Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,172

behind my shoulder to catch my gaze. “But I know you, and sometimes…” She sighs, head shaking sadly. “It’s almost like you’re convinced that’s not an option for you.”

“You’re really hard on yourself, Georgia,” Caroline agrees, taking my hand in hers. “When I said those things to you…they were awful. They would have been awful if I’d said them to someone else. But I think it was worse, because at some point I realized you might really believe them. You give out such a tough, strong vibe that it’s easy to believe you can take everything thrown at you.” She swallows. “But that’s not fair. Strength doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings.”

Vandy seems to choose her words carefully. “If this guy really did something unforgivable, then you deserve better. And it’s really getting to me that I haven’t heard you say that yet. You do deserve to be loved. You know that, right?” She gently knocks our shoulders together. “You deserve to be happy.”

“What if he did?” I ask, sniffling wetly. “What does it say about me that the worst person in the world made me feel better than I ever have before?” I don’t give either of them a chance to answer. “It says that I’m a weak, gullible slut.”

“No,” Vandy says, voice hard. “It says that people aren’t just one thing or another. Reyn is more than just a criminal. I’m more than the sheltered, crippled girl. Emory is more than an overprotective meathead. Caroline is more than a nerd.” She grabs my shoulder, giving it a fervent shake. “And you’re more than the guys you’ve slept with, Georgia Haynes.”

“If this guy is really that terrible, and you managed to find the parts of him worth loving? I don’t think that makes you gullible or weak.” Caroline gives me a soft smile. “I think that makes you amazing.”

Is Heston Wilcox more than an abusive, manipulative, entitled asshole? I can’t ask them, because then all of their words will be taken back. If Heston’s plan had been to shame me, make me question myself, make me loathe who I am, then he did it expertly.

These girls need to believe in love and redemption, but I know better.

For some of us, there’s only pain.

Every time I close my eyes, I’m filled with the oppressive sense of dread. Since I can’t sleep, I’m finishing up Micha’s scarf, which has been particularly fussy due to the nature of the metallic-weaved yarn. It was the closest I could get to glitter, and with the rainbow of colors I used, I think it may be my best one yet. The sense of pride I feel when I look at it is the only time I’ve felt something other than horrible in days.

The letters ‘HWC’ popping up on my phone instantly wipe it away.

H: Come to Underworld

H: It’s about the video

That sense of dread pulls me under, heart hammering wildly against my ribcage. It’s just after three in the morning, which means Underworld closed long ago. It’d be beyond foolish to get out of bed, sneak off campus, and meet Heston in some dark, deserted night club.

This is what I tell myself as I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater, grabbing my jacket. My hands are shaking as I grab for the warmest things I can find; thick, wool socks and the nearest completed scarf from my pile of gifts.

It’s foolish, yes. But I’ve got enough things to regret without adding the possibility of letting the flash drive go to the list.

It’s dark and cold, and as I sneak around the tower to the parking lot, white plumes of breath act as my wake. The campus is dead, though. The athletic field is tipped with frosty dew that disappears under my footsteps, and when I get into my car, I have to wait for it to warm up enough to clear my windshield of the fine layer of foggy condensation. On the drive across town, I wish I’d told Vandy and Caroline everything. Maybe then, I could have texted one of them where I was going, just in case.

I haven’t felt this alone in a very long time.

It sits heavily in my chest as I approach the building. Nothing but a couple streetlights and the eerie glow of Northridge’s skyline light distance between Underworld and where I park. I sit there for a long moment, willing myself to breathe, but my lungs feel constricted and far too small. It’s then, as I’m