Punk 57
Page 70
Disgusted, I curl my fingers around the pictures.
Brandy Matthews is naked and on her hands and knees, the camera catching the side of her face as Trey, I would assume, kneels behind her and takes the picture.
My heart races, and I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I shuffle the next card and see Sylvie, her mouth open and…
I drop my hands, looking away. Gross.
My God. What’s wrong with him? Who takes pictures of that many women—girls—committing sexual acts? Did they know he was doing it to all of them? And Sylvie’s the sweetest kid. How long did he sweet-talk her to get what he wanted?
“I’m sorry, babe.”
I scoff, tossing the pics on the dresser. “You think I don’t know what he’s about?”
“Well, you are still going to prom with him.”
I shoot a look over to him, aggravated he keeps bringing that up.
No. I’m not going to prom with Trey. Not anymore. If he treats girls he’s able to get naked like that, how will he treat someone he can’t get into bed?
But I won’t tell Masen that. He’ll just gloat.
I look down and see another picture in his hand and inch forward. “What is that?”
He hoods his eyes, shaking his head like I need to leave it alone. I dart out and snatch the picture, holding it up in front of me.
Lyla is naked and wet, her hair soaked and sticking to her cheeks and neck, and she’s posing against what looks like a shower wall, her arms over her head and her breasts on display. Her eyes taunt the camera—or whoever’s behind it.
Trey. If he’s not the one with the camera, he still has the picture of her.
But I’m not fooling myself. They fucked. And recently, too. Lyla’s wearing the bronze wrist cuff she bought when we shopped three Saturdays ago.
I don’t care about him, and I don’t really like her, so why do I feel my eyes burning and my throat aching with a scream?
I’m not jealous he got from her what he wasn’t getting from me, and I’m not jealous they got off on each other. But why did they feel they could do it behind my back?
I feel a warm hand touch my face. “You know what she’s about just as much as him,” Masen says. “This doesn’t surprise you.”
I shake my head, blinking through the thick tears I can’t stop from welling up. “No,” I barely whisper, staring at the photo.
No, I’m not surprised. I just feel like shit for some reason. The whole time I thought I was winning. I thought I was on top. But behind my back, the people I thought I could handle were handling me. They think I’m stupid, after all. Someone they find easy to humiliate.
Just like before.
I knew Trey wasn’t holding out for me, so I didn’t care. But I did think I had Lyla figured out. I thought I had her respect.
What fun she must have had, standing next me and knowing that she’s getting a piece of someone she thinks I might want.
Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey. It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.
“You know, I turned into this,” I tell him, my voice cracking and an ache settling behind my eyes, “because I was a kid and I thought there was something more. I traded friends I didn’t think were good enough for friends who really aren’t good enough.”
I blink long and hard, my wet lashes falling against my cheek. “Even Misha gave up on me.”
Masen cups my face gently. “I’m sure Misha has a reason,” he says sadly. “Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There’s so much wrong with me.” A sob shakes my chest, and I cry harder. “I don’t have any friends, Masen.”
I don’t. Not really. I can understand people at school. I got what I deserved. I chose shallow, I acted shallow, and I got nothing that would last.
I don’t know if Ten will stick with me, and now Misha is gone, too. I don’t know what I did, but it had to be something, because when you find that everyone hates you, it’s not them. It’s you.
“You have a friend,” Masen tells me, his tone hard and sure. “The rest of those fucking losers are deadweight. Do you hear me?” He runs his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you have this fire in you that I’m addicted to.”
Warmth fills my chest, and I raise my eyes to his.
He leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.
“It,” he finishes. “I love it. I can’t get enough. I think about you all the time.”
I sniffle, taking some deep breaths and wiping my tears. My heart skipped a beat there. It almost sounded like he was going to say something else.
“Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I pull away, replacing the board in the drawer and closing it. I know he hasn’t found what he needs, but I have to get out of here. I need a shower after those pictures, or I want to do something with Masen and forget coming here.
Gathering up the pictures, I head out of the room and take a left to head down the stairs. But Masen grabs my arm, stopping me.
“What are you going to do with those pictures?”
“Burn them,” I answer. “He probably printed them, because he didn’t want his parents finding them in his phone, so he won’t have copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to be showing these to his friends.”
