Page 29 of If You Dare

Violet turns away from me, scrambling to yank her dress over her head. My erection grows rock-hard at her half-naked inches away from me. She slips on my jersey, and I hate that I love seeing her in my clothes.

Violet ducks to grab up her panties, but I step on the flimsy black fabric. “Leave them.”

She doesn’t bother objecting this time. She heads for the door, wrenching it open, and I don’t stop her.

Aneesa glares at me like a bull about to charge, but she takes Violet’s hand instead. “Come on, Violet. Let’s go.”

Violet doesn’t say a word or even nod. All she does is shake and let Aneesa pull her out of the apartment, giggles and whispers following in her wake.

I grab up her panties, ball them in my fist, and tuck them in my pocket. With every brush of my sweats against her bare ass, she’ll be forced to think of me. Of everything I’m going to do to her.

Chapter14

After

Violet

In my AdvancedFiction Writing class, Professor Tate returns our graded writing assignments. A short story that focuses on the setting, adding specific details to make the characters’ surroundings come to life. I’m not surprised by the seventy circled in red at the top of the page. Setting has never been my strong suit, but everything I’ve tried to write lately has been a painful extraction. Like yanking out my fingernails and scratching out the words in my own blood.

When she dismisses us, Professor Tate calls out, “Violet? Hang back for a second?” She perches on her desk and waits for my classmates to file out of the room, wearing a rare frown.

My stomach twists. I’m sure this is about the most recent assignment. “Setting isn’t my strong suit,” I blurt.

She holds up a hand. “This isn’t about your story. At least, not only that one. All of your work so far this semester has been a far cry from the writing you turned in last year.”

Words shouldn’t be enough to physically make my chest ache, but they do. Writing has always been the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Now I don’t even have that anymore.

“You’re a strong writer, Violet. Stronger than the work you’ve been turning in lately. Where’s the heart? Your soul is missing from the page.”

Of course it is. My soul is cold and darkened, if it’s even there anymore at all.

Professor Tate hops down from her desk and drops into her seat, shuffling through folders. “You need to bare your soul for your work to have any meaning. Keep that in mind for your next assignment.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I will.” A promise I know I won’t be able to keep.

Before she can say another word, I scurry out of the classroom and head back to my dorm.

I swear my hair still smells like punch, despite spending an hour in the shower after the party last night scrubbing every inch of my body clean. Trying to wash away the feeling of their eyes on me.

But there’s one pair of eyes I can never seem to shake off.

His little trip with the punch bowl last night was no accident. A small humiliation that Wes could shrug off as unintentional, but everyone knows the truth.

I still can’t believe he licked my neck clean. Made me strip off my panties and leave them behind, and then made me wear his clothes as a reminder of what he did to me with every step. His sweats and jersey are buried at the bottom of my dirty laundry.

I reach for the student ID in my bag just as my eyes land on the door to my dorm.

I stop dead in my tracks.

Words in black and blue are painted on the door. He chose those colors purposely—he’s going to paint me black and blue next.

The variations in handwriting tell me he must’ve had his teammates help him with this prank.Murderer. Killer. Psycho. Crazy. Bitch. Slut. Cunt. Little cum slut. Loves taking it in the ass. Get your dick sucked here.

I’m frozen until my eyes land on a string of numbers. Bile turns in my stomach. They wrote my phone number.

I rush into my dorm and soak a paper towel, propping the door open while I scrub. A couple walks by and laughs. No matter how hard I scrub, none of the paint comes off. I scrub harder and harder until my fingers and nails ache, but it’s useless.

I need to get these words off the door before Aneesa gets back or she’ll flip out. I call maintenance, even though that’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want anyone else’s eyes on these disgusting words written about me.

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