I exhale at the memories.
There will always be that image of her dancing.
Followed by the dark ones.
That morning wasn’t supposed to go that way.
But how was I supposed to know when the effect of roofies or whatever was in her drink would wear off? Because she wasn’t drunk—she was high the night before. How was I to know that she would leave my room on her own in the house full of hungover frat boys?
No fucking calculation could’ve prevented that.
I am in the kitchen, drinking a beer and trying to figure out how to tell Crone I brought his girl home because she was too drunk to walk.
That’s when the cheers come from the hallway.
I crane my neck, and my heart falls.
Callie.
Fuck.
Her blue eyes are full of panic as she skirts the wall toward the front door.
Fuck!
I freeze, knowing that’s it. I fucked up.
Ty slaps me on my back. “Well done, bro.”
“That’s not what you think.” I want to punch every single one of those fuckers. Except it’s too late.
“Whatever it is, bro. You always wanted her. Good for you. But Archer will kill you.”
And Crone almost does.
The rumors spread like wildfire across the campus. “Callie Mays in Kai Droga’s room.”
My phone starts dinging with messages.
One of them is from Crone.
“I’ll fucking destroy you, Droga.”
I tried to forgive myself for what I’d done. I should’ve left Callie at that party, right? Should’ve let Crone have what was his. He was my best friend. A girl should never come between best friends.
I exhale again. Because the rest is history tattooed on my monstrous skin.
Yeah. It’s crazy what our minds can do.
Because as soon as I take another swig of rum and close my eyes, here she is again.
Callie Mays.
Petal.
Swinging her hips to Doja Cat and smiling like the next day our lives won’t turn to fucking hell.
6