Pretty Reckless (All Saints High #1)(76)

It’s where I am right now. Sore and wounded and scared. I’ve experienced the most tragic thing to ever happen to me—sexual, physical abuse—but somehow know the worst is yet to come.

I examine the red welts on my behind in the bathroom mirror at home, blinking back tears. They mar me with shame and horror and fear.

He touched me against my will.

He hit me against my will.

I played with fire and got so burned, it left a mark. Dozens of them.

The sad thing is, it doesn’t hurt half as much as seeing Penn in the hallways does.

I apply some aloe to the welts and slip into knee-long pajamas, going commando. Wearing any type of fabric against my bruised skin hurts too much. My phone chimes with a new text message, and I hesitate before picking it up.

It’s Prichard.

Meet me at Castle Hill Park at seven. The bench under the cherry tree.

Gabe Prichard doesn’t apologize or make excuses. He is dangerous, a loose cannon, and even though I’ve made up my mind about never seeing him again, there’s a good chance he came to his senses. Realizing Gus and Via can screw both of us over, he is probably planning to make it right. I know he thinks I’m too scared to tell my parents, but why take the risk? I type back.

So you can abuse me some more? No thanks.

He replies within seconds.

So we can sort out this thing and move forward with our relationship.

I’m about to let out a hysterical laugh when a fist crashes the door from the outside.

“You’ve been in there for an hour,” Via whines. “Save some hot water for the rest of us, princess.”

Of course, she feels comfortable talking to me like this when we’re home alone. I lift my pajamas, chance one last look at my butt in the mirror, and unlock the door, my hand still on the handle. I stare at her, waiting for an apology. An acknowledgment of what she did. Any. Freaking. Sign. Of. Humanity.

Nothing. Blank. Gurnisht.

Via arches a blond eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. She is wearing a gorgeous floral minidress Melody probably bought her. Perhaps in New York. Possibly while I grieved the death of my family as I knew it.

“You look like shit. Have you been crying?” She snorts, shouldering past me to get into the bathroom.

I shake my head. “You’re so screwed.” My voice is quiet. Eerily calm.

It’s the only thing I can think of saying right now. Maybe the only thing that matters at all. Because my life may be over, but so is hers. The difference is that I know my fate, and she doesn’t.

“What are you talking about?” She unleashes her hair from its elastic in front of the mirror, grabbing the makeup bag and getting pretty, no doubt, for Gus.

“What do you think Gus wanted from me when you gave him my journal?” I ask, parking a hip over the cabinet. She takes a step back. I take a step toward her. Her back hits the shower glass, and this is where I keep her boxed in.

I’m not going to hurt her. Not physically, anyway. Maybe not at all, seeing as I am desperately in love with her brother, and he wants her happy. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know what it means to love until everything hurts, and you shed your dignity and pride for someone else.

“Gus wants Penn to throw the game.”

Via’s eyes widen. It’s news to her, and that actually makes me release a little sigh of relief. Her wanting to screw me over is a given. Her getting back at Penn, however? I can’t stomach the idea.

“He wants to ruin your brother,” I say, my hand traveling from the glass to her chin, tilting it up, so we stare each other in the eye, something we should’ve done weeks ago. Years ago. “And you just handed him the weapon with which he’ll do it.”

She swats my hand away. “Bullshit.”

“Yup.” I grab her face, willing her to look into my eyes again. “Penn is broken, frustrated, lost, because of you.”

“You can’t tell him.” Via swallows, pushing me. I stumble backward, laughing. That’s what she cares about right now? She sounds like the old me.

Via paces back and forth, raking her fingers down her face, leaving pink streaks in their wake.

“He can’t know. He can’t know,” she repeats.

I turn around, making my way to my room. I need to start getting dressed if I want to make it to the park in time. Prichard chose the same place where Penn took my virginity, which is something he knows, of course, because he’s read my journal. We’ve met a few times after Penn entered the picture, though our sessions were few and far between. I tried not to think about them, to push them to the back of my mind. And, for the most part, I succeeded.

Via follows me, yanking my pajamas and spinning me on my heel.

“What do I do!” she screams.

I stop. I smile. Enjoy the view.

“You know, Via? For the longest time, I envied you. For years, actually. Ever since you showed up at my mother’s studio. Not because you were pretty or allegedly rich or any of those things. But because you were talented. You were better than me, and, well, I guess I couldn’t accept that. So imagine my delight and surprise when you returned, and I found out that you weren’t better than me after all. Sure, you might have been the better dancer, but everything else about you is rotten. You are selfish and ugly and even more insecure than I am. You’re vindictive and small and afraid. You will never be happy, Via. Ever. And that’s the best revenge one could ask.”