Suddenly it's all she is.
That's the box they shove her in: Taylor the slut. Taylor the easy one. Taylor the girl who'll say yes to anyone who asks.
And because of that, people think the absolute worst of her by default. Every time a guy glances her way, they assume she wants it. That she's eating up the attention. That she must be leading him on somehow.
And if she pushes back? If she dares to say no? They flip it on her. She's dramatic. She's a tease. She's crying wolf.
And just because she dresses a certain way — short skirts, tight tops, heels that click down the hallway — that's enough for them to paint her guilty.
She could walk across campus in a goddamn parka and they'd still say she was"asking for it."
Because to them, what she wears isn't clothing. It's"proof."
Proof that she wants every stare. Proof that she must want every grope, every asshole who thinks he's entitled to a piece of her. Proof that if something happens to her — if some prick crosses a line — she was practically begging for it.
And that's the bullshit that makes my blood boil.
And when she finally tries to speak up — tries to report Kirk for stalking her, for being violent — they shrug her off, tell her she doesn't have enough evidence. Even when she showed them his threatening texts, they said it wasn't enough to warrant a restraining order. Absolute bullshit.
Because how the hell are women supposed to feel safe when the system won't even take them seriously?
I brush away the wet tracks on her cheeks with my thumb and tighten my hold on her.
"This time's different," I murmur. "He came at you right outside the darkroom. Security cameras had to have caught it. The odds are in your favor this time."
And that's the thing — Kirk's always been careful before. Every time he's tried to corner her, he's made sure it was in blind spots, places with no cameras. That's why her complaints never stuck. But this time? He made a mistake.
My eyes flick up, just for a second, and that's when my body goes still.
Caroline.
She's standing across the lot, keys in hand, her face a perfect mask of nothing. Blank. But her eyes—God, her eyes are locked right on me.
And in an instant, all that boiling rage I had for Kirk? Gone.
It's like someone pulled the plug and drained me hollow. Because I know that look. I don't even need her to say anything—I can tell exactly what's running through her head.
Her gaze shifts, just once, flicking from Taylor curled into me back to my face.
And yeah, it doesn't take a genius to connect those dots. Not when I've already fucked up so many times before. Not when I've given her every reason to think the worst.
My stomach drops, cold and sharp. Shit.
If I don't fix this—if I don't explain right now—I'm back at square one. Hell, probably worse than square one.
On reflex, I loosen my hold on Taylor, pulling back a little, but it's too late. Caroline's already walking toward her car, her strides quick and clipped.
Fuck.
My feet itch to follow her, to chase after her, to stop her before she drives off thinking... whatever she's thinking.
I should go to her.
Ineedto go to her.
But then Taylor shifts against me, still shaking, still wrecked. She needs me too. And I can't just leave her like this.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip, jaw tight enough to crack. I'm split clean in two—heart yanking me after Caroline, the other is locked here, knowing I can't just left Taylor in this state.
