Page 85 of Dare To Break

The answer is simple. By spray painting a dick on my locker, she’s showing a bravery I didn’t think she possessed, and it reminds me that my plan was to break her.

I can’t break her if I don’t play with her.

Something dark unfurls inside of me. She wanted my attention, well now she has it.

I ignore the voice that whispers how she has no idea I’m the one she’s been fucking around with in the dark. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s fired a shot of her own. I’d be foolish not to shoot back.

We’re the final two students to enter the room when we finally arrive at math. Mr. Drake points at our seats but doesn’t say anything, and we slip between the desks. My elbow accidentally connects with Arabella’s nose on the way past, and she hisses from the pain of it. I could apologize. But I don’t. It suits me for everyone to believe I did it on purpose. I don’t even look at her and drop onto my seat, stretching my legs out in front of me.

Drake drones on about trigonometry, and I doodle in my sketchbook while he recaps everything we should have learned over the past two years. I take in information better if I can keep my hands busy, so doodling has become a technique to help me focus over the years. Not that it’ll help me with math. It doesn’t matter what I do. I won’t be able to focus on it. And I fucking hate math. Which is just as well because it hates me right back.

When Drake finally stops talking and issues worksheets, I flip my sketchbook closed, tuck it back into my bag and attempt to focus on the work in front of me.

The numbers swirl, becoming nonsense, and I pinch the bridge of my nose between two fingers and close my eyes. One breath, two, a third, and then I open them. The figures are back in the positions they’re meant to be in, but they still make very little sense to me.

It doesn’t matter though, I’ll still ace the class. My dad pays the school too much to have me fail. The thought leaves a trace of bitterness behind. I hate the fact that I’m not held up to the same standard as the other students. That the teachers don’t even expect me to try.

I drum my fingers on the desk. Kellan will go over the math problems with me later when no one is around. It’s a system we’ve developed over the years, back when we discovered I had problems with numbers.

When the bell rings to announce the end of the class, I shove the worksheet into my bag and stand. Art is next, and I’m aware that the entire class is supposed to be helping design murals and artwork for the Halloween party. I also know I won’t be asked to take part. I’ll be left to focus on my own things.

Before my life was upturned, every time I was passed over for another more popular kid, it had hurt, stung, twisted like a knife in the gut. Now? Now I don’t give a flying fuck. I like who I am, and anyone who doesn’t isn’t worth my time or attention.

I part company with Kellan at the end of the hallway, and take a slow stroll to the art room, checking my burner cell for messages as I go. There’s no reply yet, and I’m tempted to send another text, but I want to see what she does with what I’ve already said first.

Chapter 55

Arabella

Unknown number: Nice job on the dick pic you sent to Eli Travers, but if you’re that hungry for attention, all you had to do was say so. Green or red, Kitten? Do you dare to play again?

Lips pressed together, I squash the tiny explosion of relief at the text. He spent two weeks ignoring me and pretending I didn’t exist. I should be angry, not happy he’s reached out. I jab the buttons of my phone.

Me: You left me hanging. Why should I play?

A full five minutes pass and he doesn’t reply. Disappointment settles over me. The silence brings the same old dejection that’s been part of me for as long as I can remember.

I put the phone back in my bag, and head to the next class, refusing to let myself dwell on it. Instead, I worry about what Eli might do when he sees his locker.

Hopefully, Jace is right. He won’t work out it was us. There are a ton of other students at the school who hate him.

***

The sound of buzzing distracts me from the book I’m reading. I open my bag and check the phone.

Unknown number: You disobeyed me more than once, and that was your punishment. Maybe next time you’ll listen more closely to my instructions. Green or red, Kitten?

I can’t help but squirm in my seat at the word disobey. I’ve always prided myself on being a good, straight-A student. Mostly, I’d done it to try and get Elena’s attention. When that didn’t work, I settled for praise from my teachers. Burying my nose in books had also been a way to hide when my mother flew into drunken rages. The harsh, cruel words I’ve heard through the years try to leak from where I have them buried in my head. Unhappy disjointed memories join them, but I stop them before they become overwhelming.

My attention refocuses on the message.

Me: You’ve given me no reason to trust you.

Less than a minute after I hit send, I receive another text.

Unknown number: Yet that didn’t matter when you thought I sent the original dare. What reason did I give you to trust me then? I bet you’ve been picturing me every time you’ve touched yourself for the last two weeks.

A rush of moisture pools between my legs. Tearing my gaze away from the screen, I chew my thumbnail and stare at the wall.

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