CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
Stella
Idon’t allow myself to feel anything until the sound of his feet running up the stairs fades away and a door somewhere on the ground floor slams.
Only then do I allow myself to drop to my knees and let the tears of anger and regret fall.
I give myself five minutes and five minutes only to fall apart. And once my time is up, I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and pull on my discarded clothes, wincing as Seb’s cum slips down my thighs with every move I make.
Turning my back on the gym, on the sweaty, bloody handprints I know I’ve left on the mirror, I force my legs to move and climb up to my bedroom.
I’m numb as I strip out of my clothes and step under the shower. My knuckles burn as the hot water washes over them, but I push the pain aside in favor of feeling nothing.
It’s easier to shut down and forget all this bullshit.
Teagan’s spiteful smile, Toby’s concerned eyes, Seb’s heated touch and vicious words that I crave like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
I don’t notice that my curtains and one of my windows is open until I’ve dropped my towel and pulled on a clean tank and sleep shorts, and an engine rumbles outside, the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires hitting my ears.
Praying it’s Calvin or Angie, I walk over to the window. All the air rushes from my lungs when I watch my father’s car roll to a stop.
“Of course. Just how I want to end this bullshit day,” I mutter to myself.
The second he gets out of his car, he walks over to mine, running his fingers over one of the biggest splats of paint on the hood.
“Here we go,” I mutter as he disappears from my sight and into the house.
“Stella?” his deep voice booms, making my heart jump into my throat. “I’m home.”
Usually, I’d run down the stairs to greet him after he’s been away, but not now. Today he’s going to get a very different kind of homecoming, because the time for keeping me in the dark is over.
It’s time for some truth.
When I eventually get downstairs, Dad has already shed his suit jacket and is standing in the kitchen, nursing a glass of whisky.
“There you are, kiddo. It’s so good to see you.”
I don’t react to his words, and he’s observant enough to notice.
“W-what’s wrong?”
“Aside from the state of my car?”
“Well, yes, but I’m more concerned about you than I am a car.”
“Right,” I mutter, not believing a word of it. If he truly felt that way then he wouldn’t have lied to me every day of my freaking life. “Well, the queen bitch at school organized that little treat for me while we were doing gym practice.”
“Why? You’ve been here a week, what could you possibly have done already?”
“I don’t know, Dad. Why don’t you tell me why she might not like me?”
“What’s her name?” he asks, his brows pulling together.
I swallow down a million things I could say that would clue him in to what I know. But I don’t want to prompt him, I just want him to own up. To be honest with me for once.
“Not important.”
“So why would you think I’d know about it?”