other today, but all I can think about is the fact his hands were on me last night. His mouth was on me. And I can’t contain the jealous little beast inside who’s demanding to know what he’s doing over there.
Best-case scenario, he’s doing exactly what I expect. Hooking up with some other girl who I’ll inevitably have to add to my shit list, reminding me why I hate him in the first place. Worst-case scenario… well, is there any? What Landon does with random girls isn’t my business, and I shouldn’t care. But that logic isn’t doing me any favors as I slide into my slippers and stomp across the boundary line into his backyard.
I’m walking into enemy territory. I half expect somebody to say something, but nobody seems to pay me any notice. I realize it might have something to do with the fact my hair is in a messy bun, and I’m wearing boring leggings and a tee shirt. All the other girls are in bikinis so small it should be a crime to charge for that much fabric. When I look at them, that nagging voice in my head is quick to remind me I’ll never be that perfect. Even in a constant state of deprivation, my body refuses to conform to society’s standards. It’s exhausting, and life feels so unfair.
My mom always tried to tell me that bodies are meant to be different shapes and sizes because we all have different genetics and metabolisms. That’s all well and good, but I wouldn’t hate it if I could wear a bikini and not even think twice about all the insecurities crowding my mind. The worst part is, the guys drool all over them, reaffirming that’s what they expect. Is that what Landon wants too? And if it is, then why did he send me all those treats? Is he trying to make me eat so he can laugh at me with his friends when I gain the weight back?
Every step I take toward the mansion leaves me more unsettled. My insides are twisted up into a pretzel, and my brain is full of ping pong balls bouncing in different directions. I just want one freaking night of peace without this stupid music. But as soon as I’m inside, I forget about the music and realize how irrational this idea was. My palm is still on the door handle when I freeze.
I underestimated the power of this place. The bad memories of that night are swirling around the black hole of my mind, threatening the edges of my vision. It smells the same. The liquor. The chlorine from the pool. Beer. Marijuana. Too much expensive perfume and the overwhelmingly toxic cloud of men’s spray deodorant.
I remember walking into this place. That part is clear, except I came to the front door that night. The conversation with Audrey, the drinks, the game of Truth or Grope. Almost all of that is still there in the recesses of my mind. But nothing after I threw up in the bathroom. Not until I woke up in that bed. And then the laughter. The humiliation. The horrible ache deep in my gut like I wanted to purge my very soul and sever it from this body.
Bitterness clings to my tongue as I force my gaze to the stairs, refocusing my vision. It’s just a house. This space can’t hold any power over me. None of them can hold any power over me.
My fingers curl around the Mace I brought with me, and I weave through the crowd, keeping my head down and focused. Luckily for me, everybody is already drunk, and they are more engrossed in the current shenanigans than me. But when I bump into Alexa, she looks horrified to see me here. Before I can even say hello, she immediately turns and scurries off as if her life depends on it.
Alright then.
Chalking it up to her following Audrey’s schoolwide ban on speaking to me, I continue my path up the stairs. My hand grips the banister so hard I could swear it splinters when the guest room door comes into view. I’m grateful it’s closed and I can’t see inside. I won’t go in there, no matter what. I’ll never go in there again.
I venture a little farther down the hall where a crowd is gathered around a cracked door to another guest room. Finding a place at the back of the onlookers, I try to see what’s going