of day, unless it’s to remind me that I don’t belong.
I scratch absently at the skin on my arm, ignoring the pain that detonates inside of me like an atomic bomb. Now is not the time to fall in an endless pit of despair and misery. I refuse to allow my past depression to drag me under, stealing the remaining air from my lungs. Not again.
Movement out of the corner of my eye clues me in to the new arrival a moment before his hands are on my ass, wrenching my skirt up and bearing my black panties to the entire hallway.
I gasp as mortification fills me, tears pricking my eyes. Immediately, I jump away from the asshole and smooth down my skirt.
“Sorry,” the guy says unapologetically. “My hands slipped.”
From the hoots and hollers of his friends a few lockers away, I have a feeling that was not the case. At all.
I recognize him vaguely as Simon…something. I can’t recall his last name. He’s been in all of my classes since fourth grade, and he reveled in the Devils’ treatment of me. I think he secretly wanted to join them, so he always laughed the loudest at their crude jokes. Watched as they tortured and tormented me. Smirked when I sobbed.
And apparently, he’s one of the few students who remembers me, even with my stylish haircut and toned body.
“What the fuck, asshole?” Emmett seethes, stepping forward with his teeth bared and hands balled into fists. Mariabella places a hand on his chest to stop him, though her eyes are colder than I’ve ever seen before. They’re practically hewn from ice.
“I’m going to report you,” she hisses, and the venom in her voice takes me by surprise. She’s usually so sweet and calm, so the change from an innocent angel to an avenging demon sort of terrifies me. Her eyes narrow into thin, unforgiving slits as if daring Simon to try something else.
“It was just a joke.” He holds his hands up placatingly as he begins to slowly step away, rejoining his group of assholes. They’re not wearing the red and black football jerseys, so that means they’re not on the football team. I don’t recognize them from any of my classes either. But then again, the school is so big that I don’t have classes with half of my grade.
“Fuck you!” Emmett bellows, garnering the attention of a few classmates lingering nearby. I receive a few pitying looks from students who no doubt saw my underwear, but no one outwardly laughs or even leers. Even the guys nearby look disgusted at Simon’s behavior.
“Let’s just go,” I tell Emmett and Mariabella firmly, taking both of their hands in mine and tugging them towards our first hour. “He’s not worth it.”
“I’m going to rip his fucking head off,” Emmett continues, struggling against me. I can tell he doesn’t actually want to get away—if he truly wanted to break free of my weak grip, he could in a heartbeat.
“That’s sexual assault,” Mariabella adds with a frown. “He should be expelled.”
“It’s fine.”
I dealt with worse.
But maybe Simon should find himself at the end of one of my voodoo dolls?
I smile coldly at the thought as I quicken my pace. But that smile fades when I spot the figure standing ramrod straight at the end of the hall, expression utterly unreadable. He’s close enough to have no doubt witnessed the entire incident, but instead of the glee I expect from the devil himself, I see nothing but carefully constructed impassiveness.
Except for his eyes.
Lucas meets my gaze once, eyes stony and almost incandescent in fury, before he turns and walks away.
Chapter 18
We arrive at our first hour without any additional issues. I don’t know if it’s because word hasn’t yet traveled this far, or if Emmett’s “don’t fuck with me” look deters anyone from saying anything. Either way, I’m grateful when I slide into my seat nestled between Mariabella and Emmett without anyone commenting on what I dub the “panty incident.”
“I can’t fucking believe that prick,” Mariabella seethes, and the vitriol in her voice has me spinning towards her. And to hear her cursing? That’s a feat in and of itself. I haven’t known her very long, but I can’t think of one time I ever heard her raise her voice in anger before our confrontation with Simon. Sadness, maybe, like when she spoke to Karsyn before cheerleading practice. But never anger. Never this toe-curling, stomach-clenching anger that makes me fear being on the receiving end