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“Theladyis considering transferring to another school. On a different continent.”
“Another continent?” Kat arches an eyebrow. “Really?”
I compress my lips into a line. I can’t even put into words how desperately I want out of this situation, but I try. “He’ssuchan asshole. Just because I dared slap him, now I’m on some VIP blacklist and he’s made it his life’s mission to makemylife a living hell.”
“Did you just say youslappedhim?”
My mouth works. “Accidentally.”
She cocks her head at me. “How do you accidentally slap someone? Did he walk really fast into your hand or something?”
“He annoyed me into doing it. I can’t be held responsible for what I do when I’m met with that level of assholery, Kat, I can’t.”
She shrugs. “See, this is why I told you to stay away. Men like him seem like the perfect candidate for all that happily ever after bullshit… until you figure out what’s wrong with them.”
“Oh, I know what’s wrong with him, all right,” I mutter, half to myself.
“Do you now?”
“He’s a monster.”
She purses her lips. “He’s definitely not landing himself on a Mary Poppins wish list or anything—no one can hold a candle to apple strudel—but I wouldn’t call him a monster. He’s more of an… acquired taste.”
“He’s a grade-A asshole. He’s made that fact very clear.”
“Depends what you’re into…”
I blink at her. “What the hell isthatsupposed to mean?”
Why the hell does she look so fucking uncomfortable all of a sudden?
She keeps shifting her weight, her eyes darting all over the room. I guess it could the cocktail of drugs she took this morning, but something tells me there’s a lot more to Owen than I know.
“Kat…” My voice is low. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Maybe it’s better if I show you.”
I quirk up an eyebrow, silent as she goes to fetch her phone. She shows me a photo, and I recoil with confusion. It’s a close-up of a girl’s slender neck covered in angry bruises.
“What thefuck?”
“Guess there are always two sides to every story,” Kat muses absently, tipping her head one way, then the other.
I point at the phone. “Is that… is thatyouin the photo?”
“What? No! Oh, my God, I’m not into that shit.” My frown prompts her to add, “From what I’ve gathered, being the social butterfly that—”
“Gossip.”
She scowls at me. “Being thegossipthat I am, is that Owen likes it kinda rough in bed.” She glances down at the phone. “Kindareallyrough. And I guess, if you’re not into that, then…”
My mind works frantically in the beat of silence that follows.
Oh, my God.
It explains so much. Noteverything…but a lot. The way he grabbed my throat. The spankings. How he always seems to want to tower over me and intimidate me.
“Then what?” I croak.
