Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I turn around and march off, determined not to let him see me cry.
“Mo, wait!” he calls out at me, but I stick up my middle finger and keep walking, so I don’t end up in more shit than I already am.
Cole
The next day
Not one fucking second wasted.
The moment I spot Michael, I grab him by the coat and throw him against the lockers in front of the entire fucking school.
“How fucking dare you?” I say through gritted teeth, clutching him tightly. “Snooping through my fucking phone?”
“What the fuck, Cole?!” he growls. “I didn’t do shit. Let go of me.”
“Not before you tell me what the fuck you did with that picture,” I snarl. “Who’d you send it to?”
“What? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he retorts, eyeing me down like he’s some kind of saint. “I don’t have any pictures.”
When he tries to flee, I shove him farther up against the lockers. I don’t care who’s staring, let them watch.
“I know it was you. Admit it,” I growl.
“I’m not admitting to shit. I didn’t do anything,” he growls. “You just fucking hate me, don’t you? And now you wanna pin me for something I didn’t do.”
“Then who was it, huh? No one else had access to my phone,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.
“You?” he retorts.
I get up in his face. “Like I’d ever do that to her. Stop fucking lying.”
His eyes glimmer with hatred. “You care a lot about that stupid girl, don’t you?”
I punch him. Hard. Right in the face. And some of the people standing around us have it on tape. But I don’t fucking care anymore.
No one, and I mean no one, calls Monica a stupid girl.
“Fucking hell!” He groans out in pain. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“You, that’s what’s wrong,” I retort. “Now tell me what the fuck you did with that picture or I swear to God …”
“You’ll what?” he spits back. “Kick me out of the band? Too fucking late.”
We stare each other down for a few seconds.
“Wanna hit me again, tough boy?” he taunts, blood dripping from his nose, which he quickly wipes away with the back of his hand.
I blow off some steam and release him from my grip. “You’re not worth my fucking time.”
“That’s it. Walk away, pretty boy,” Michael yells after me. “Go run to your stupid little girlfriend who can’t even fucking have some fun.”
That’s it.
Without thinking, I rush back to him and bulldoze him straight back into the lockers, punching him in the gut. He buckles over and takes another blow to the face. A muffled sound leaves his mouth like a bag of chips, releasing its air, and he sinks down against the metal doors.
“Fuck you,” he groans.
“Don’t you ever fucking talk about her ever again,” I bark at him, pointing my finger at his face. “You fuckin’ hear me?”
“You two deserve each other,” he says, a tepid smile appearing on his face. “You just hit an innocent guy.”
“Innocent, my fucking ass.” I spit on the floor beside him. “You’re the worst bandmate anyone could ever wish for.”
“Lucky I’m not a band member anymore then,” he retorts.
“You’d better hope I find the person who did this,” I say as I step away. “And that Monica is lenient on you when she decides she’s going to tell the truth…”
The look in his eyes flashes, as though he’s suddenly seeing red. “What truth?”
My nostrils flare as I stand tall above him. “You and your fucking buddies know what you did.”
“Yeah, well … where’s the proof?” He scoffs, cocking his head at me.
Even though he’s still on the ground, I kick him in the nuts just for looking at me.
“Waste of fucking space,” I growl, and I turn around and walk off, cameras flashing all around.
I don’t care anymore.
Let them watch.
I’m not the bad guy here.
Not anymore.
I walk into the practice room and march back and forth to release the adrenaline built up in my body. I look down at the floor and count the steps I take until all the rage has ebbed out, and I blow out a breath.
“Fucking Michael,” I murmur to myself.
I sit down on a seat at the front and stare up at the stage where I first saw Monica as she walked past the door. And I take my guitar case off my back and place it on the table in front of me. It’s a beautiful guitar … shame it’ll probably go to waste.
Suddenly, the door opens, and I turn my head.
Tristan glares at me for a few seconds.
I know what he’s thinking.
He’s probably heard about the fight, either from social media or through rumors. He knows what went down, but he doesn’t know the full story. I don’t even have all the answers.
“So … Talk.” Tristan throws his bag onto the table at the end of the room and stares me down.