Page 129 of Insincerely Yours
He’s been gone for two years.
She has to be kidding.
This has to be some sick joke—
But it’s not. That much is clear when she quite literally spits in my face. “Hate to break it to you, Birdie, but you’re damaged goods now. He’ll never want Trent’s sloppy seconds.”
She holds her phone up in front of me, and I’m finally able to process the fact that it’s not actuallyhers. It’s missing the signature Prada leather case.
“You want it rough, baby?” Trent taunts, leaning in to whisper against my ear. The way he says it, he sounds mischievous. Playful. Like I’m actually a willful participant. Even without being able to see his face, I can tell he’s grinning.
Fuck that, and fuck him.
The water seeping down from my hair has coated enough of my face and even his hand that when I flex my jaw, Trent’s fingers slip ever so slightly. I don’t know if it’ll do any good, but I don’t allow myself to think through the repercussions.
I manage to catch my teeth on the flesh of his middle finger near its base, and I bite down with everything I have. Warm, coppery liquid hits my tongue, and I feel the skin break as Trent instinctively tries to rip his hand free. The act only tears itfurther, leaving him with a thick, loose flap of skin dangling from his finger.
“Fucking cunt!” His whole body rears back, but I don’t get to celebrate my victory as his other hand grips the back of my neck, throttling the side of my head into the wall.
The pain sends black to invade my vision, and my legs collapse from under me, but I have air. I have air in my lungs and a mouth to expel it.
And I do.
Even as my world goes dark, Iscream!The sound that tears out of me is feral and loud. Loud enough that the ruckus outside in the gym peters out until there’s silence. And I don’t stop screaming. I don’t stop even as I crumple to the floor and hear the frantic pairs of footsteps racing out of the locker room. I don’t stop when I feel the strain in my vocal cords and hear them crack under the pressure. I just shield my head with my arms and keep screaming.
CHAPTER 30
SHADOW
PRESENT
I need air.
It’s the only thing I can focus on, and I’m clearly not thinking rationally, because I go out through the front doors of the restaurant. The pleasant chill of the air conditioning is immediately replaced by a suffocating humidity I don’t remember feeling earlier. Heading down the sidewalk away from the exiting and entering patrons, I can’t really concentrate on where I’m going, my thumb still swiping the screen of Jase’s phone.
The more I read, the thicker the air around me seems to be, like the app is stripping my lungs of the required oxygen with every syllable I digest.
Footsteps come up behind me, and when I don’t answer his question, Jase cuts in front of me, finally getting a look at my face.
The tears that had only been moisture clinging to my lashes inside now openly roll down my cheeks, and my breath hitches when I try to answer. “I never got these.”
Despite being wholly confused, Jase still cups my face, the rough calluses of his hands offering a strange comfort. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
I pull away from him, holding up his phone. “I never received the messages you sent me. Four years, and I didn’t get a single one.”
“Are you fucking serious?” He can obviously tell by my expression that I am, but it needs to be said.
Because this entire situation is fucked up.
Still, I have to press on.
“How did you know about what happened with Trent and Sienna?” I hate how my voice cuts out, almost reducing me to silence. “You were three thousand miles away, and these were sent not even an hour after the attack. How could you have known?”
Jase looks off into the distance, as if recalling the memory. “Olivia. She wanted to report what happened to the police but was too scared, so she called me.”
A small, pitiful laugh scrapes out of my lungs.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Out of all the current Untouchables, she was the only one I ever saw show even the tiniest, infinitesimal degree of a conscience. She may not have outright apologized to me, but a week after the locker room incident, I received a letter in the mail with nothing written on it but the words,“I’m sorry.”Despite her not signing it, I knew the note had come from Olivia. After sitting next to her in biology the previous semester, I would have recognized her handwriting anywhere.
