be cheerful. Normal. I hate it.

The flashing lights still haunt me, and I can’t escape Nico’s face. The way he looked at me when they cuffed him — like he knew what I'd done. Like I broke him, rather than the other way around.

My phone buzzes beside me.

I don’t want to look..You know how the saying goes? Curiosity kills the cat… every damn time.

The Pulse.

I don’t want to read it, but I do anyway.

The Pulse Blog

My stomach twists, my palms goes cold, and I let out a scream. One I’ve been holding in for far too long. Letting it all rip through me before slipping on the mask. I slide out of bed and start getting ready for the day in a daze.

Ponytail. Uniform. No makeup.

I don’t even bother with lipgloss, which is a crime within itself. The woman reflecting in the mirror might as well be a stranger, since I can’t recognize who’s staring back at me. I grab my bag and keys and head out.

I don’t know what's worse — that I believe him or that I wanted to? That I still do, somewhere beneath all this rage and grief. Even now, I can’t stop thinking about him and how he makes me feel, like I’m more than what the world has made me into.

The trek to the art building feels like walking through a nightmare, where everyone knows what you did.

I can feel the stares. Feel the judgment.

Hear the whispers. I don’t know if they’re real or if I'm imagining them. Doesn’t matter; the shame feels the same.

Stepping inside the studio, Ms. Medina’s class has already started.

Everyone falls silent as I enter, my gaze focusing on the empty spot where Nico usually sits. “Morning, Ms. Johnson.” Ms. Medina says softly.

I nod, forcing out a smile. “Morning.”

The class remains silent as Medina runs through today’s assignment and expectations.

Once everyone is sitting with their assigned partner, the class fills with quiet chatter, while I focus on centering the clay, like she taught us.

Stay still and breathe. Soft — not too much pressure.

His words ring inside my head, causing me to do the opposite.

All I see is him.

The confusion.

The hurt.

The deafening silence.

The clay slips, splattering across my apron and thighs. “Fuck.” I say under my breath and try again. My palms press harder this time, as if shaping something that could fix what I broke.

But it doesn’t.

And it won’t.

I just want to scream. I want to cry. I want to run straight to the police station and take it back. But the image of June, cold and lifeless on the ground, flashes behind my eyes. The tears sting; I can’t take it back.

The spinning slows.

Ms. Medina sits across from me, her voice is soft as she wraps her hand around mine.

“Too much grief sometimes clouds our judgment, leaving no room to think. To breathe.” She grabs the sponge as my hands tremble.

“You need to breathe. It’s been a lot. The clay won’t shape if your hands don’t guide it. I can switch your partner.”

The words fly out of my mouth. “No.”

“No?”

She stops her ey es to meet mine. “I want to finish this with Nico. Even if he isn’t able to.

” My voice breaks, the pain evident in my tone.

Ms. Medina rises from the spot with a warm smile, while I continue to try to shape my agony into something tangible— something I can grasp, but that never happens.

The studio is empty by the time I step outside. I don’t even remember cleaning off my hands or packing up. I just walk towards the only spot I can find relief. It’s raining now, but neither the cold nor the mist bothers me.

The mist soaking up the day makes the world feel slower. Quieter. Like it’s mourning too.

I should go home or maybe to my next class, but instead I head to the field.

Empty bleachers. Water is pooling on the sidelines. The lines on the turf are blurred by the rain. I step onto the field, slowly, like stepping into a memory. The rain soaks through my uniform, my shoes, and my skin. I close my eyes.

Letting it wash over me.

This is where I watched him play for the very first time. Where I sealed his fate. Where I fell and never got up. I hear small footsteps approach, but I don’t turn around or open my eyes until a soft voice breaks through the silence. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

I turn.

Michaela stands a few yards behind me, umbrella in hand, covering herself from the rain. Dark purple rings appear beneath her eyes. Not even the makeup can hide the fact that she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. I still don’t speak.

She walks towards me, eyes filled with something like regret. Maybe pity. Maybe pain.

I’m not sure of anything anymore.

“You turned him in, didn’t you?”

I look aw ay.

“You think he hurt her? “ She mutters softly. “But you’re wrong.”

I blink, my throat tightening. “What are you talking about?”

Michaela takes a deep breath in. “June was afraid, not of Nico but of Brad.” She steps closer.

The name lands like a thunderclap. “I saw them in the library. The video wasn’t actually of Asher, behind her.

It’s Brad. I’m sure he was messing with her, but I have no proof, only what I heard.

