Page 17 of Make You Beg

Then, I smash it onto the bathroom wall, over and over.

It takes me a few minutes and a sore hand, but the bottom of the heel detaches.

Victory. I can savor it at the tip of my tongue.

I don’t go back to the noise of the party. Don’t bother stuffing myself with appetizers or drowning my sorrows in the alcohol-free punch they got as catering.

I spend my time on something better.

Sweet, sweet revenge of mine.

The fully packed parking lot isn’t a long distance from the bathrooms, and I don’t mind walking a bit now that I can wear my shoes.

Kayden’s car is parked somewhere here. I know it is. He insisted on taking it, while the rest of us came in a limo. Kayden loves that car. He drives it everywhere, parades it in and out of school, and sometimes disappears for hours to wash it.

I gaze around, trying to track the red Porsche he adores.

That doesn’t work. I pace back and forth along rows of vehicles, until five minutes later, the ocean of cars becomes smaller, and I’m standing in front of it, a smile glued to my face. Oh, the horrendous things I plan on doing.

My grip tightens on the detached heel, wrapping my fist around it before walking from one side of Kayden’s car to the other, scraping the metal and making an annoying screech as the red paint turns gray-ish. The damage’s done, and I’m enjoying it way too much. So much so that I stride back and forth once more, letting my heel destroy the whole right side of the vehicle. This is my own version of keying someone’s car for cheating.

A satisfying hum leaves my lips

“What the fuck?”

I’m startled mid-action, the voice sending goose bumps through my whole body.

Caught red-handed.

I don’t want to turn around. I’m not going to. I’m not⁠—

“I said, what the fuck are you doing?”

His hand’s on mine before I can stop him, squeezing tight. My fingers tighten around the heel, aching.

I let it fall to the ground, admitting defeat.

“I-It was a harmless prank.”

I face Kayden.

His face is dark, his jaw tight. He doesn’t find it funny.

One of his eyes twitches as he examines the damage I’ve done. “Fuck. This is going to cost hundreds, if not thousands, to fix.”

“Oops?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Excuse me?” I tilt my head, bringing my arms to my chest. “You started it.”

“Do you know how much money I need to take out on this?”

“Oh. Do you? Doesn’t your daddy pay for all this? Your luxurious life? I doubt you’ve worked a day in your life to know how hard it is.”

I, on the other hand, have done babysitting countless times to help Mom out.

Though she always insisted on me doing it during school breaks.