“Like it’s anyone’s fucking business,” I snap aloud, giving the article a nasty look.
And why does it matter so much, anyway? Whether he's gay, straight, pan, or even ace, his sexuality has no bearing on his athleticism.
Grumbling more insults at the journalist beneath my breath, I skim over the rest of the article. It touches on Dread’s statement, denying the video is of him and his girlfriend, how it’s set off a wave of people flooding social media with videos of them listening to the part where I moan his name on repeat, trying to discern what I'm saying. People have even gone as far as uploading it to audio programs to isolate and slow my voice.
Apparently, there’s a divide between people who think I said ‘Kellan’ and those who think I said ‘Kevin.’
As far as the anonymous poster who shared the video on Reddit, they still haven’t come forward with any further insight. So, tragically, the world may be left forever wondering if our elusive Olympic star’s skill set goes beyond destroying records to destroying doors.
Another filthy look twists my face.
Tragically?
Her life must be pretty fucking tragically boring if the worst she’s suffered is never knowing if a complete stranger is dicking someone down in a leaked sex tape. The bitch is lucky I don’t find a witch to hex her ass and make her lifeactuallytragic.
Scoffing, I throw my phone on the fluffy white comforter and drop my head to my hands, my elbows seated on my crisscrossed knees.
It’s a good thing I’ve squirreled away all my money the past four years, because I’ve dropped over a grand the past six days just hiding away in a hotel thirty minutes away from HCU.
It’s been a week since Dread fucked me against the door and the girls across the hall recorded and posted it. I stayed with Dread that night, but I wouldn’t talk to him. I didn’t even know what the fuck to say, anyway.
How dare you fuck me against the door where people could stand outside and record it?
Admittedly, I don’t think either of us were thinking about those repercussions at the time, and Dread has come under fire far more than I have.
Especially because there are still many people questioning who I am. The picture he posted allows for some obscurity, with my bangs over my eyes and my head tucked down. The public hasn’t seen a picture of me since my senior yearbook photo, when I was going through a phaseof dyeing my hair brown, straightening it to a crisp, and keeping it all one layer. I didn’t have my nose piercings yet, either.
It also doesn't hurt that most people think we still loathe one another and wouldn't touch each other even if we were the last two people on Earth. That's how itshouldbe, but the dickhead can't keep his hands to himself, apparently, and I’m just a fucking masochist.
Nevertheless, plenty of people from HCU confirmed it was me, but since there aren’t any recent pictures to verify, there’s still a lot of skepticism. The last time I went to class was the day I found out about it, and I haven’t been back since. But I can’t hide forever, and all it’ll take is showing my face on campus one more time for someone to snap a photo and clear up the confusion.
It’s inevitable.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t delay it as long as possible, which is why I ran like fucking hell to this hotel when he left for swim practice the following morning.
Only Sable knows exactly where I am, and because she’s the best friend in the world, I gave her Dread’s number so she could take on the daunting task of dealing with him. She’s assured him plenty I’m somewhere safe, but for the first several days, it didn’t stop him from texting me every other hour.
So, I blocked him.
On everything.
His phone number, email, all across social media.
My heart was in my asshole with each click of the button, and it hasn't come back up since.
There are nevernotrepercussions where Dreadful Sharpe is concerned.
Two hours and seven minutes. That’s how long it took for me to receive an email. And then, countless more.
I hope you don’t mind me stealing your thunder for when you get your first tattoo, considering you’re going to have my handprint permanently branded into your ass.
Enjoy your freedom while you have it, darling.
