Brutal Obsession (11)

Fucking fuck.

Greyson winks and motions to Knox. He tucks his phone away, smiling at me like he just won. And maybe he did.

“See ya, babe,” Knox says to Willow.

“Maybe in your dreams,” Willow scoffs.

They both head into the theater. No popcorn or anything, just shit-eating grins. We watch them join more of the hockey team—they’re like a cult, only friends with each other for the most part—and give their tickets to the worker at the entrance.

Shit.

“This feels like the start of war,” Willow says quietly. “Did you really suck Jack off outside Haven? I left you alone for five minutes.”

I sigh and rub my eyes. “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess I did. It’s kind of a blur.”

“No wonder he wanted to come inside so bad. Maybe Greyson is just…” She lifts her shoulder, mystified. “Maybe he’s jealous?”

“Next in line,” the guy behind the counter calls.

I sigh. “I’m not even hungry anymore.”

She nods, and we step aside and just go to our theater. The guy at the top of the hallway scans our tickets and waves us through.

My leg still hurts, although it’s reduced to a dull throb that shoots upward with every step. Better than how it was, I guess?

We push through the door into the darkened theater, and both of us stop dead.

“Of course they pick the thriller,” I whisper, eyeing Greyson, Knox, and some other guys sprawled out in one of the middle rows.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Willow answers.

She’s hurt for me, I know. Because I did something stupid, and she couldn’t prevent it. Being mad at them won’t change it. Certainly won’t get them to delete it.

She doesn’t wait for an answer and tows me to the exit.





4





VIOLET





I’ve been getting strange looks all day. And, stupid me, I write it off as being back after a semester away. It wasn’t like I was unpopular. People liked me. I had a good amount of friends, including a lot of the athletes. That was the circle I ran in, being on the dance team. But now, there’s a weird hush that precedes me. I’ve been in a quiet bubble, unable to break through it.

Until Amanda finds me.

She skids to a stop in front of me in the hallway outside my third and last class of the day. I created my schedule so the majority of my classes were on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I’m paying the price for it now.

But besides that, Amanda seems stressed. Or nervous?

“What’s wrong?”

She bites her lip and releases it. “Willow’s been yelling in the IT department’s office for an hour.” She unlocks her phone and shoves it at me.

I shake my head slowly, not taking the phone. But my stomach twists, because I have an idea of what might’ve happened. It could be worst-case scenario. Right? Maybe it’s nothing. “I’m not following.”

“Just, please look.” Amanda pushes her phone under my nose.

This time I do take it and glance down. I’m not surprised that the video of Jack and I making out is playing on her screen—but I am surprised that it’s on the front page of the school’s website. And there’s now text slapped on it. Commentary.

She’s off the dance team, but she’ll still horizontal tango if you give her the time of day… Or maybe if you pay enough.

I shut it down. They’re branding me as a slut? Worse—someone who would do those things for money. Fury and embarrassment race through me, heating my skin. I suddenly understand why I’ve been getting looks all damn day. When did Greyson post it? And how?

I eye the video again. I’ve lowered myself to my knees at this point, my hands gripping Jack’s waist. I don’t seem steady, and my eyes are half closed… and then Jack moves a little, giving the camera his back. I quickly close out of it and hand her phone back.

My stomach turns. Did Jack know they were there?

I’m going to be sick. “And Willow is trying to get it taken down?”

She could’ve texted me and warned me. But… nope. I’ve been going through the day ignorant. It makes sense why I’m getting stares. Everyone thinks I’m that girl now.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I need to find Jack. If he didn’t know, he’s going to be pissed. If he did know someone was filming… why didn’t he stop me?

How the hell am I going to ask that?

“Slut,” someone coughs, knocking into me.

I stumble sideways, and Amanda grabs my arms.

Her eyes are wide. “Who’d you piss off? I’m just asking so I can avoid them.” She forces a laugh, but it dies off quickly. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

I pull away and shake my head. Does that really matter? Although it’s clear that I’ve pissed off the one person who already had a vendetta against me. I grimace and check my watch. I’ve never been more relieved to take a step back and point vaguely to my wrist.

“Running late for my class. Um, we’ll talk later.”

I hurry to class and slip inside. I’m on the cusp of being late, which means most of the seats are taken—except for two. One is in the front. And as much as I try to be a good student, I’ve never been a great student. My focus has remained steadfast on ballet. Sitting in the front is practically asking to participate.