Page 128 of Raise Hell

Twenty-Five

I makea show of packing my stuff, mostly for Anya’s benefit.

She came to stand in my open doorway as soon as she got back from the party.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her watching me, even though she hasn’t said anything.

I don’t think she knows what to say.

My legs move me around the room as my hands pick up random things and shove them in my duffle bag. But I feel entirely disconnected from my own body. I’m just going through the motions.

“Are you going to be okay?” she finally asks.

I fold a shirt without looking at her. “Eventually.”

“I know how you feel,” Anya offers lamely. “Two years ago, I dated Nolan for a few weeks. He told everyone that my nipples are different sizes. One is literally a millimeter bigger than the other. He didn’t even notice until I pointed it out.”

Not precisely the same thing, but I appreciate her attempt to minimize what just happened. Unfortunately, nothing compares to this kind of humiliation.

Honestly, I have to give Anya credit. Most of the other girls here would be too busy gossiping to try and make the school slut feel better.

The friendly overtures she has been making all semester might have actually been genuine. I feel a little bad for doubting her.

Turns out, that not everyone is a liar like I am.

The way Drake is.

I should have known he would turn out no better than the rest of them. But I let him distract me, let him cloud my judgment.

Now Olivia is paying for it.

I can’t stay here, not anymore. My search for her attacker has ended in precisely the place it began. No girl in her right mind would stay here after what happened tonight, so I’ve lost any reason I might have to remain at St. Bart’s.

My search is over.

Whoever hurt her just got away with it.

“My friend Mona has an emergency carton of Chunky Monkey in her freezer,” Anya says, backing out of the room. “I’m going to run over to her building and get it. Don’t do anything drastic while I’m gone, okay.”

The girl must think she needs to put me on suicide watch. I let her go, happy with the reprieve. It isn’t her fault, but nothing Anya can say will make any of this better.

I’m not mourning the thing that she thinks I am.

But I’m also not going anywhere until Monday morning. Cabs aren’t allowed on campus, and I’m not making the trek out to the main road on my own.

Asking Drake for a ride is obviously out of the question.

I’ve kept enough money in reserve for a return ticket to Detroit. Once I’m on that plane, I can pretend like none of this ever happened.

If Olivia ever wakes up, I’ll figure out a way to apologize for what I’ve done.

When I hear pounding on the front door of our apartment, I assume Anya’s arms are too full of comfort food for her to reach her keys. Or maybe she was in such a rush that she forgot them altogether.

I only have myself to blame for opening the door without looking through the peephole to see who it is first.

Vaughn Ashbridge stands in the hallway.

The only word I can think of to describe his expression is crazed.

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