I don’t pay the girls in my dorm much attention, only enough to learn their names and faces should they ever become accomplices for Dread.
“He almost never goes to them, so I’m going to finally give him my number,” Victoria says, practically squealing the last few words. “I heard he hasn’t been with any girls in a long time.”
Excitement saturates her tone, as if him attending a party means he’s going to break his alleged dry spell.
Shit, maybe it does. I wouldn't fucking know, and Ireallydon't care.
I move back the curtain and step out with my shower caddy, holding my towel firmly against my chest. Both of them turn toward me, surprise and then aversion flashing across their faces.
Typical bitches. They don’t like me simply because Dread doesn’t like me.
No thoughts for themselves.
They stay silent, though their stares burn. Sometimes, I think they only watch me because they’re hoping to give Dread some type of ammo.
One day, she farted so loud, I thought we were getting bombed. Iliterallythought we were going to die.
She doesn’t even shave her legs. Itliterallylooks like she’s wearing thigh-high socks.
She came out of the shower with a huge bush.Literallyan actual jungle with animals and everything. Pretty sure I saw a bug, too.
None of those things have happened, but I imagine that’s the type of shit they’d say, and I’d never live it down if they did.
Except maybe for the last one, considering Dread knows exactly what I look like naked now and can confirm that I do not, in fact, have a bush with animals and insects living in it.
God,the reminder that he saw me naked makes me sick, and it takes monumental effort to push that out of my brain.
“Don’t wear green and then ride him. The last girl who did, he nicknamed Grasshopper,” I say as I pass by them, ignoring their probing stares.
They don’t respond, but I hear Lynn whisper beneath her breath, “That’swhy we call her Grasshopper?”
Shaking my head, I scoff as I push through the exit door and head back to my room, my flip-flops squeaking from the excess water.
I shouldn’t be surprised they blindly followed along with the nickname. I only heard the story because of Rogue’s loud-ass mouth talking about it in the cafeteria one day, though I’m pretty sure the girl wears it like a badge of honor, anyway. Even if it’s degrading, it still means she got to fuck Dread, and that’s enough for most of the women here.
By the time I make it back to my dorm, I’m contemplating if I should heat a mac ’n’ cheese bowl or just go straight to bed. It’s after nine p.m., and between work and glancing over my shoulder every two seconds, waiting for Dread to pounce since I drugged him two days ago, I’m exhausted and want my bed. But the moment I get my door unlocked and pushed open, any semblance of hunger dissipates, replaced by a stomach-churning nausea.
The shower caddy slips from my fingers, crashing to the floor, my jaw following suit. My soap bottles roll out, and a lid pops open on one of them, baby pink body wash squirting across my floor.
However, hardly anything registers beyond my tunnel vision. The only thing I see is the noose strung up on the ceiling fan. It wasn’t there when I left to shower only twenty minutes ago.
Disbelief renders me incapable of doing anything but shuffling the rest of the way into the room and slamming the door behind me.
Obviously, this was Dread’s doing.
And unsurprisingly, it’s fucking cruel.
For several seconds, all I can do is stand there and stare at it, stunned and lost in the memories it invokes.
Until I blink, and fury comes rushing in, alongside a little devastation.
I stomp toward the rope and angrily rip it off the fan blade.
Fuckingasshole.
The tremors racking my body are turbulent, and the panic attack creeping into my system feels just as imminent as if I were on a plane nosediving straight toward the ocean.
My sinuses burn. Then, a few tears slip over my bottom lashes, but I quickly wipe them away. Even though he can’t see me, crying still feels like letting him win.
