Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I came back here with vengeance on the brain, and so far, all I’ve managed to do is let Landon slip through the cracks in my defense. I need to regroup and reassess my strategy. Because this is exactly what he wants. He’s weakening my shields with his sly smiles and infuriating comments. He’s an actor at heart, and that’s what makes him so dangerous. There’s no way to discern what’s real and genuine from what’s just a script to him.
When the game ends, I’m the first one off the field. I can’t risk bumping into him in front of our classmates because I’m not ready for that. I don’t trust my face not to betray everything that went down in the pool house last night. Space. I think that’s what I need right now.
At home, I tap furious thoughts into the journal app on my tablet and draft a hundred apology texts to Courtney. I don’t send any of them because what can I say? That I’ve given up my revenge? Because I haven’t. I get where Court is coming from, but she couldn’t possibly understand what I feel.
Still, I miss her more than anything. It’s so tempting to call her or walk to her house. But I can’t bring myself to do it. We are in a cold war at school, passing each other in the halls without a word and sitting at different tables for lunch. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking, and I’m not sure how to fix it anymore.
My head is pounding as I toss my phone aside with a growl. It’s already after midnight, and the noise from the party next door is grating on my last nerve. I’ve come to expect these parties at Landon’s every weekend, so this isn’t unusual by any stretch. We both agreed we would go right back to hating each other today, but all I can think about is the fact his hands were on me last night. His mouth was on me. And I can’t contain the jealous little beast inside who’s demanding to know what he’s doing over there.
Best-case scenario, he’s doing exactly what I expect. Hooking up with some other girl who I’ll inevitably have to add to my shit list, reminding me why I hate him in the first place. Worst-case scenario… well, is there any? What Landon does with random girls isn’t my business, and I shouldn’t care. But that logic isn’t doing me any favors as I slide into my slippers and stomp across the boundary line into his backyard.
I’m walking into enemy territory. I half expect somebody to say something, but nobody seems to pay me any notice. I realize it might have something to do with the fact my hair is in a messy bun, and I’m wearing boring leggings and a tee shirt. All the other girls are in bikinis so small it should be a crime to charge for that much fabric. When I look at them, that nagging voice in my head is quick to remind me I’ll never be that perfect. Even in a constant state of deprivation, my body refuses to conform to society’s standards. It’s exhausting, and life feels so unfair.
My mom always tried to tell me that bodies are meant to be different shapes and sizes because we all have different genetics and metabolisms. That’s all well and good, but I wouldn’t hate it if I could wear a bikini and not even think twice about all the insecurities crowding my mind. The worst part is, the guys drool all over them, reaffirming that’s what they expect. Is that what Landon wants too? And if it is, then why did he send me all those treats? Is he trying to make me eat so he can laugh at me with his friends when I gain the weight back?
Every step I take toward the mansion leaves me more unsettled. My insides are twisted up into a pretzel, and my brain is full of ping pong balls bouncing in different directions. I just want one freaking night of peace without this stupid music. But as soon as I’m inside, I forget about the music and realize how irrational this idea was. My palm is still on the door handle when I freeze.
I underestimated the power of this place. The bad memories of that night are swirling around the black hole of my mind, threatening the edges of my vision. It smells the same. The liquor. The chlorine from the pool. Beer. Marijuana. Too much expensive perfume and the overwhelmingly toxic cloud of men’s spray deodorant.
I remember walking into this place. That part is clear, except I came to the front door that night. The conversation with Audrey, the drinks, the game of Truth or Grope. Almost all of that is still there in the recesses of my mind. But nothing after I threw up in the bathroom. Not until I woke up in that bed. And then the laughter. The humiliation. The horrible ache deep in my gut like I wanted to purge my very soul and sever it from this body.