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Damian started attending Rothford U—the posh, expensive private university in Thorn Falls—last year, so he still lives in town, less than a couple of hours away.
I gladly accepted the ride, because I needed to settle things with the park’s landlord, grab some of my and Willow’s clothes, and dispose of the rest.
Dwight was a dick, refusing to let me back in unless I paid three months of rent for terminating our lease, or some bullshit, though we rent month to month. I checked, just to be sure. Our paperwork only demands four weeks of notice.
Not that it mattered much in the end—I’d already bought a couple of shorts and T-shirts, and Willow has a brand-new wardrobe, courtesy of her foster mother. The only thing of value was my computer.
I made it myself, choosing each element meticulously. I’m not usually fussy, but I detest slow computers. It took over four years to complete it, upgrading component after component. That laptop’s more expensive than some cars around the park, and contains my entire life. By chance, Lola’s siblings were smart enough to sneak in and get it before Dwight changed the locks.
Dropping me off back at my apartment, Damian promised he’d pop by next to see if I was free for a coffee next time he came to town. He might have tried to send me a text. I wouldn’t know; my phone ran out of battery at some point during my endless shift today. But he likely didn't. Turning up out of the blue without warning is his style.
I’m sorry I missed him. It would have been nice to catch up. Damian is a link to my friends—Erica in Europe, and Lola, wherever she may be.
I've decided to believe Camden on that, if nothing else. She's alive. Something happened to her, but she's alive somewhere. And we'll see each other again.She’s tough. Whatever’s going on, she can handle it.
“So, Damien, hm?” my roommate coos with a suggestive grin.
“Don’t even think it." I roll my eyes "He’s a friend. Actually he was a friend’s booty call, and we somehow adopted him.” Or he adopted us, I can’t tell. “Besides, I’m seeing Trent.”
Harper just snorts, returning to the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with Trent?” I call out to her,a little offended on my boyfriend’s behalf.
He’s just fine. And he’s supposed to be one of her friends.
Lazily, I drag myself off the sofa and make my way to the bathroom. Gosh, I really do stink.
“Nothing,” Harper replies. The apartment’s small enough we can hear each other from different rooms. “I would totally have jumped on that if he'd shown an interest. But I’d drop Trent like a hot potato if Mr. Abs and Bedroom Eyes crooked his finger.”
“You and half of our old school.”I was never interested in his type.
In fact, I’ve never been interested in any type.
Justhim.
It appears my taste is titillatedsolelyby manipulative psychos.
I shake my head to physically will myself to stop thinking about Camden Fucking Hunt. His golden amber eyes set on mine as he cupped my chin and caressed my lower lip, right after I sucked his cock.
The way his voice sounds when he calls meprincess.
It’s far from a compliment. The first time he said it, he called me a trailer princess, and that’s how he sees me. The trashy girl worth nothing, likely to amount to nothing.
Inspecting myself in the bathroom’s mirror, I notice the blush all over my face.
I’m so fucking messed up. The mere internal mention of Camden Hunt is enough to awaken all my senses.
I have a boyfriend. A nice guy most women would find hot. He’s blond with green eyes, tall and preppy. He’s smart enough to go to Caltech, and kind enough to not try to push me for anything I don’t want—anything I’m not ready for.
He should be my type.
Heis.
If I say it often enough, eventually it’s bound to feel like truth, right?
But I’ve never been one to feed myself delusions. I didn’t go for Damian or any other popular guys in Thorn Falls. For some stupid reason, I had an embarrassing crush onCamdenin high school. I couldn’t explain the fascination, however much I tried. I know when it started, but it shouldn’t have lasted this long. Still, he was the only one able to make my heart beat in my chest, the only one I thought about at night when I was alone in my small bed.
Now I kinda get it. I’ve never been interested in what’s good for me, or what I could reach. I may not have realized it back then, but what I craved was danger, depravity, humiliation. I am my mother’s daughter, after all. Self-destructive to the bone. Instead of drugs and strings of men, I chose something worse to obsess over.
