Brutal Obsession (17)

I picked business because I thought it would be easy. And then I missed a semester.

The bartender returns with our drinks. I take a sip of my watermelon margarita, and the sugar on the rim adds an extra sweetness. Willow clinks her glass against mine and winks.

On the other side of the bar, I catch sight of Greyson and Knox. My stomach knots.

I think of my trashed room, and I can’t shake the feeling that he would do something like that just to mess with me. But, he didn’t say a word about it in any of the classes we’re in—and we’re in a few together, unfortunately. In my environmental economics class, I can’t seem to get away from him.

I’m probably going to fail it because he keeps messing with me. Not that he does anything, but I can feel his stare on my back the whole time. It’s like my body is hyper aware and I can’t turn it off.

“Earth to Violet,” Willow says.

I jerk, spinning to face her. She squints at me, her expression etched with concern.

“I’ll be right back.” I slide off my stool, take another hefty gulp of my drink, and circle the bar. I don’t have a plan. All I know is that I’m pissed about the video and I’m upset about my room. I had true memories on that wall of my past life. Photos of me and Jack, sure, and the dance team. But I had prints of my ballet recitals, too. Things I’ll never get back.

Not Jack, not the dance team, and certainly not ballet.

My muscles ache for it.

And that just makes me angrier.

Greyson spots me coming. He’s running his own version of court, Knox and him acting like royalty around a gaggle of impressed underclassmen. His lips keep moving, something about their upcoming game against the Pac North Wolves. He sips a beer between sentences.

I stop at the periphery of his circle.

“Violet,” he calls.

They part for me, suddenly realizing I’m there. Some girls, some guys. Seems no one is safe from the Devereux charm.

I scowl at him and step forward. “I know you did it,” I accuse.

His lip curls. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

I make my way closer, determined not to show him fear. I’m not afraid of him. I just need to remind myself of that… “The video,” I hiss. “And my room.”

He leans in. “Listen, gimp. Only in your wildest dreams would I be anywhere near your room. Is that what you want? Someone to fuck your mouth? Maybe a bit better than Jackie boy did, hmm?”

Gimp. That stings.

The people around us laugh, and that fuels him. I force myself to lift my chin and face him head-on. No use shrinking now, even though I’m woefully unprepared. I didn’t expect the barbs to come out so soon, so viciously. After all, I left this bar, drunk, with Jack, and blew him. It’s not a secret, thanks to him.

“How about this? You can go back to your seat with your little friend over there and drink your cheap margarita, and you fantasize about what I’d do to you… if you were worth my time. Or better yet? Just get out of my fucking sight.” He sneers. “You gave up your spot on the dance team. You’re essentially useless to this school, aren’t you? No more accolades, no more recognition. Soon enough, you’ll be invisible.”

I flinch.

His eyes light up, like he’s finally found something that scares me.

“Poor little gimp.” His voice is low and cruel. He’s found a wound and he’s going to press on it, drawing out the pain. “Can’t make it as a dancer, probably won’t get a job in whatever fucking career path you chose as a plan B. You’ll go back to living on your mommy’s couch and working twelve-hour shifts at a gas station until you rot of old age.”

“No.” I’m shaking. Trembling with anger. How dare he talk to me like that? “No, I’m going to succeed. And your demons are going to drag you back to Hell where you belong.”

He smiles. “If I belong in Hell, so do you.”

He takes his drink and sips it, then extends his arm. I watch his hand, watch the glass. Watch it happen in slow motion, but I can’t fucking do anything as he tips it over my head.

Beer hits me. It drenches my hair in an instant, soaks my shirt, and makes it stick to my chest. I take a quick step back, then another. The people part for me, not wanting to get splashed. It’s cold. My skin pricks, every part of me on fire at the humiliation. And the echoing laughs. There’s a whooshing sound in my ears that muffles everything.

I brush my hair out of my eyes, trying to hide my tremors. “This isn’t over.”

He nods slowly. “I hope not.”

I turn around and head back to Willow, then stop short. Knox is on my stool, giving her all his attention. There’s a chance she completely missed what just happened… and I don’t want to ruin her night. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Ruining things.

The beer has traveled to my jeans, dampening the waistband. My skin is sticky, my hair gross. I want to scream. That verbal spar didn’t go as planned. Didn’t happen the way I wanted it to at all. And if I want to retaliate, I’m going to need to take another look at that fucking nondisclosure agreement.

For the first time, I feel utterly silenced. I feel small. Unable to respond in the way I want to, knowing that if I insinuate anything about the accident, he could take everything from me.

I spin on my heel and march right past Greyson and his cronies, heading for the exit.