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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The screams were my symphony.

  Phoenix

  I drank more than I usually did. Hell, it wasn't even the party that had brought out the animal. It was the last girl.

  Out of four, the last one hadn't cried.

  She'd just… stared at me, as if she pitied me, as if she hadn't been the one getting her dignity stripped while I had sex with her. Naturally, it was consensual. We drugged them with Molly so they didn't really care that they were getting used by yours truly.

  But she hadn't responded to the drugs like the other girls. They'd been only too happy to spread their legs — I'd only puked twice that evening.

  But the last girl. She'd looked at me as if she really saw me, as if she wanted to save me from myself, when I was the very one destroying her life. It didn't make sense. Then again, my life didn't make sense. Everyone was out partying, having the greatest time of their lives, and there I was… miserable and pissed because Nixon had thrown my past in my face.

  The very past I was ashamed of. He may as well have branded me and brought it to everyone's attention. I'd never be good enough.

  Sure, Cowgirl was just fine.

  But his best friend since childhood? Suddenly I wasn't.

  I knew I needed to do something in order to prove myself, but I didn't know what I could possibly do that would make things better.

  My mind flooded with images of that girl's face.

  Nausea threatened.

  And then Trace walked in the door with Mo.

  I focused in on her.

  She was pretty, innocent, the type of girl my father would love to sell to the highest bidder — but also extremely off-limits.

  Why? Why was I getting jealous of a girl?

  Why did it matter that Nixon was paying attention to her?

  And why did it matter that she was causing the already-crumbling friendship with the guys to dissipate into powder?

  It felt like something was coming, and unless I stopped it, I was going to be on the outside looking in.

  Without thinking, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tiny pill. I crushed between my fingers and dusted it into the cup I had and slowly waited.

  I had to prove myself to him… again.

  Prove my worth to all of them.

  Or end up just like my father.

  I would rather kill everyone in that damn school than have his future.

  So I waited in the shadows, getting sicker by the minute, because my conscience had decided to come back full force.

  She deserved the happy.

  And I was going to give her the ugly.

  I was going to force Nixon's hand.

  It was selfish. Then again, I never promised I was anything but selfish. It was all I had left… myself.

  And the real shitty part?

  When I looked in the mirror… the only things I saw was were his eyes, his hair, his features. And I hated myself more and more because of it.