Page 120 of Arrogant Puck

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Terror shoots through me. What was he doing in my room? Did he have more drugs hidden in there that I missed? Was this all some elaborate test I failed?

“Talk about what?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as I kick off my shoes and set my keys on the counter with deliberate calm.

He looks like he wants to put his fist through the wall. This is not the reaction of someone grateful that I just disposed of ten bags of pills for him.

“I got rid of them for you,” I say, confusion and hurt bleeding into my voice. “Are you punishing me now?”

He shakes his head, and that’s when I notice the way he’s looking at me—like he’s seeing me differently, like he knows something he didn’t before.

“Who’sFuck You?”

My blood turns to ice, and for a moment I can’t breathe. “What?”

“Fuck You,” he repeats, each word sharp as a blade. “The contact in your phone. Who is he?”

Understanding dawns on me with horrible clarity. “What—How do you know who that is?” The pieces click together in my mind, forming a picture that makes me want to vomit. “Were you going through my things?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Just stands there staring at me with those cold eyes, waiting for an explanation.

“Why were you going through my stuff, Slater! What the fuck!” The violation hits me like a slap. He went through my private messages because of what? Because he’s pissed that I found more of his drugs, and this is some sick payback?

“It’s not about that,” he says, dismissing my outrage like it doesn’t matter. “Tell me who the fuck he is right now.”

Shame washes over me in waves, hot and suffocating. The blood drains from my face as the full horror of what he’s seen settles in. “Did you see the pictures?”

His expression is answer enough, and panic begins to claw at my throat.

“Oh my fucking god. You saw them?” My voice comes out strangled, barely above a whisper. Those photos—the most humiliating, degrading moments of my life—are burned into hisbrain now. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable, most violated, and not because I chose to share that with him.

“He’s threatening you nonstop!” Slater’s voice rises, and I can see the fury building in his eyes.

“I have him blocked,” I say, like that somehow makes it better.

“Is that why you moved here?” His question is quiet, but it cuts deeper than any shout. “Why you don’t actually mind living with me?”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Because he’s right, isn’t he? Some part of my decision to stay here, to accept this living situation, was about having somewhere safe to hide.

“That’s not—” I begin, but the protest dies on my lips because I realize he’s absolutely right, and the truth of it makes me feel sick.

“Who the fuck is he?” Slater demands again, stepping closer.

“He was my boyfriend,” I stammer, my whole body shaking now. “He tricked me. Those pictures were not...” My voice dies.

“Were not what?” His voice is deadly quiet now, and something in his tone tells me I need to be careful with my answer.

The memories flood back—the trust I gave so freely, the way he convinced me it would be fun, romantic, just between us. “He blindfolded me and had his friend...”

I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t voice the betrayal, the humiliation, the way they laughed while I thought I was being intimate with someone I loved.

“I’m going to fucking kill him!” Slater explodes, turning toward his bedroom.

“Slater!” I cry out, chasing after him as panic takes over completely. I follow him into his room where he’s yanking open drawers, looking for God knows what. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“Who the fuck is he?” He whirls around to face me, his eyes blazing with a fury I’ve never seen before.

“He plays basketball,” I whisper, the admission falling from my lips like a death sentence.

---