When she stops, Zach’s eyes move lower, and for the first time tonight, I realize that my mom’s nightie is light and made of cotton. And it has a plunging neckline and Zach can see all of that.
“What happened to your dress?” he asks.
I snap my robe closed, hiding my nightie. I don’t want him to look at my ruined clothes. His stare makes everything worse, stickier.
“Doesn’t matter. I have work tomorrow and I need to go sleep.”
And I need my mom and dad to come back.
I should leave now that it’s all over but my legs won’t move. They are trapped by the sudden thought in my head.
Usually, I’m good with burying everything inside and doing what needs to be done. I’m good with putting a date on my fucked-upness. Delaying dealing with it until I get my house back.
But standing here, in front of the guy who’s always tormented me and liked it, I feel so alone. I never told my parents about the bullying and the pranks but now, the choice has been taken away from me. I couldn’t tell them even if I wanted to.
They are not here anymore.
There’s no one to save me. From the world.
From him.
“Are you crying?” he asks with a frown.
At his question, I realize that yes, I am. And just like that my tears turn into something hot. Something like anger because what the fuck am I doing, showing weakness in front of him.
“No, I’m not,” I tell him in a clear, stern voice. “I don’t cry. Especially not in front of people who don’t give a fuck.”
He said that to me once, actually.
Didn’t your mom teach you to not cry in front of people who don’t give a fuck?
Even though it was years ago, I can see he remembers it, too. He knows what I’m talking about. It’s in the way he’s looking down at me, with such intensity.
Such… connection.
Like we share something.
I hate that.
I hate that we share a history. I hate that he’ll always be a part of my life. He’ll always own a corner of my soul.
“Is it the dress?” he asks.
This is the moment when Ashley chimes in, “Oh please, don’t be a baby. It was an honest mistake and it’s only a dress.” Then, she mutters under her breath, “And not a very good one at that.”
The growl that’s been building up inside me finally escapes.
“What’d you just say?” I narrow my eyes because I’ve had it with her.
I’ve fucking had it with everyone. I’m going to fucking rearrange her face.
She flinches at my question. “Excuse me?”
I think I hear gasps.
I was right. The staff members are up and about and they’re probably watching this altercation right now. But no one dares to enter the kitchen. Maybe because Mr. Prince is here.
Fuck it. I don’t care who’s watching; I’m not backing down.