Me: How the fuck do you guys know what’s being said? You’re not even in the hallway!
I’m just outside the door to the locker room when I get another text.
Unknown: Wouldn’t you like to know. Just know we’re always watching.
Me: That’s not ominous or anything. You know they have places for people like you two?
Unknown: Hush now, Angel. You’re ours to do whatever we want with.
That makes me roll my eyes before I text back.
Me: Fuck off! I belong to no one.
Sneaky Devil ??: Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and when we’re through, it will be ten-tenths because we will own every inch of you.
Fuck.How does he say something so creepy but make it sound so hot? My phone goes off again, and I laugh, preparing myself for whatever madness they’ll say next, but the message isn’t from either of them.
Private: You’ve entered a game without knowing the score. Just know there’s no prize for you. Only death waits behind every door.
My face screws up in confusion at the terrible Mother Goose nursery rhyme. They didn’t even get the cadence right. Deleting the stupid message, I get changed, turning my phone on silent.
That’s enough of that. Placing my phone in my gym locker and slamming it shut, I head out to class.
* * *
Thank fuck classes are over,and now I can get the hell away from this madhouse. Class was the perfect escape, ninety minutes of focused movements to burn out my frustrations. Whether they were sexual or life frustrations has yet to be determined.
Approaching my locker, I see a crowd of students surrounding the area, and I already know I’m about to buck up some bullshit. I’m just not sure if it will be Sam’s or Wes’s doing.
Parting the crowd, I see ‘gutter trash whore,’ scrawled in red paint. I puff out a groan. So much for working out my tension. My shoulder blades tense at the stupid paint job. This still could be either of those two assholes, though I’m leaning more toward Sam. This has her lame attempt at putting me in my place all over it.
My previous dismissals have done little to assuage her campaign against me. Samantha Davenport is not the brightest crayon in the box. I just can’t understand why she’s so determined to mess with me. I’m not trying to take her spot. She and Wes can have the asshole crown they both desperately want.
I’m about a foot away when a god-awful scent kicks me in my face. I barely take a full breath, preventing the smell from fully assaulting me a second time.
“What the fuck!” I shout. Not only is this obviously not paint, but there are also used tampons sticking to the words. You must be a particular type of crazy to do something like this. My stomach churns as I fight off the nausea building, threatening to make an appearance.
The fucking psycho in question conveniently happens to be strolling by.
“Looks like someone knows what you are and decided to artfully display it for everyone to see.” She snickers, then continues, “It was only a matter of time before everyone saw you for who you truly are, worthless trash. You don’t belong here and I’ll remind you of your place every single day until you’re smart enough to leave."
My upset stomach has vanished, and in its wake, my blood boils. Fists clenching, I snap, “Come off it bitch, this has you written all over it. You’re pathetic. Some blood on my locker doesn’t mean shit to me. However, my very existence seems to be a threat to you. Guess you’re not as “powerful” as you think you are if you’re doing this type of fucking shit!”
“Oh please, I wouldn’t sully myself with this shit,” she growls and continues down the hall.
If she thinks for one minute I believe that she didn’t directly or indirectly sanction this, then she’s as dumb as they come. I grit my teeth in aggravation and head toward the office. Is it Friday yet? I need a break because this shit is getting old fast.
22
ARIAH
“Time for school, get your butts down here or we’ll all be late,” I shout up the stairs before walking into the kitchen.
It’s been weeks and still no word from our mother, freaking radio silence. I’m starting to worry. She’s never been gone longer than two weeks. I can only hope she’s at some detox center or strung out somewhere instead of on a slab in someone’s morgue with no identifying markers, because her body is so badly decayed. My stomach churns, body shuddering, at that possibility.
“Riah,” Kellan’s voice breaking me from my morose thoughts.
Bending over and squeezing him in a bear hug, I inhale the fruity scent of his favorite tropical tangerine SpongeBob body wash.
