Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,6

I’ve been through a lot during my time at Preston—some good, some really shitty. After hooking up with Heston Wilcox that night freshman year, the video of us spread like wildfire. Even though people never figured out it was me—even though Heston remarkably told no one—when the video went viral, I just lost it. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping. I stopped caring. I did reckless, stupid things, like three guys at one party. My grades plummeted. I stopped showering, because the thought of being exposed made me physically ill, and my roommate couldn’t handle it. She went to the counselor.

But not before I tried to end it all.

Ultimately, I got sent to a treatment program. It was more summer camp than a mental hospital. Located two blocks from the beach, Sunny Hills was a behavioral health center, all dressed up as a luxury resort. Yoga and meditation were daily requirements. We ate all organic, locally sourced food, and at night, when the staff wasn’t looking, smoked weed and snuck into one another’s bedrooms.

That’s where the psychiatrist labeled what happened a ‘major depressive episode’ and used the term ‘bipolar tendencies’ to explain away some of my more erratic behavior. To be fair, the meds did chill me out some. The highs and lows evened out, and after six months I came back home, ready to slide back into my mess of a life.

I take the meds, because I do feel better. But there’s one thing that the meds, yoga, exercise, or any of the other hippie shit I’ve tried can’t touch.

Nothing manages to stop this intense, bone-deep, fucking constant, all-consuming urge to get off.

It wasn’t something I revealed until last spring, after I turned Heston in for spreading that video. That’s when my doctor added ‘hypersexuality’ to the list of things wrong with me. Much like my finely curated database of porn, that list is also ever growing.

Everyone likes a good orgasm. The problem is, one doesn’t do it for me. Try five. Or ten. People think I want it all the time, but they’re wrong. I need it all the time. It’s this sweltering heat that crawls under my skin until I feel like I’m vibrating at a frequency that everyone can sense. It’s worse than an itch. Sometimes, even the thought of not having it hurts. Even now, walking across campus, seeing guys walking by, knowing that I could get one of them in the abandoned computer lab, pants around their ankles, sinking down into their lap—doesn’t matter who, anyone will do—and finally feel the warmth and hardness deep inside…

Snap!

I spot Vandy leaning against one of the enormous oak trees and walk over. Her blonde hair is even longer now, lighter, touched by the sun of summer, just like the slight freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. She’s scribbling in a notebook, which is no surprise. Her mom is a hot-shot journalist, and Vandy wants to follow in her footsteps. I know she’s constantly trying to get the newspaper advisor, Mr. Lee, to let her do a deep dive on the dirty underbelly of Preston Prep. Unfortunately, Preston doesn’t want its belly exposed. All she ever gets are hard no’s.

“Hey girl,” I say, walking up and bumping her with my hip.

“Georgia!” Her eyes light up when she sees me. She almost tackles me, flinging her arms around my neck as she squeals in delight. I press my nose into her hair, not bothering to temper my smile. The Devils—Vandy—are home to me now. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you, too,” I say, meaning it. “How was your summer?”

“Fantastic,” she says, blue eyes sparkling back at me.

I raise an eyebrow. “Fuck around with Reyn a lot?”

Her cheeks turn pink, even though she throws me a playful scowl. “We spent a lot of time together, yeah.”

Those two. Cute as a tragic button. All hot and scarred. A perfect fucking match. If I can manage this whole intermittent dick fasting thing, then I’m probably going to need to live vicariously through Vandy’s sex life.

“What about you?” she asks. “How was the Caribbean?”

I flap a hand. “Oh, you know. Daddy was all about the sailing. Mommy was all about the shopping. I was all about the—”

“Hooking up with cute surfer guys.” Even though she laughs, I can hear the tension in it. She worries about me. Ever since she found out I was the girl in the video, she’s looked at me differently. That’s the worst part, to be honest. It’s