MrD: But we had so much fun last year, didn’t we, darling?
BadApple: fuck off
MrD: I did you a favor. You owe me a favor in return. I will collect.
I uninstall the app and toss my phone under the chair. Fucking asshole. Is he pissed because I made a truce with Baron? Colt said he tracks their cars and spies on them. Does he have people at Willow Heights—maybe Colt himself? Or did someone around town see me with Royal and report back? Or fuck, what if he and Royal have some kind of deal now? After all, Royal gave me back to Preston when I was passed out. Despite Royal’s denial, I can’t help but wonder. What kind of bargain did they make that day? What did each one give, and what did they gain?
I’m so paranoid and fucked in the head I barely pay attention to the headmaster when he calls me in and gives me a long lecture about appropriate behavior and representing the school like an upstanding citizen. Apparently upstanding citizens don’t actually stand up when they see something wrong. They accept it and obey. When he tells me to go to class, I almost ask for a punishment. No amount of detentions can be worse than owing Mr. D.
It’s my fault, though. I took too much. I took the car, the scholarship, the shoes and clothes, the bags, the jewelry. I told him I’d bring them back, and I didn’t. And all I ever gave him was a hole to stick his dick in. It wasn’t even good sex. I mostly just lay there and let him put his dick wherever he wanted it that day. The only time I even participated was when he wanted a blowjob. And not that I minded, but the dude’s pretty vanilla considering all the shit he wanted to hear last year.
If I’d spent any time thinking about it, I’d have pictured him as having some kinkier fantasies. He wanted to hear all about my sex life with Royal, but when he had me for himself, the kinkiest thing he did was take little porn clips on his phone. He never even watched porn with me. He never pushed me up against all those windows and fucked me where the risk of someone seeing was close to zero but the thrill that theycould,that it wasn’t quite zero, would make it more risqué. Hell, we never even had sex on the roof.
The handful of times we weren’t in bed, we did it on the couch. I literally let him do whatever he wanted, and all he wanted was regular sex, with an occasional BJ or anal thrown in for variety. He never suggested something even a little bit daring, like pegging or blindfolds.
Suddenly, Mom’s words come back to me. She said men respect their wives, they don’t want to choke them and pull their hair. And I told her Preston respected me because he never did any of that. Is that why? Or was it just pity? Did he not want to traumatize me, so he didn’t enact his more perverse fantasies? After all, it’s not like he could have tied me up. I would have gone apeshit, and he didn’t want to deal with that mess. If there’s one thing Preston likes, it’s having everything in order.
But he had no problem making all kinds of nasty sexual comments to me last year. Asking me about watching the twins, and if it made me hot. Wanting detailed descriptions of everything from Royal’s dick to what positions we tried, how good he was, how many times I came. Telling me the things he’d do to me if he could fuck me instead of living vicariously through my stories.
When he could fuck me, though, he was careful and perfunctory. Nothing like the texts he sent. Is Mr. D more than a screen name, but a persona? One he can use to be bold, something he can’t be in real life, especially not to someone who’s seen his face. He can fantasize when hidden behind a screen, but when he meets a girl, he’s too self-conscious about his appearance to let go and do anything but the basics. He’s not living vicariously through me, but through Mr. D.
It’s always felt just a little off, like Mr. D was a different person than the man I met. And maybe he is. Maybe he’s the old Preston Darling, the one who the Dolces destroyed. A man who will ask for what he wants, who hasn’t been beaten down until there’s nothing but helpless rage inside him while he watches the family that ruined his take over his town. A man who has fantasies he’s too ashamed to ask for because he thinks he’s already asking too much for just wanting someone to see him as a person and not a hideous monster. A man who only exists online.
Maybe that’s a good thing. I remember Dixie saying Preston was the evil one. The man I spent the summer with may not have been perfect, may not be a hero, but he’s sure as fuck not evil. He didn’t always make the right choices, but I believe he tried. He was generous and gentle, considerate, broken, guilt-ridden, tortured, and nurturing. And even though I know he’s filled with unfathomable rage, he never, ever took it out on me.
He knew I was Royal’s. He knew what happened to his cousin because of me. In his eyes, I was Team Dolce. He could have fucking tortured me. Hell, that’s what the Dolces did when they thought I was a Darling. Preston never hurt me in any way, physically or emotionally. He never said I smelled bad or that I was loose. He never called me trash or a bitch or a whore. Hell, when I called myself that, he fucking defended me—to myself. In six months of knowing him, he’s never made me feel unsafe or belittled. He’s never even raised his voice to me.
My heart breaks for him, but it also soars at the realization that I don’t have to obey him. He might ask for things, but I don’t have to give them. If I show up in person, he won’t ask me to my face. The old Preston might be bold enough to ask, but the new one isn’t. He won’t punish my defiance. He has no control over me.
I feel strong as I walk into my math class. I don’t even mind the stares and whispers. I usually sit with Gideon and Cotton, but I’m not sure I’ll be welcome there or even what rift I might have caused between the sophomore and the senior players. The last thing I want to do is fuck things up for sweet little Gideon. But he looks up from his laptop and smiles, nodding to the empty seat at their table. It would be rude as hell to take the chair—the only empty seat—and drag it to another table. Especially because Josie’s the only other person from the lunch protest, and I’m not sure she’ll welcome me in her group.
So, I slide in at the boys’ table. Gideon reaches over and gives my hand a quick squeeze. Cotton shakes his head and turns away. I squeeze Gideon’s hand and pull away. I don’t want Cotton or anyone else getting any ideas about that being a romantic gesture. The last thing I need to do is get this boy in more trouble than the stunt at lunch probably did.
Class is almost over when the dreaded little black box pops up on the corner of my laptop screen with the blinking green cursor.
GideonD17: I think ur brave
BadApple: how did u get my handle?
GideonD17: from dixie.
GideonD17: That ok?
BadApple: Thx 4 having my back at lunch. ur brave 2.
GideonD17: ofc.
GideonD17: more ppl should stand up 2 the bs that goes on around here.
BadApple: they will
GideonD17: bc u inspired them.
GideonD17: like u did me
I glance up from my screen and see that the poor boy is blushing. Shit. Not the direction I want to go with this. Gideon is two years younger than me, plus, he’s so sweet I have to believe he’s never had his heart broken, and there’s no way I could be responsible for all that. He’s toogoodfor me.
Not better than me, but he’s a good person, and I’m… Not.