“Hi, Sorrow.”
Betrayal is like a slap in the face. How could I be so wrong about her? I thought she was helping me. I thought she was over Trace when he told me how she was helping me. I was wrong. Love makes us do bat-crazy shit, and the crazy on Phoebe’s face . . . “Do what you have to.” I clench my jaw. “I’m tired of you all dancing around him like he’s yours to own. Trace will never commit to one girl. He’ll never commit to you.”
She slaps me. My cheek stings. My ears ring.
“Was the story you told him even true?”
“It is, but they’ll never believe you. Do you know how many girls have crawled out from whatever rock they lived under, claiming to be the missing baby? A shit ton of them, Sorrow. And guess what?”
She doesn’t give me time to answer.
“They all have eyes the color of yours. Your eye color is nothing special.” She spits in my face.
I go to wipe it off, but the guy lets go of me, grabs my arms, and yanks them behind my back. It’s a good thing he did. I was about to sock Phoebe in the face. Maybe break her perfect nose with a hard punch.
“Stay away from Trace.”
“I can’t. I live with him, remember?” I smirk, learning well from the guy Phoebe has a lady-boner for. Where the hell is he? Trace should be driving down the back of the school by now.
Phoebe reads me like an open book. “He’s hooking up with a girl in the bathroom. I heard them.”
She’s wrong. “You’re wrong!”
“Listen for yourself.” She pulls out her cell phone and pushes a button.
Moans and pants follow urgent, needy voices. “That’s it, sweetness. Suck my cock. Choke on it.”
Trace’s voice. Oh God, it’s Trace’s husky, sex-laden voice. I hang my head. My heart shatters into pieces. Large boots come into view. I don’t need to look up to know it’s the same four guys who leered at me and called me a slut and a cunt because I live with probably the most prolific manwhore on this side of the state. And I’m in love with that manwhore. Trace is mine. I love him no matter his past or that he broke my heart and my trust in him. With what I’ve been through, the worst can’t be done to me.
I’ll live through my broken heart.
I’ll wake up every morning and face life with hope.
I’ll be the best person I can be because the alternative is to go backward to a life as a timid, nervous little mouse. Trace doesn’t think I’m a vermin anymore. I’m a beautiful bird who grew into my wings.
I’ll believe the best in him because he believed in me.
I raise my head with my jaw locked. “Do your worst. I can fucking take it.”
I’m blindsided with a smack to the side of my head, and my world plummets into darkness.
27
Sorrow
I open my eyes. My vision is hazy and my face throbs.
I try to sit up. Someone rushes over and sets their hand on my shoulder. “Easy. Easy, Sorrow.”
I don’t recognize the man’s voice. I know I’m in the hospital. He’s not wearing scrubs or a white coat. “Who are you? What happened? Where’s Trace?” I shake my head. “Never mind. I don’t want to see him.” My last words fall to a whisper, but my guest, whoever he is, hears me loud and clear.
“I apologize if this is harsh, but he left a message with me for when you wake up. He doesn’t want to see you.”
A sob pours from me. I clutch at my gown, at the spot over my heart. How could he make me fall for him, then turn his back on me when I need him the most? The tears fall. Embarrassed, I cover my eyes with my arm. The air near my side moves. A chair scrapes across the floor. The man sits, his presence looming over me.
“Remove your arm. Look at me, Sorrow.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know you.”
