They’ve never liked me or my friends. There’s no real reason, except that I didn't grow up with the kind of money they did. Tyler and Anthony like to think of themselves as some superior beings when, in reality, they’re the scum of the school. I might be hurt, but they had to learn that they can't touch what isn't theirs. And Mary wasn't theirs. She's mine.
Was mine.
I would've given up everything for her. There was nothing I wouldn't do.
Now? Now all I want is to see her suffer the way I am.
Mary flinches back, the tears falling freely from her eyes, and it takes everything in me not to comfort her. Instead, I step forward, crowding her against the bookshelf. My fist slams into the shelf next to her head. I press my forehead to hers, my eyes closing as I struggle to breathe, her scent clouding my senses. It's too much.
I push away from her when I feel her fingers against my chest and storm off toward the door. It feels like the walls are closing in on me the longer I stay close to her.
Chapter 6
Mary
Idon'tevenknowwhat day it is anymore. Two weeks ago, everything was fine—or at least I could pretend it was. Now I wake up, only getting a few hours of sleep each night if I'm lucky, and there is a weight on my chest, like grief decided to move in and redecorate my insides. I keep telling myself to breathe, but even that feels like a chore at this point.
I keep thinking that if I can manage to make it through the day, maybe tomorrow will be easier. But then tomorrow comes, and it's the same version of hell I've been living in since that party.
I don't know how to keep going, or if I even want to.
I curl into myself, the black sheets tangled around my legs like vines trying to hold all the broken pieces together—but somehow still failing. The silence in my room is deafening, broken only by the sound of my own sobs. Raw, ugly, and restless.
I press my face into the pillow, hoping it'll muffle the noises, hoping that no one in the hall can hear me fall apart.
I feel like I'm drowning in memories. Sebastian’s laugh. His touch. The way he used to say my name, it made me feel like I meant something to him. Not like how he said it today. With so much hurt. I keep replaying every moment, every word.
If the pain would stop. Just for a minute. Long enough to breathe without feeling like I'm being crushed from the inside. As I lie on my bed, curled up in his T-shirt, my tears have soaked through the pillowcase. My body aches, and my heart feels like it's been hollowed out.
The Dean got what he wanted. I'm completely and utterly alone. His sons will go on living their lives as if nothing has happened, whether that’s here or elsewhere. There won't be any consequences for their actions.
I have a razor blade gripped in the palm of my hand, knowing how this night will end for me. It's the only way I can get some relief. Some peace. Even if it's just for a moment. Enough for me to focus on the pain of the cuts instead of the pain in my chest.
Chapter 7
Mary
Six months later
AsImakemyway onto campus, a wave of annoyance washes over me. A crowd of students race into classrooms, laughing with friends, lost in their own little worlds. It’s in direct contrast to my longing for isolation, and I can’t help but despise the frantic pace of this college. I want to go back to my room and do the complete opposite.
Pulling my bag up higher on my shoulder, I head toward Dean Westwood's office—a monthly meeting I’ve been forced to endure for the past six months.
By the time I get across campus, only a few students are lingering around, exactly as Dean Westwood likes it. Because how would it look if the perfect Dean had a student coming and going to his office when everyone else was already in class?
I rap my knuckles against the door before pushing it open, never waiting for him to welcome me in.
I’m here for one reason and one only.
The quicker I get here, the sooner I can fucking leave.
Dropping my bag on the ground, I plop down in one of the uncomfortable leather seats in front of his old oak desk. My foot bounces on its own as I wait for him to get this shit over with.
“Mary. How are classes going?” he asks. His glasses sit at the tip of his nose as he reads over the paper in his hands. When I don’t respond fast enough, he looks up, raising a single brow.
“Fine. Can we please get this over with? I have class.” I cross my arms over my chest, impatience filling my veins.
“Very well. Nothing has changed on my end. I assume the same on yours?”