” Her voice cracks. “I didn’t think anything of it then, but then the video.

The Pulse… the lies...” She inhales sharply. “It’s Brad. I know it’s him.”

My knees nearly buckle. My lungs won’t fucking work.

“You didn’t turn in a killer,” she whispers. “You turned in someone who is innocent.”

Lightning flashes overhead as I stand there, soaked and shattered.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“Now you do.” She says. “So fix it. Don’t let him get away with it.”

With that, she walks away, and I stay. My gaze moves towards the sky as it rumbles. I cry in the rain with nothing left inside me but the devastating truth.

Nico

I toss and turn on the cold cot. They have the audacity to call a bed. I wasn’t expecting a firm mattress, but this is just the icing on the cake. The cell is cold, and it stinks. The guys besides me won’t stop fucking talking, and no one will give me any answers.

Nothing.

I would say the temperature within this small space bothers me, but it doesn’t. The kind of cold that I’m talking about is the one that lives inside me, right behind my ribs. Where my heart used to be.

They haven’t asked me any questions either… nothing. Just left me here to wait.

Wait for what?

For proof of a crime I didn’t commit? Punishment? For someone to believe me?

I stare at the concrete wall across from me, cracked and grey. Like me.

I close my eye s and all I see is her face.

Shiloh.

I don’t see the version I kissed or the way that she trembled beneath my touch. I see the version that I watched. That left.

The version who used me… that stripped me bare, only to hang me out to rot. She chose to believe whatever version of the truth she managed to conjure up and silence me without a thought.

Shiloh

By the time I make it back to the dorm, I’m drenched to the bone— my hair clings to the back of my neck, my shoes squelch with every step.

My body is simply too numb to care, until I spot a black bubble mailer sitting on the doormat.

My pace quickens– my head darting to the sides, trying to find the person who left it there.

It looks like a package, but I’m not expecting anything.

My pulse spikes as I draw closer. Slowly, I bend to grab it. Inside, it's hard, nothing soft – no package labeling. Unlocking the door, I step inside. The silence is jarring, but if the package didn’t leave me startled, the box on my bed does.

I contemplate walking out — but I'm done being scared… I want the truth. I’ll start with the only certainty I know.

Brad.

Slowly, I walk over to the bed, closing the door behind me. My hand shakes as it moves towards the red bow resting over the white box. My heart slams into my ribs as my fingers hover over the edge before ripping the top off.

Inside the larger box, there is a smaller white one, sleek and luxurious.

I open it.

Inside, there’s a folded note with a delicate black lace mask with sharp edges like wings.

And beneath it… a black slip dress. Silk and backless, with a slit running up the side.

There's also a note. Focusing on it, I open the envelope.

It is handwritten, ink smudged slightly as if it had been sealed in a hurry.

‘Only if you plan on getting your hands dirty. Tonight at eleven. Velarium.’ - Anonymous

My hands shake, dropping the note, I focus on the other packages. Inside is a USB. Nothing else, just a single thumb drive. My stomach knots as I walk towards my MacBook, placing it into the USB port.

The room is familiar.

Velarium.

The deep familiar sound of my father’s voice cuts through the video, then I see him naked, his head hanging low as he watches my father undress, slowly walking around the bed like a predator sizing up his prey.

I slam th e computer shut, not being able to stomach any of it.

Sickness creeps into my gut as the realization slowly dawns on me.

He didn’t just touch Nico, but my father owned him.

And I was the one who delivered him. Who would have thought that my own need had created such a deep scar within Nico?

The man I trusted most– my dad– is the same man who broke the man I love.

I want to scrub off my skin, claw my father out of me.

Make myself bleed just to feel clean. To be anything other than his daughter.

I’ll fix this. I can. I fucked up Nicolas’s life in many ways.

The least I could do is try to repair some of the damage and prevent anything else from hurting him.

Even if in the end I never get him or a happy ending.

This is how I save what’s left of my heart and the man I gave it to.

Making one final decision, one that will hopefully free him from his prison, I grab my phone and text the only person who can give me what I want.

Can we talk?

Bubbles appear and then disappear.

Brad

Sure, what can I do for you?

Maybe answer a couple of questions.

Brad doesn’t answer after reading my message, biting the corner of my nails. I offer him the one thing he’s never had. Me.

I’ll let you use me.

The response is immediate.

Brad

U know where to find me. Show me what ur willing to do for answers baby doll.

The words slam into me like a freight train, unleashing a need for revenge and to kill him with my own hands. To destroy him.