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Alec snorts and props his elbows on the counter behind him. Our parents are watching Netflix in the living room. Other than my Lucas drama, everything feels like it used to. It’s a normal family night at home and it makes me smile.
“It’s good to see you’re making friends.” Alec draws me out of my thoughts about our Rockwell-adjacent evening.
“What do you mean?”
“Lucas and everyone. You’re getting along with everybody.” Alec shrugs and grabs an apple from the bowl next to him. He crunches into it and speaks with a full mouth. “It’s a weight off my shoulders. I was worried.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you really stood up for my honor or whatever.”
“Yeah, well…” Alec has the decency to look sheepish for being a dick. “I’m glad I don’t have to stress about you now.”
I press my lips together. What I told him before still applies. I don’t want to ruin things for him at this school.
If I tell him everything Lucas has done to me, I doubt he’d be so relieved.
“Whatever,” I mutter, switching the water off. “I’m going upstairs to chill.”
Alec hums and wanders into the living room as I make my way up the staircase.
I pull my hair down from a messy bun and braid it, flopping onto my bed.
A text from Lucas pings on my phone. Grimacing, I open it, like the masochist I am.
Lucas: Tell me what you sleep in at night. I want to know how I should picture you when I jerk off thinking about it. Do you go commando? [wink emoji] Or do you have a cute little sleep set that would drive me crazy? I’m coming to your window tonight to find out.
Ugh. Goddamn pervert. I throw my phone facedown on my bed.
I hate that he can get to me even when I’m in my room.
Every inch of my walls are covered in photos I’ve taken since first discovering my interest in photography. Behind my bed I have a string of fairy lights and square prints that I update every month. I trace my fingers over the ones I’ve added since moving to Ridgeview.
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Two of them have Lucas in them. I didn’t mean to snap photos of him, but he does draw attention to himself. He’s impossible to ignore.
I’m a photographer—of course I can begrudgingly acknowledge that Lucas is attractive. The planes of his face probably fit the golden ratio. His face is…aesthetically pleasing.
And it pisses me off.
Pursing my lips to the side, I peel off the prints featuring Lucas from the wall and toss them in the drawer of my nightstand. I grab a pillow behind me and cover my face to muffle my groan.
Stupid Lucas.
I stew like that until I fall asleep.
* * *
I startle awake. It’s dark and I’m disoriented.
I think I fell asleep with the light on, vaguely recalling the comforting orange glow of my lamp. Mom or Dad must have checked on me before going to bed. They always turned my light off after I fell asleep when I was little and afraid of the dark.
As I lay there, the dream comes back in starts and stops.
There was an intruder that climbed in through my window. Lucas. It was him and he was torturing me. Touching me. Kissing me.
Blinking a few times, I squirm my legs beneath the covers. My skin prickles and heat throbs between my thighs. I bite my lip and snake a hand down my body, the light touch sparking along my nerve endings. My chest heaves with my muffled gasp. I’m so sensitive.
I dip my fingers into my damp underwear and trace my folds, arching from the bed.