Brandy Matthews is naked and on her hands and knees, the camera catching the side of her face as Trey, I would assume, kneels behind her and takes the picture.
My heart races, and I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I shuffle the next card and see Sylvie, her mouth open and…
I drop my hands, looking away. Gross.
My God. What’s wrong with him? Who takes pictures of that many women—girls—committing sexual acts? Did they know he was doing it to all of them? And Sylvie’s the sweetest kid. How long did he sweet-talk her to get what he wanted?
“I’m sorry, babe.”
I scoff, tossing the pics on the dresser. “You think I don’t know what he’s about?”
“Well, you are still going to prom with him.”
I shoot a look over to him, aggravated he keeps bringing that up.
No. I’m not going to prom with Trey. Not anymore. If he treats girls he’s able to get naked like that, how will he treat someone he can’t get into bed?
But I won’t tell Masen that. He’ll just gloat.
I look down and see another picture in his hand and inch forward. “What is that?”
He hoods his eyes, shaking his head like I need to leave it alone. I dart out and snatch the picture, holding it up in front of me.
Lyla is naked and wet, her hair soaked and sticking to her cheeks and neck, and she’s posing against what looks like a shower wall, her arms over her head and her breasts on display. Her eyes taunt the camera—or whoever’s behind it.
Trey. If he’s not the one with the camera, he still has the picture of her.
But I’m not fooling myself. They fucked. And recently, too. Lyla’s wearing the bronze wrist cuff she bought when we shopped three Saturdays ago.
I don’t care about him, and I don’t really like her, so why do I feel my eyes burning and my throat aching with a scream?
I’m not jealous he got from her what he wasn’t getting from me, and I’m not jealous they got off on each other. But why did they feel they could do it behind my back?
I feel a warm hand touch my face. “You know what she’s about just as much as him,” Masen says. “This doesn’t surprise you.”
I shake my head, blinking through the thick tears I can’t stop from welling up. “No,” I barely whisper, staring at the photo.
No, I’m not surprised. I just feel like shit for some reason. The whole time I thought I was winning. I thought I was on top. But behind my back, the people I thought I could handle were handling me. They think I’m stupid, after all. Someone they find easy to humiliate.
Just like before.
I knew Trey wasn’t holding out for me, so I didn’t care. But I did think I had Lyla figured out. I thought I had her respect.
What fun she must have had, standing next me and knowing that she’s getting a piece of someone she thinks I might want.
Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey. It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.
“You know, I turned into this,” I tell him, my voice cracking and an ache settling behind my eyes, “because I was a kid and I thought there was something more. I traded friends I didn’t think were good enough for friends who really aren’t good enough.”
I blink long and hard, my wet lashes falling against my cheek. “Even Misha gave up on me.”
Masen cups my face gently. “I’m sure Misha has a reason,” he says sadly. “Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There’s so much wrong with me.” A sob shakes my chest, and I cry harder. “I don’t have any friends, Masen.”
I don’t. Not really. I can understand people at school. I got what I deserved. I chose shallow, I acted shallow, and I got nothing that would last.
I don’t know if Ten will stick with me, and now Misha is gone, too. I don’t know what I did, but it had to be something, because when you find that everyone hates you, it’s not them. It’s you.
“You have a friend,” Masen tells me, his tone hard and sure. “The rest of those fucking losers are deadweight. Do you hear me?” He runs his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you have this fire in you that I’m addicted to.”
Warmth fills my chest, and I raise my eyes to his.
He leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.
“It,” he finishes. “I love it. I can’t get enough. I think about you all the time.”
I sniffle, taking some deep breaths and wiping my tears. My heart skipped a beat there. It almost sounded like he was going to say something else.
“Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I pull away, replacing the board in the drawer and closing it. I know he hasn’t found what he needs, but I have to get out of here. I need a shower after those pictures, or I want to do something with Masen and forget coming here.
Gathering up the pictures, I head out of the room and take a left to head down the stairs. But Masen grabs my arm, stopping me.
“What are you going to do with those pictures?”
“Burn them,” I answer. “He probably printed them, because he didn’t want his parents finding them in his phone, so he won’t have copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to be showing these to his friends.”
