Page 26 of Wicked Surrender

A headache brewed, and I scorned how stressed I was.

Ever since I started tutoring Jason, my life had been hell.

I was losing time—wasting it—tutoring him, and it was cutting into my studies. Then all the rumors he and his friends were spreading about me contributed to constant stress that bothered me when I decompressed to rest every night.

It wasn’t fair.

I tried my best to let it all go in one ear and out the other, but no one was that forgiving. Even a saint with the most supreme self-esteem and solid sense of self-worth would feel battered like this.

Behind me, Dennis, one of Jason’s frat brothers, talked about how slutty I looked.

I was right here.

He knew I could hear him.

Everyone else in line laughed along with him, and I zoned out with a weak wonder at how they couldn’t make up their minds.

Jason wanted to tease me for being a boring prude. Then in the next minute, he and his buddies would be trying to slut shame and call me a whore.

Which is it? I put out for everything that breathes and moves and has a dick? Or I have an icy vagina and can’t thaw enough to ever have sex at all?

To pass the time in line for my coffee, I reviewed my notes about the cancer drugs I’d been collecting research for. My dad would be furious if I submitted it for the symposium, but it didn’t hurt to daydream. To fantasize. Since I wouldn’t get far with imagining strangling Jason for trying to make me miserable with his bullying, I could entertain myself with the vision that I could one day be bold enough to stand up to my dad’s expectations and do as I wanted with my life.

After I got my coffee, I speed-walked toward the building where my organic chem lab was. I didn’t get far before my phone buzzed with an incoming call.

I checked the screen, scoffing at the sight of my sister’s name. What the hell could Mai want? And now? She seldom ever called me, too busy with her important life across the state at med school.

“Hello?” I’d never hear the end of it if I ignored her call on purpose, and she’d be liable to accuse me of that to my parents.

“Hi, Laura. I’d ask how it’s going, but I think I already know.”

I furrowed my brow, hating this headache. “What? I’m not following.” Was she calling to see how I was doing, yet not? I had no patience for riddles or any insincere interest in my life.

“I was chatting with Penelope, one of my mentees,” she said, “and she brought it to my attention that you were, um, caught pleasuring yourself in the locker room?”

I groaned, closing my eyes. No amount of caffeine would help with this headache now. I’d need a vat of it. Or a chance to run away. “No,” I drawled. “I was not.”

“Contrary to your claims,” she stated, “there are many posts that suggest otherwise. She showed me.”

“Yeah, because you can always believe everything that you read online.”

“It’s not true?”

‘No!” I almost crushed the plastic of my iced coffee cup as I walked and fisted my hand, gritting my teeth. I’d never been this frustrated in my life! “Some bullies are picking on me and spreading rumors.”

“Jeez, Laura. It’s not really a good look to cry victim.”

My mouth hung open. “I’m not!”

“Then what did you do to make some students pick on you like this?”

“Nothing. Dad asked me—no, ordered me—to tutor this jerk, and he’s making my life hell.”

“Can’t you have some compassion? Clearly, this student is going through a rough time. Just stop and think about how your reputation impacts mine.”

“Oh, God forbid someone spread a rumor that I’m a slut and it hurtsyou. Never mind how this makesmefeel. Right?”

“All right. I see how this is. I’m not going to attempt a conversation when you’re just going to shout and be emotional. I don’t deserve that.”

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