Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 178117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 712(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 712(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
If I could, I’d pick apart her brain right this very second and expose all the secrets she’s keeping.
But that would take the fun out of things, wouldn’t it?
And I live for the fucking fun because nothing in this fucking university ever is.
You have to make it, and that’s what we’ve been doing for the past year.
But she … she could spoil it all.
And I’m not about to let her.
Dylan shoves me in the side with his elbow, and I look his way, low-key tempted to shove this pen between his ribs. “Stop staring at her. What if people notice?”
“Do I look like I care?” I retort, flicking the pen up and down.
He raises a brow. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”
“Since when do you listen to your father?” I scoff.
His face darkens as he casually leans back on his chair. “You know why.”
I roll my eyes and look away. “You do whatever the fuck you want.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “You really wanna go down this route again?”
“So what if I do?” I quip, staring at him.
He tilts his head until his white pretty-boy hair falls over his face like he’s testing me, but I don’t fucking care.
I’ve never cared about any consequences—not today, not yesterday, and certainly not tomorrow.
“Whatever,” he scoffs, running his fingers through his hair. “You know what you’re getting yourself into, and it isn’t even worth it.”
“Yeah … I do know, and it’s fucking worth every second of my time,” I say. I raise a brow in return. “Do you know why?”
His lips twitch. “What? Just because some girl stood in your way, you wanna make her your next toy?”
“She’s not some girl,” I retort, holding up the pen. “Guess her name.”
He narrows his eyes, glaring at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I eye the pen.
“What? Pen …” Suddenly, his eyes widen. “Penelope?”
His voice is so loud it echoes through the room, far enough to reach the rows down below where she sits.
Penelope turns around, gazing at me with hawk-like eyes, just like she did when she stood in my way. Close enough to hear us speak, yet far enough to stop me from grasping her purple hair and tilting her head to whisper filthy shit into her ear.
Her gaze never breaks, and ours doesn’t either.
I know she heard.
I hope she fucking did.
Because she fucking smiled at me.
Smiled.
When all I could think of was ripping her little black top and checkered miniskirt to shreds.
My eye twitches. The pen in my hand snaps in half under her gaze.
Pen … I will fucking break you.
Penelope
Weeks ago
My eyes burst open as I sit up straight in the bed, breathing heavily. My heart is going a million miles an hour as I recount everything that happened that night. The forest, the music, the moon, my sister jumping to her death, and those boys listening to my endless screams as I ran to the edge to try to save her.
Too late.
I saw her body disappear into the water deeper and deeper until nothing was left but the silence in my heart.
Tears form in my eyes, but I push them away and shove my blanket off my body to start my day.
Trying.
That’s the only thing I’ve done these past few days.
But my legs feel like they weigh a ton.
Especially today.
This day when my mom has not stopped weeping since yesterday.
This day when my dad has taken phone call after phone call just to take his mind off what's happening.
I go through the motions without really thinking about it, putting on black pantyhose, a long black dress, and a beautiful brooch. One my sister gifted me on my birthday. A reminder of the day she left to go to Spine Ridge University for the first time.
My fingers instinctively touched the brooch.
I look at myself in the mirror, wondering if she can see me right now.
If she’s trying to tell me it’s all going to be okay.
But it won’t because she’s gone.
And I know it’s thanks to them.
Those fucking boys.
My fingers tighten around the brooch, and I struggle not to rip it off.
Instead, I bite my lip and head for the door.
Downstairs, my mother’s still crying her eyes out, sniffing into tissue after tissue. The empty boxes are stacked on the table.
When she sees me, she swiftly wipes away her tears and snot, pretending she’s not crying, but I can clearly see the marks on her cheeks.
“Penelope, are you ready?” my father asks after he tucks his phone back into his pocket.
I nod. I don’t want to say the words out loud because I know I’ll burst into tears like my mother, and if she sees my tears, it would break her even more. As her only daughter left, I need to be strong.
My father helps my mother off the couch, and we all walk outside toward the car waiting for us.