Page 3 of Ruined

Shit. Shit. I need to get myself together. I can’t be in my room bawling my eyes out while Nico and Luca are expecting me to join them for “snacks and chats,” whatever that means.

I take a deep breath. Another. I do this about five more times while squeezing my eyes shut. Block it out, block it out. Easier said than done.

If only I could be angry with him instead of heartbroken. If only I could curse him, dismiss him like Mason does. He didn’t spend nights upon nights awake in bed, crying for the man who’d left us behind.

“I’ll keep in touch, little Ollie. I promise.”

He lied. When I tried to text him and call him later on, he never answered. Fuck him. It’s Mason’s voice saying those words—not mine, but if I try hard enough, maybe I can make it mine.

Another deep breath. Deep enough to fill me with resolve rather than pain. Roughly, I rub the stray tears out of my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt and check my face in my phone’s front-facing camera. Brown, red-rimmed eyes. Messy, sandy-blond hair in a cut with bangs that I haven’t really made peace with yet.

Good. Focus on that.

I fix my hair, smoothing out the unruly locks that always stick out behind my ears, and open the door. The scent gets stronger out here, but so does my resolve. Ignore it. With time, I won’t even notice it, and my mind won’t go to places I don’t want to visit. I’ll need a few days, a week max, and I’ll get desensitized to it. Hopefully.

If not, I’ll need some other way. I have a few ideas—none of them ideal—but at this point, I’ll do whatever it takes.

2. NORTH43

When I get back to the living room, Nico’s lounging on the sofa, scrolling on his phone with a bored expression on his face. He’s very good-looking, I’ll give him that. His personality, however, I’m not so sure about.

“Luca’s in his room,” he drawls. “Don’t go inside unless you wanna see him butt naked.”

I raise a brow. “Okay.”

“You’re not gonna ask why?”

I shrug and sit down on the opposite end of the sofa, eyeing the Xbox under the TV. The effect of the surround speakers makes the sound become one with the room, like I’m wearing headphones when I’m not.

Nico flicks his gaze up from the phone. As soon as his eyes land on me, his expression morphs from languid boredom to laser focus, and I could swear he’s zeroing in on my red-rimmed eyes.

Fuck, now he knows I’ve been crying. He probably thinks I’m an immature baby, crying about my new room or missing my mom or something. It’s not entirely untrue, I guess. It’s not my mom I’m missing, though.

Luckily, I don’t have to be alone with Nico for much longer. Luca emerges from his room on the second floor. He’s had a change of clothing—now wearing a pink crop top and cream-colored booty shorts.

“Let’s have a drink,” he says with a strained smile.

“Was it gross?” Nico asks.

Luca doesn’t reply; he just yanks a bottle of vodka from the freezer. I’ve barely tried alcohol; I had some wine for dinner one night and spat it right back into the glass, but it’s not like I’ll say no.

“I have a date tonight,” Luca says.

“Who?” Nico asks.

“Some old rich dude. He wants to take me to dinner.”

“Okay,” Nico mutters. “Just be careful.”

I send them curious looks, a whirlwind of questions spinning around in my head.

“I’m a sugar baby,” Luca says, handing me a glass of vodka, orange juice, and ice cubes.

“And cam boy,” Nico says.

“And occasional escort,” Luca finishes.

“So basically a slut,” Nico says, grinning.