Page 42 of April’s Fool

I nod, thinking about how I wish I’d had that with my family, but I ended up with a psycho bitch for a mother, it seems. Now that I know what I know, I’m glad to have gotten out of her house and don’t really speak to her anymore. It’s not like she calls me to check in, though she has my number.

As we arrive at the café, Torpedo opens the door for me, and I step inside, spotting my favorite barista at the register.

“You want your usual pick-me-up?” she asks.

“You know it,” I confirm with a smirk. “Add an extra shot in there for me, if you will.”

“Got it.” She laughs as Torpedo chuckles. “I’ll have it ready in a sec.”

“You’re the best,” I shout as she walks away.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check my messages while I wait for her to return so I can pay.

The first several messages have my stomach bottoming out.

Samuel: Engaging in promiscuous behavior with bikers further cements your status as a whore.

Samuel: How many other bikers are you spreading your legs for?

Samuel: Do you enjoy spending your time with them like this?

Beneath the message is a picture that I know isn’t real, but it’s one of me with five different guys.

Samuel: I can’t wait to have you beneath me. You know I’d be better than all of them put together.

I keep scrolling through all the messages, and by the time my coffee’s ready, I don’t even want it anymore, but I still pay for it. After reading them all, I don’t even want to go to the rest of my classes. It’s sickening. Why can’t they just leave me alone?

Needing a minute alone, I turn to face Torpedo. “Can you hold my stuff for a sec? I just need to use the restroom before we head out.”

“Sure,” he grunts, takes my stuff, but still follows me in that direction.

Once I lock myself in the bathroom, I lean against the door and take a deep breath. I need a moment to myself to regain my composure after reading all those messages.

Tears prick my eyes as I fight them back. Crying isn’t something I do. Crying over such matters, especially in public, isn’t something I do. It only draws more attention my way, and I don’t need that.

I give my head a shake and let out a shuddering breath.

“Come on, April, get it together. You haven’t let them win, and you’re not about to now,” I mutter to myself.

Jerking away from the door, I use the bathroom because I really need to, then finish by washing my hands. As much as I want to splash my face, I don’t. The last thing I need is for Torpedo to realize something’s wrong and report it to Fool. I won’t hide this from my husband, but I don’t need others to tell him for me.

I take one more steadying breath, forcing my expression into something neutral before opening the bathroom door. Torpedo stands directly outside, arms crossed, looking as imposing as ever.

“You good?” he asks, eyeing me with suspicion.

“Yep, all good here,” I reply, reaching for my coffee and bag. “Let’s head to class.”

As we walk across campus, I try to push the disgusting messages from my mind. The image of that fake photo keeps flashing behind my eyelids, making my skin crawl. It’s not the first time they’ve sent me something like this, but it’s the first that truly makes me feel disgusted with myself. I take a sip of my coffee, hoping the caffeine will help me focus on anything else.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it.

It buzzes again.

And again.

“Someone’s popular,” Torpedo says, nodding toward my pocket.

“Just spam,” I lie, knowing full well it’s Samuel or one of his friends continuing their harassment campaign.