Page 52 of The Illicit Play

And Cleo got away with all our shit, so she’s still in Chicago, happily playing college student while no doubt ruining someone else’s life. It’s not like I could stay with her, or Simon or Nico… I don’t evenwantto be around them anyway.

And my friends from high school?

Yeah, I’m not admitting shit to them. Theyareperfect. I’ve been stalking their socials, and they’re thriving at college.

But not me, right?

I had to lose the plot completely.

Shit!

My phone dings, my muscles tensing like they always do as I reach for my device.

No! Leave me the fuck alone!

Tears burn as I glare down at the screen—at another evil message from my ex-roommate. Another threat.

I wish I could just delete it without looking, but I can’t risk that.

With a shaky thumb, I unlock my phone, and Cleo’s message pops right up.

Cleo: Send another grand or these are going to Mommy and Daddy.

Below the text box is an image of me sprawled out on the ground, laughing my ass off. There’s a spray can in my hand and blue paint all over my fingers.

With my heart in my throat, I flick to the next image and cringe at the brick wall where I messily painted the wordsF is for fun, dickbag!

Quickly deleting the two photos, I run trembling fingers over my forehead. What the hell was wrong with me?

That brick wall? Yep, it was the outside of ProfessorHelliwell’s apartment. He’d told me just that afternoon that “F is for failure, Miss Wilson.” His stern voice had made my cheeks flare with heat, every eye in the class turning to stare at me while he told me off for not putting in any effort. “Maybe you should think about hitting the books or walking out the door! Because you’re wasting my time!”

Beyond humiliated, I grabbed my bag, shoving my way down the row and storming out of the classroom. I got back to my room in tears, and Cleo found me, consoled me, then told me exactly how I should get my retribution.

At three o’clock in the morning, fueled on pure adrenaline, I’d left my mark.

And she had photographic proof of it. Proof that got me hauled into the dean’s office. Proof that will ruin my life if she sends it to my parents.

With an irritated huff, I quickly transfer a thousand dollars from my savings account to the number she gave me a few weeks ago. It’s dropped by nearly seven thousand dollars since I left our dorm room, and most of it has gone to keep Cleo quiet. I’ve been trying to top it up with my monthly allowance, but at this rate, I’m gonna be broke by the end of April.

Shit!

But those photos can’t get out.

She has me over a barrel, and there’s nothing I can do.

I text her back with a low growl.

Done. Now delete those fucking photos!

She replies a few minutes later.

Thanks. Photos gone. I’ll be in touch again soon.

I shudder, hating to think what else she has stored on her phone. We got into so much shit together!

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

I have to get out of here. These walls are closing in. I need air. A space to breathe!