Page 280 of Hateful Games

If I confront him about his father, it’ll lead to questions about why I was there in the first place. Then lead to my own dad, which I want to avoid like the plague.

“Are you sure Rosalie wrote it?”

The sound of my name stops me cold in my tracks, just before I can round the corner into the cafeteria. It’s at the end of the hallway and no one else is around. I stay rooted and eavesdrop on the conversation.

A voice says I should turn and go back to the safety of Nova.

He’s become my safe haven.

“Why else would he keep them on display in his office?” another male voice replies, disgust heavy in his tone. “I’ve only heard him call her Rose. It can’t be that big of a coincidence.”

It doesn’t take a second for the topic of their conversation to click into piece.

With it, comes panic at coming face to face with my worst fear.

“Wow… but what has she written that has your panties in a bunch?”

“Nothing but trash in the name of romance. Most of it is so disturbing that I don’t even want to say out loud.” He laughs derogatorily. “I’m telling you, man, I had to bleach my eyes out after a few pages.”

Mortifying tears burn my eyelids, seconds away from falling.

This time the rapid beating of my heart is from trepidation and humiliation. Like worms crawling all over my skin, dirtying me up. It’s nothing short of living my worst nightmare.

I want to tune them out, not let their shitty remarks affect me.

It’s easier said than done, though.

The damage is already done.

“I mean, who even writes shit like that? She needs a therapist stat.”

A third voice scoffs, “Only a person sick in the head would write it.”

“The way she dresses, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Must be a freak in the sheets to have our boss wrapped around her little finger.”

Chuckles echo around the space.

“People like her give a bad name to literature.”

“Damn,” whistles a new voice. “That’s nasty. Read this, man.”

“You bought the book?”

“Gotta know what the fuss is all about.”

Why are they getting to me? I knew some people would be too small-minded and disrespectful and sexist. However, there’s a big difference between imagining it and hearing it spoken out loud.

“Think she’ll suck our dicks if we took a page from her book?” the very first voice says, receiving hums of approval.

Bile rises in my throat while silent tears free fall.

My tolerance snaps.

With fresh humiliating tears streaming down my face, I run to the nearest bathroom. Their vile and disgusting sexual comments and threats torturing my psyche. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

I thought I was stronger than this.

Turns out, I’m pathetic and weak.

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