Page 100 of Good Girl

“Yes. First day,” I repeat, still unable to talk above a whisper.

Not good. Not good. Really not good.

I reach back and brace my hand against the brick of the building to try and ground myself. It doesn't help.

“Fuck!” Darcy shouts and turns his back on me as he brings his hands up to grip his styled man-bun. I flinch a way from the violent movement, and Xavier shifts to my side.

When Darcy turns back, the anguish on his face guts me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I don’t get a chance to answer. Derek steps in between us. “No.”

I glare at him, nausea bubbling inside of me. “What do you mean, no?”

“No. You can not be a fucking student at this fucking school. Why the hell didn’t you tell us you are a fucking college student?” he demands, his face as hard as stone, any trace of the warmth he had held from me yesterday completely frozen away.

“It’s not like we spent hours getting to know each other,” I fire right back ignoring the way my flight instinct is screaming at meto shut the fuck up. “What’s going on? Why is this such a big deal?”

Derek stares down his straight nose at me. “Why is this such a big fucking deal? You are a goddamn student, and we are all professors. Us being together goes against the code of conduct for Newton University. This could cost all four of us our jobs, our careers. You could get expelled.”

I swallow. Okay, well, yeah, that’s bad. “But we didn’t know. Surely, we can explain that we were together before we knew, and then everything will be okay? We won't have to end this. It's pre-existing or whatever.”

I reach out to him, but he brushes my hand away before I can place it on his chest. He looks to the others, and I can feel their silent conversation. The way they lock eyes with each other, jaws clenching, I know the outcome isn't going to be what I want.

Almost as a unit, they step away from me. My heart aches.

No, no, no. This isn’t happening.

Not now.

I only just got them. They only just picked me.

We have a goddamn contract!

“Wait, no. Please, can we talk about this?” I plead, reaching out for them. “Daddy, please, don’t—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Derek’s reprimand feels like a physical slap, and I flinch away from him.

There is the briefest hint of sorrow before his features harden again and he continues. “We are not your daddies. You no longer have permission to refer to us as such. This," he waves a finger between them and me, "is done. Our arrangement is over. Do not contact us again.” His words are like a guillotine, slicing straight through my heart.

I watch as they turn and walk away, disappearing back around the corner. The ice in my veins hardens, slowly freezing me tothe spot. My fingers tingle, my chest aches, and my stomach is one giant gaping shotgun wound.

How the hell did we get here?

My throat swallows over and over, attempting to stop the nausea, as I slowly fall to my knees onto the grass, staring at where they disappeared.

Over. Done.

They left me.

They're gone.

They aren’t picking me.

They aren’t fighting for me.

I’m alone.

Again.

Why doesn’t anyone ever fight for me?

To be continued . . .

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