“Doesn’t matter.” I don’t look at her.
I can’t.
Because it feels as if I’m going to have another breakdown, and I’d rather slit my fucking wrists than have her see me like that. I toss a stack of clothes into my duffel. My stash box with my weed. Upend my bathroom caddy and give everything a good shake so it settles.
“None of this fucking bullshit matters.” I step into the jeans I left lying on the floor. Snatch some designer t-shirt and hoodie from the back of my chair and pull them over my head, wincing as the movement tugs at the bite mark on my shoulder.
For a second, it’s like Rooke still has his teeth clamped in my flesh. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to wipe the image of him licking his bloodstained teeth, that manic grin still on his smug fucking face.
Jesus, I don’t need him in my head right now.
Haven tries to grab my arm when I head for the bookshelf, but I shake her off.
“College matters,” she says, but it’s like she’s reading off a script.
“Never said I’m quitting college.” I grab my most important textbooks and notes, tossing them into the duffel too. I barely look at the trophies. None of them will get me out of Agony Hollow.
Something catches my eye and, as if on cue, a cloud passes over the sun and throws my room into gloom. I stare at it so hard at the envelope on my bookshelf that I get an afterimage when I finally blink to side-eye Haven.
She has her arms crossed over her chest as she stares at me with wide blue eyes. There’s a small, worried crease between her brows, and her bottom lip twitches like she’s biting the inside. She’s leaning her weight on her uninjured foot, the other tilted to the side so it’s not in contact with the floor.
Looks like we were both in the same car wreck.
“You need clothes?” I say, pointing to my closet.
She glances down at herself as if she’s wondering what’s wrong with her outfit. Thankfully, she decides to change.
It’s impossible not to stare as she strips down to her undies to dress into denim overalls and a too-tight tank top that does impressive things for her tits.
“Don’t run,” she says. “You can fight this.”
My eyes go back to the envelope.
I realized early in life that fighting wouldn’t get me anywhere. Fleeing wasn’t an option either. So I chose compliance. Submission.
That’s what Ezra expects. Bet he’s probably been planning this for months, if not years.
My first clue should have been that fucking internship. I always thought it was too good to be true. But he swore high and low that joining the frat, becoming his official underling, would get me exactly what I wanted.
A way out of Agony Hollow.
I was wary at first, looking for signs that he was stringing me along. But freshman year, after I sent that reply to Haven’s letter and she stopped writing me, Ezra changed. He became less abrasive. More supportive. He made as if he genuinely had my best interests at heart.
All it took was a stupid July Fourth cookout the next year to convince me. Just us, no girls, no frat, no fucking drama. We grilled some burgers, got drunk, even tossed a ball.
It felt so real. So fucking normal. Everything that our liveshadn’tbeen up to that point.
I spent the entire afternoon wondering why the hell we hadn’t been closer over the years. My rationalization was that it was only possible now that we were finally out of the house. Away from Dad’s abuse. Not having to suffer through Mom’s depressive episodes and blatant neglect.
As if our toxic relationship was a direct result of our environment.
I was so wrong.
Sofucking wrong.
He probably spent the day figuring out how to fuck me over.
Ezra’s always been playing the long game. Getting my hopes up, only to tear them down. I’m guessing Haven’s arrival fucked with his plans. If not for her, he’s have kept me on the line until graduation.
