Page 120 of The Road Less Traveled By

“Are you sure?” he asks me.

“It’s fine. It was bound to happen sooner or later,” I say as she comes into my personal space. I’m unsure if she's going to hug me, slap me, or something else. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and if she came over here to apologize, I won't be accepting it. What she did was inexcusable, and for what? A few clicks on a post? A few stories about her online? A chance to steal my fake boyfriend from me when he wasn’t mine in the first place?

She, like my parents, had no right to do what she did. I don't even know how she found out about it, but I couldn't care less.

She flips her hair behind her shoulder as she looks me up and down. “It’s nice to see you out of the house, Bree. You look good tonight.”

I glance down at my outfit—an oversized suit jacket belted at the waist, thigh-high black boots, and a tan bow that drapes down my back. I dressed myself tonight, and I look good, but her tone says otherwise. God, I hate all this petty shit.

“Can you just say what you came over here for and let me get on with my night, please?”

She smirks and rolls her eyes at me. “It’s nice to see all this hasn't dampened that tongue of yours, Hart. I thought playing the victim for so long would make you forget who you used to be.”

Playing the victim. “I feel bad for you, Ellie. Having to tear others down to get anyone to pay attention to you; it’s sad, really. Tell me, did you really like Alex, or did you just like what he did for you in the media?”

She only scoffs for an answer, and I notice some cameras have made their way to watch our interaction, but I’m not giving them more fuel.

“I bet you were asking for it, Bree. I bet you secretly liked it. What were you wearing to entice that guy so much?”

“Pajamas. In my own fucking house.” It’s always so interesting how everyone—including the media—seems to blame the victims. In no world is anyone ever asking to be assaulted. It makes no goddamn sense. Can’t we start blaming the people who touch others without their consent? Why does nobody ever ask what they were wearing? Why does nobody ever ask why they didn't stop when the other person said no?

I step closer to her so only she can hear me. “I’m not playing anything. I didn't entice him, and I sure as hell don’t need to explain the worst night of my life to someone who decided to blame me and not the person who attacked me in my own home. I’m a goddamn survivor, and I spend everyday trying to heal myself. The last thing I’m worried about is you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading home.”

I step around her, cameras flashing as they watch me walk away, but I can’t find Vince. I look around as Emerson steps in front of me, Chris behind me. “Guys, where’s Vince?”

“The boss had to take a phone call from Nico. He said it was important, but we’ll get you to the car. Vince is meeting us there.”

I nod at Emerson, but Vince not being around has me more on edge than I’d care to admit. What is Nico telling him? Did they catch Ralph? Is my sister okay?

Way too many scenarios play in my mind, and as I slide into the car, my emotions overwhelm me. I don't know if it's the cameras, the flashing lights, the conversation with Ellie, or Vince being gone, but this car suddenly has no air.

Bree: Liv, please answer. Is everything okay?

Liv: I’m here, Bree. Do you want me to call you?

Bree: No. Has anything hit the news tonight? About me?

Liv: One second.

It feels like an hour before she answers.

Liv: I don't see anything new. What’s going on?

Bree: Vince is on the phone with Nico, but I don't know what's going on.

Liv: Where are you?

Bree: A show. About an hour from home.

Liv: Do you want me to bring over some dessert? I can have it ready in no time.

I smile at my phone; Liv’s answer for everything is always dessert.

Bree: Sure, Liv. I’ll let Vince know when he gets back.

Liv: See you soon.

My nerves have dissipated slightly, and when Vince finally gets into the car, a scowl on his face, my stomach drops. It’s not good news. It wasn't a social call from Nico.

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