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“Oh, bulimia’s not healthy…” I mimicked and shoved him hard. “Bulimia is a serious disorder and not something to tease about. Besides, you know good and well I’mnotbulimic. So why didn’t you say something?”
“Geez, Chloe, give her a break.” He stopped trying to dry himself as he narrowed his eyes and stepped close so he could quietly hiss, “She was just jealous because you’d done somethingshecouldn’t. Seriously, how would you feel if she’d slimmed down andyouhadn’t, then she showed up here, strutting around and shoving all her weight loss inyourface with that skimpy little number?” His hand flailed dramatically as he lectured me, and all I could do was stare at him, devastated. “This is a graduation party, for God’s sake, not the Miss America pageant. Just what the hell are you trying to say with that outfit?”
My mouth fell open. I’d done all this forhim, and he was acting as if I’d done something horrible instead.
I had guys asking me out weekly these days, appreciating my new looks. Why did he have to be the only one to think my transformation was abadthing?
Numbers on a scale meant absolutely nothing when it came right down to it, didn’t they? It was who I was on the inside that would never be good enough for him.
I felt like an absolute idiot. Heat infused my neck and cheeks so rapidly that I knew my entire face had to be turning a bright, flushed red. Then, a glassy hue covered my vision, warning me that I was going to burst into tears at any moment.
But I refused—absolutely, one hundred percent refused—to let him see me cry. Fisting my hands down at my sides, I vibrated with all the fury and loss I felt as I seethed the words from between my teeth, “I worked really hard to look like this.”
Luke’s lips parted, and shock blanketed his features before he winced and reached for my elbow. “Chloe,” he murmured in a soft scolding sound. “I know that. I didn’t—”
“Don’t,” I growled, jerking my elbow away from him, and causing him to pull back in surprise. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me. You are dead to me. I seriously don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone the way I hate you right now.”
And at that moment, I meant it. He’d broken everything pure and beautiful and dreamy inside me. And he’d made me realize how truly stupid I was for thinking my appearance actually meant anything.
“I hope she gives you VD, and your dick falls off.”
Then, I turned away and stalked off.
But as one who never let someone else get the last word, he had to call after me. “Wow. Did you lose any actual weight, or was it just all yoursweetnessyou shed?”
I flipped him off over my shoulder and kept walking.
I stormed outside and straight to my car. Without telling anyone goodbye, I climbed behind the wheel and drove home, where I snuck into my room without my parents seeing me, and I stripped off the stupid dress, shoving it into the trash before pulling on an oversized and ratted old T-shirt and flannel pajama pants.
From there, I climbed into bed, tugged the covers over my head, and I cried for the rest of the night.
I hated him, I kept telling myself. I despised every breath of air in his stupid lungs. And I never wanted anything to do with him again.
It had taken me one conversation in a girl’s high school bathroom to fall in love with Luke Hamilton, but nearly four long, miserable years of rejection and heartbreak and sweat to finally fall out again.
But, oh, once I got over him, it was definitely over.
6LUKE
[BACK TO THE PRESENT]
[AN HOUR BEFORE CHLOE’S TRIP TO THE PSYCHO STALKER’S BASEMENT]
My favorite time at the Forbidden Nightclub was just before opening when the bar was still quiet and pristine, ready for service, with all the chairs pulled off the tables and a handful of employees milling about and quietly setting up last-minute preparations. The air just seemed to vibrate with vitality as if it knew what it was about to house: thirsty people jonesing for alcohol, companionship, sex, and a little bit of excitement.
This place put a classy slant on the seedy nightlife that was out there, and I loved it. I kind of felt like its king, actually. And behind this bar was my throne.
Standing next to the cash register, I set my hand on the countertop and surveyed my kingdom, appreciating the clean surface under my palms that would no doubt become sticky and littered with spilled beer and rum before the end of my shift. God, I couldn’t wait to slide a mug through the slosh and right into the hands of an eager recipient.
Glancing around, I looked for mistakes I could point out. But surprisingly, we were running a tidy ship tonight. I liked working with all these waiters and waitresses. They actually possessed some brains.
My complaining to Pick must’ve finally paid off, and he’d made sure to schedule me with the best.
I smirked, smug that I had the benefit of being damn near related to the owner, or at least the son of one of his closest friends. Though, I’m sure the fact that I was his best employee and had worked here the longest played a part in it too. He’d already been talking about stepping down some and giving me more of a managerial position.
Soon,Imight be the one making the schedules, ordering the stock, dealing with all the legal bullshit, and so forth.
God, I could only hope. I’m pretty sure I’d been born for nightclub life.
