The message was gone, the picture was gone. I just needed to keep reminding myself of that. Again and again. My confidence in myself, my love for myself, had been decimated, and every picture or word I received was another goddamn nail in my metaphorical coffin. I needed a breather to figure this out.
“Be right back,” I chimed and stood up, letting out a small groan while rolling my shoulders back as if I was tired. I was, but that wasn’t why I needed a break.
Slipping to the back of the dining room, I turned into one of the bathrooms that was right off the room, much smaller than the one last night and far less modern. I closed my eyes as I slipped into one of the stalls, resting my head against the wooden door, breathing through my panic.
It was a salad, and she had enhanced the picture. Abby Brooks was trying to screw with me, and it was absolutely working. Unless… I really did look like that and I just wasn’t seeing it. I braced my hands on the stall walls and closed my eyes, a small sob breaking through my throat before I swallowed it down.
No. I would not cry. I would not let her have that power. I looked up, willing the tears to disappear, feeling the past twenty-four hours fully hitting me as my knees began to weaken. When the bathroom door opened, I knew immediately who it was based on their perfume, so I flushed the toilet as if I had just used the restroom.
Stepping out of the small stall, I offered a cursory glance at Abby leaning against the counter, her smirk growing as she arched a perfectly shaped brow.
“You okay, princess?” Her snide mockery of King’s nickname had anger building in my chest that I pushed down, knowing she wanted that. Any reaction was a good one for her.
“Perfect.” I smiled and washed my hands as she continued to stare at me, making me feel almost creeped out, like she was evaluating me. God. Screw this lady.
“You know,” she drew out casually, “I should have figured that you had a boyfriend, especially with where I saw Stratton last night.”
My chest squeezed as my throat closed up. “I don’t really care what you saw, Abby.”
“Well, I supposesawisn’t the right word.” She sighed in contemplation. “You see, I couldn’t see all that much in the dark besides the girl kneeling in front of him, sucking him off at the post-fight party.”
I hate to admit that my first thought was,had he gone to a fight last night?I thought he had to stay home for his grandma? She was in my head. I couldn’t focus on the other part, because if I did I was going to lose it. I felt at the end of my rope, and I had no intention of letting her see just how much that suggestion bothered me.
Instead, I let out a small amused sound. “Good for them, I bet it was a good time. Well, then again, you would probably be a better person to ask, right? Is blowing someone who doesn’t care about you fun, Abby?”
Abby snarled, stepping into my space. “You fucking prude. You’re getting gang-banged by what, six men now? And somehowI’mthe slut?”
“I didn’t call you that, but it’s clear what you think of yourself.” I felt a sneer pull on my lip as she revealed exactly what she assumed was going on between my boys and me. Honestly, the concept of being with all of them was anything but unappealing… but she had no right to be thinking about that.
“Plus,” I added, smirking as I pointed a finger against her chest and flicked the necklace she always wore as my temper truly came out, “that’s your goddamn fantasy, Abby. One that you will never get, by the way. Poor you.”
I wouldn’t either, but that wasn’t the point.
My bravery was retreating, so I walked past her, done with the conversation. I let out a sharp cry as her hand shot out and pulled back on my ponytail hard enough to make me slip on the tile floor. I fell back, my head feeling as though it had cracked open when it hit the tile. My breathing was rough as Abby leaned over me, pressing a manicured hand into my throat, her long, sharp nails breaking skin.
“Just remember, Dahlia, you are worthless without them and your fake little family,” she purred and tightened her grip. “You are from the fucking slums. You are absolute trash, and once those men get what they want from you, they will be over it. Over you. You’re just a long game they entertain themselves with. Not someone they would ever consider marrying. After all, what man wants to be with a girl that fucks his friends?”
With a sharp kick to the ribs that had me groaning, she walked out, leaving me furious and speechless. My hands shook as I pulled myself up using the counter, blackness momentarily filling my vision. I blinked, trying to clear it as I moved towards the door, needing to get the heck out of here. Needing away from the tile that now reminded me of when Abby pinpointed everything I secretly fear. The woman had a talent for it.
Ignoring the looks from my family and probably everyone else, I jogged through the doors onto the patio out back and down the steps. Almost immediately, I sucked in a breath of air and sat down on a large stone bench that faced out towards the course. Luckily, I was hidden away enough that no one could see me as they trickled in for lunch.
I needed sleep. That was it. I swallowed nervously, my fingers clutching my throat as anxiety hit me hard enough to know I was having a panic attack. This was going to be a bad one. Tears began to form as I slowly stood and made my way around the clubhouse towards Yates’s car, sliding on my sunglasses so that no one could see me crying.
Signaling to the valet, I grabbed the keys and unlocked the vehicle, sliding into the back. I buried myself against the leather seats of the back row as real tears streamed down my face. I needed to pull it together. I was being weak.
For the first time in my life, I wanted vengeance. Retribution for her treating me like this. For allowing her to have control over my life like this. I wanted to do something to ruin her, and the longer I sat there, the more this sense of outrage began to crawl over me.
When the door opened and two large hands gently pulled me up into a firm chest, I was unsurprised to find Sterling’s warmth under my cheek. I buried my nose against his shirt as he smoothed his fingers over my shaking frame, whispering soft assurances that were like a bandage on a terminal illness. I think that was the moment I realized that I was going to have to do something about Abby Brooks.
“What is going on, sugar?” he demanded softly.
Running a hand down my face, I pulled back and fixed him with a look that I knew didn’t hide any of what I was feeling. I couldn’t say I was ‘fine’ or ‘okay,’ because we both knew it wasn’t true. I couldn’t say ‘nothing,’ because even I would call that bullshit.
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed and I turned, worried it was Abby again, only to realize it was already open to messages. My mom had sent one asking if I was okay, probably assuming this was from last night. Sterling gently drew my chin back.
“You looked through my phone?” I frowned, realizing he’d done so while holding me.
“Yes.” He didn’t deny it, his expression darkening as if something had just occurred to him. I darted my gaze over his shoulder, seeing my mom making her way out of the club. I didn’t deserve her.
“I need to go tell her I’m okay,” I explained.
“Are you?” he asked softly.
“No,” I answered honestly as I got out of the car. He seemed surprised at my answer, but I couldn’t lie to him. I wasn’t okay. The worst part about all of this? Abby wasn’t wrong. I was from the slums… and who wanted to be with a woman that was into several men? There was something wrong with me.
I just didn’t know how to fix it.