“You want them or not?” she barks.
“Piss off.”
And she throws it. The package hits the side of my head, and I growl, letting it fall to the ground.
“There’s a drop of blood on the back of your neck, dumbass,” she tells me.
I almost laugh. What? Does she feel guilty about hurting me or something? It’s not like she should. I got her good this morning, didn’t I? That video had eighty-five-thousand views before I took it down at three a.m.
But, of course, by then it had already done its damage. What’s on the internet stays on the internet somewhere.
Jesus, what did I do?
I grab the package off the ground and pull out a wipe. “Where?”
She pauses a moment, staring at her locker, and then stalks over, taking it out of my hand. Pushing me back around, she wipes off whatever is on my neck, and my thighs are burning with her touch. God…
“It’s going to take every ounce of pull I have to protect you,” she says. “You know that?”
Protect me?
“Once my brothers find out what you did,” she warns, “their women will rebuild your fucking face.”
“I’m not scared of Tryst Six,” I say over my shoulder.
My father eats that side of town for breakfast.
But then I hear the click of her blade behind me, and I stop breathing.
“Take out your phone,” she tells me.
“What for?”
I turn around, meeting her eyes, both of us eye to eye.
Her arm hangs at her side, the blade in her hand. “Do it.” She cocks her head, calm. “I’m sure you have notifications by now.”
Notif—
What did she do?
I quickly turn around and grab my phone out of the locker, turning it back on.
It lights up, loads, and in a moment, I hear dings and see tabs pop up.
Clicking on one, I watch as YouTube loads, my heart pounding hard as the same video I posted—and deleted—starts playing again. The jewelry in Olivia’s ear glimmers in the moonlight, and her flowing, white tank top makes her slender neck look warm and tan as she bends it back for the girl to kiss.
The account is registered to Vaudevillian Vix—not me—and it already has seven-thousand views.
I drop the wipes. “What did you do?” My eyes lock on her.
“You wanted it up, so it’s back up.”
“But I took it down,” I growl.
Goddammit, I took it down. I look back at my phone, scrolling the comments. Why would she do this? When did she do this? Before the fight? After?
“They won’t trace it back to you,” she assures, walking back to her locker and tossing the knife in. “It came from my phone.”
So why repost it then, if not to screw me over?
“Take it down.” I charge over to her. “Take it down now.”
I don’t want people to see this. It was a mistake.
“You’re not scared of Tryst Six?” She fixes her lip gloss in the mirror, extra red against her black shirt and black hair. “Well, I’m not scared of you, baby. Do what you will. Leave it up—forever if it gets you off.” She turns and looks at me. “Every degrading comment and joke is for your pleasure, so enjoy it.”
Son of a bitch!
I push her aside and pull her phone out of her locker. “Take it down now.” I hold her phone out to her, but before she can take it, I pull it back and swipe the screen, trying to do it myself. “Unlock this!” I yell at her. “Goddamn it, Jaeger!”
She pushes me back into the locker and grabs her phone. “Scared now?” she taunts. “Huh? Feel violated when you’ve lost control of your property? How does that feel?”
I raise my hand, pointing in her face and shouting, “Take it down!”
But she grabs my wrists and twists them behind me, and I whimper at the ache as she backs me up into the lockers again.
“Because why?” she whispers in my face. “Say it. You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. She presses her forehead into mine hard, but I push back, giving as good as I get while I try to wrangle my hands free.
“You’re afraid, because your life is sad, and you want to gut anything that’s different.” Her breath falls on my lips, and I feel a light layer of sweat cover my back. “Anything that makes you feel strong, because at least it’s not dull, and it’s too painful not to feel, isn’t it? You’re afraid of me, because some day you’re going to wake up and remember that that video is still there, but I’m not, am I? I’m gone, living, and you’re not, because your brain is still in the fucking gutter.”
A sob lodges in my throat, and my body shakes.
She shakes her head at me. “You’re just afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I tell her. “I’m…”
But I swallow, pushing the word back down my throat.