Reese
My muscles ache in that perfect way that only comes after nailing a piece I've been working on for weeks. Ms. Leighton's praise still rings in my ears—"Exquisite tension, Reese. Your control during that final sequence was breathtaking"—as I slip into the back room, still riding the high.
I grab my socks and sneakers from my cubby, then pull Ramsey's old hoodie over my head. It's massive on me, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, but it smells like him. I've stolen it so many times he's stopped asking for it back but I catch him wearing it randomly after catching me sniffing the collar when his scent starts to fade.
The door creaks open behind me. Oli stands there, her perfect ballerina posture making her look like she's got a rod shoved up her ass. Her thin lips curl into a sneer as she tosses her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder.
"I'll lock up, Ms. Leighton," she calls out sweetlybefore turning her attention to me. Her accent thickens when she wants to be a bitch. "The dark one was watching in the back. It's disgusting how he looks at you, just like a whore."
I freeze, my bag halfway to my shoulder. "What did you just fucking say to me?"
Oli's smile sharpens. "See? You are disgusting, vulgar whore. You let men fuck you with their eyes."
Heat floods my face. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous because Ramsey was here?"
"Ramsey," she mimics, making his name sound dirty. "He watches you like you are piece of meat he wants to devour. And you? You perform for him, arching your back, spreading your legs. Everyone sees it."
I drop my bag and step toward her. "Listen, you stuck-up bitch. Just because no one looks at you like that doesn't mean you get to talk to me like I'm trash."
Her eyes narrow to slits. "He is dangerous man. Everyone knows this. But you? You beg for his attention like a desperate little slut."
"You don't know shit about either of us," I spit, turning my back on her to finish putting on my socks. I need to get out of here before I do something I'll regret. My hands shake as I reach for my sneakers.
What the fuck is this bitch’s problem and why is she so fucking concerned about who someone sleeps with? Newsflash, sex isn’t a fucking crime, and not being a virgin isn’t a curse.
"I know more than you think," Oli says, her voice dripping with disdain. "Your precious dark one isn't the saint you think he is. Did you know he fucks anything thatmoves? Giving away pieces of his soul to useless whores. That's what all these demonic men do—they're weak. Just like him."
Something snaps inside me. The room goes silent except for the blood rushing in my ears.
I'm on my feet before I even realize I've moved. One second I'm bent over tying my shoe, the next my hand is around Oli's throat, pushing her against the wall hard enough that her head makes a dull thud against the plaster.
"Listen to me, you fucking ballet rat," I hiss, pushing my face close to hers. "Talk all the shit you want about me. Call me whore, slut, whatever gets your frigid cunt wet. But you don't say a goddamn word about Ramsey. Not fucking ever."
"Get—off—" she chokes out, clawing at my wrist.
I lean closer until my lips nearly brush her ear. "If I ever hear you say his name again, I'll show you exactly what a vulgar whore like me can do." I release her suddenly, and she stumbles, gasping for air.
Oli rubs her throat, eyes watering, but her mouth twists into a vicious smile. "You stupid bitch. I hope his diseased body rots and if you spread your legs for him, you’ll rot also. Nasty whores, the both of you."
My vision narrows to a pinpoint, focused entirely on her sneering face. I lunge forward, tackling her to the ground with a force that surprises even me. Her head hits the hardwood floor with a crack that should concern me, but I'm beyond caring.
"Shut your fucking mouth!" I scream, straddling her chest, my knees pinning her arms.
She tries to buck me off, but I grab fistfuls of herblonde hair and slam her head against the floor. The sound is sickening, but I do it again. And again. Her nails claw at my thighs, but I barely feel it.
"You don't know shit! You don't know him!" Each word punctuates another slam.
Blood sprays across my face, warm and metallic. It spatters on Ramsey's hoodie, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Years of being the good girl, the understanding one, the peacemaker—all of it evaporates in the red haze of my rage.
Oli's struggling weakens, her eyes rolling back. Some distant part of my brain registers that I should be horrified, but all I feel is satisfaction watching her hair darken with her own blood.
Suddenly, strong arms wrap around my waist, lifting me bodily off her. I thrash wildly, elbowing backward and connecting with something solid.
"Fucking let me go!" I hiss, twisting violently to face my attacker.
I freeze. Ramsey stands there, one hand to his jaw where my elbow connected. His dark eyes bore into mine, unreadable as always, but something burns in their depths I've never seen before.
"Jesus Christ, Reese," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me.
