Page 82 of Don't You Pucking Dare

Amanda's voice cuts through my thoughts as she bursts into the classroom. "Girl, that party was insane!" She wraps me in a hug that smells like expensive perfume and privilege. "I tried texting you all break!"

The party. My stomach turns as fragments surface—the garden maze, Brody's torture chamber, my father's blood on concrete floors. How much does Amanda know?

"Sorry," I manage as I settle into my seat. "I totally forgot you texted. Yeah, the party was wild, wasn’t it? I barely remember that night."

"You were so wasted." Her perfect hair swishes as she sits too close, cheeks flushing pink. "But oh my God, Caleb..."

"Wait, really?" The pieces click together like discordant notes. "That’s where you disappeared to?" Her disappearing with Caleb wasn't some romantic moment—it was planned. They needed me alone. See, this is more proof that they’re a bunch of assholes.

"If you’re surprised then I’m assuming he didn’t ask a thing about me."

I sort of shrug, trying to get out from answering. But she doesn’t care as she leans her head on my shoulder with a smile. Then she pops up noticing my cello.

"Are you playing for us?" she asks.

I nod just as Professor Schweig walks in. "Welcome back, everyone." His eyes land on my cello. "Hope you all had a nice break. I know I did. Lola? Do you want to play something for us before we get the class started. Come on down, let's hear what you've been working on."

This isn’t like the beginning of the school year. I’m no longer intimidated, especially since I enjoy the mean girls company now.

I take my place at the front, adjusting my bow grip. The piece starts soft—a lament for the girl I was before that night,before I learned what kind of monster my father really was. Before I knew the truth of why I even exist in the world, and why I’ll never be truly loved. The melody builds, carrying all my fear about Jack, all my confusion about Brody, all my anger at my mother's indifference.

But who could blame her? Can you imagine having a child you don’t want because I know I can’t. I know she’ll only love me in the way that she knows how to, but my entire life makes sense now. I’ve only ever been a burden to her, and now that I’m grown, I’m no longer her problem.

I close my eyes, enjoying the sweet darkness of strings I’m playing.

Then the practice room door opens.

My fingers stumble on the strings as Brody walks in like he owns the place. Like I didn't tell him I fucked his brother Reaper. Like he hasn't stayed away for days, leaving me terrified that Jack would come instead.

"Don't stop." His voice carries that familiar command that makes something in my chest ache. He slides into my empty seat beside Amanda, eyes locked on me with an intensity that burns.

I force myself back into the music just to not raise suspicion, but my hands shake. Why is he here? Did he talk to Jack? The relief of seeing him instead of Jack wars with terror of what comes next. After what I said, he should hate me. Should want me dead. Instead, he's watching me like I'm still his to watch.

The music changes with him in the room, turning darker, hungrier. Each note carries the weight of what I told him that night, of the way his fist hit the wall beside my head. My bow drags across strings with too much force, making the cello growl beneath my hands.

Professor Schweig leans forward in his chair, intrigued by this new sound. He doesn't understand that this isn't art anymore—it's a confession, it's a plea, it's the sound of falling apart while trying to look whole.

Brody's presence fills the room like smoke. Even with my eyes closed, I feel him watching. The intensity of his gaze makes my skin prickle, makes my fingers stumble over notes I've practiced a dozen times. Part of me wants to stop playing, to run. But another part needs him to hear this—to understand what this past week has done to me.

The piece builds to its crescendo, all my fear and want pouring into the music. Fear of Jack appearing in another dark corner. Want for the monster who should terrify me more. The final note hangs in the air like a question I'm afraid to ask.

"Passionate." Professor Schweig's voice breaks the spell. "Different from your usual style, Lola. But so good."

When he starts clapping, the rest of the class follows.

Amanda practically bounces in her seat. "That was amazing!"

And Brody is clapping for me too.

What a change of events.

My focus narrows to the walk back to my seat, to Brody's long legs stretched into the aisle, to the way I'll have to brush past him to sit down. My hands shake as I put my bow away, trying to buy time.

His knee touches mine as I slide past him. The contact feels deliberate, possessive. I sink into my chair, hyper-aware of his heat beside me, of Amanda watching us both with too much interest.

"Beautiful." His voice is low. "Write it thinking of me?"

My throat closes around any response. Because yes, his torture was enough to send me mad, but the ripple effects of what he has done to my life is unbearable. Every dark melodycarried his name. But I can't admit that, can't let him know how deep under my skin he lives.

---