It took over thirty minutes to walk to the coffee shop, and I wondered how much longer I was going to survive without a car. My feet were sore in my old chucks, which were in dire need of replacing. I ordered a coffee and found a table in the back corner of the shop.
I started on calculus since that would take the most time. Once I had my book, notepad, and pencil out, I checked my phone again. Still nothing from Gabby, but there was a weird icon at the top of the screen.
It was an Instagram notification, and it said an account [email protected] me in a post.What the fuck?I didn't even use my Instagram account and I'd forgotten I had the app on my phone. Hesitantly, I pressed the notification and waited for the photo to load.
My stomach dropped and my mouth went dry. With wide eyes, I read the caption:
Looks like @WestMoretti likes to slum it with whores from the south side. Sorry @KendraLovesKendraaa, he seems to be enjoying it.
Above the caption was a photo taken from the balcony of Axel's guestroom. I'm on my knees, my hands on West's hips, his dick is in my mouth and my hair is wrapped around his fists.
A million thoughts raced through my mind. Who posted it? Why were they on the balcony watching us? Why would someone want other people to see this?
Most importantly, what the fuck was I going to do about it?
My heart thudded violently in my chest and my vision began to blacken. I dropped my phone and clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms to pull myself from the edge of a severe panic attack.
Sweating and breathing heavily, I picked my phone back up and ignored the incessant chiming and vibrations. I looked up how to report a photo on Instagram, but by the time I figured it out, the photo vanished.
The account–@GPHSknowsall–had zero posts. The bio at the top of the page stated simply: "I'm watching you". Talk about ominous.
The damage was done because I started getting direct messages from guys at GPHS asking me for blowjobs, girls calling me names, and then came the slew of dick pics.Gross.
Fuck all of those people. Every single one of them was a hypocrite. I was a whore because I had sex with someone, yet they fucked different people all the time and thought they had a right to judge me.
After one too many dick pics, I'd decided enough was enough. I opened my camera. Plastering on a smile and raising my middle finger, I took a photo right there in the coffee shop and posted it with the caption:
A big fuck you to the exhibitionist who took that photo. I'm looking at you, @GPHSknowsall. The least you could do is ask before watching. P.S. If any of you fuckers come near me, I'll cut your dick off. This is your only warning. Xoxo –the South Side Whore
I added a few kissy face emojis and a middle finger emoji to sign off properly. Rem's advice to "give 'em hell" replayed in my mind as I hit post.
23
West
Holyshitwas my first thought as I opened my eyes.
The night before had been unexpected. I'd think it was a dream if my balls didn't feel so satisfied. Ashtyn and I finally gave in to the tension between us. We always had chemistry but it'd been successfully squashed for the most part. Until last night.
I was already hard, ready to take her again.
I rolled over and found a cold, empty spot next to me. Daylight shone through the sheer curtain in Axel's guestroom.
Ashtyn was gone.
I sat up and looked around the room. Her clothes were gone and her side of the bed was made. I found my jeans and ripped my cell from the pocket. Luckily it wasn't dead.
9:44 a.m.Shit. I scrolled through the unopened text messages.
Bronx saying he would be home Sunday morning.
A group text with Cade and Axel asking how things were going upstairs with a million winking emojis. Followed by eggplant, sweat droplet, and peach emojis. Fuck, they knew what happened and I'd hear about it for the next four years.
Nothing from Ashtyn. I looked around the room for a note, a carrier pigeon, anything. She left nothing behind–other than her panties on the nightstand, which I quickly pocketed. No indication that she was leaving, that she'd call, or that she was okay.
What the fuck? I sighed and flopped back on the bed. I was still tired but my brain wasn't going to relax anytime soon.
Did she regret what we did the night before? Was this some sort of punishment for what I did to her years ago? Fuck if I knew, and I wished I didn't care.