Page 41 of Come Out & Prey

“Fuckallof this!”I shout, digging my fingers into my hair as the anger and hurt wash over me again.

Picking up the Alexa on my nightstand, I heave it at the mirror on my dresser as hard as I can. The glass shatters, and I pant as I stare at the destruction from across the room. My reflection is as shattered as my soul, and I can’t find it in me to give a damn.

I’ve been locked in my room for two days. It’s not exactly solitary confinement, but the one time I opened the door, Bruiser threateningly glared at me from across the hall, so I retreated. Trays of food appear every so often, and I eat as much as I can stomach. I haven’t heard from Mattie, and I haven’t seen my parents. My phone’s battery nearly exploded from the heat as the messages, texts, and videos continued to roll in. I’ve quit looking at it; I leave it plugged in on the carpet so I can’t hear it vibrate.

My fate is hanging by a thread, and I’m not involved in the decisions—as usual. Life as an heir has always had elements of helplessness and a ton of unfair expectations, but I tried to playthe game. I did what they asked of me; I wore what I was told, and I assumed the role with as much grace as I could muster. Clearly, my efforts didn’t matter, because everyone cast me aside the minute I didn’t fit their precious mold. Fury roars through my veins as I think about all the times Lucille cut me down for her own amusement—all the times I simply took her abuse, hoping to win her approval.

Realization trickles into my consciousness slowly. The Heathers never supported me when I struggled; they shrugged it off as ‘how things are’ and talked about themselves. Gold is the one who came up with my nickname, and I thought it made me one of them. But Todd’s harsh words from the shifter ring echo in my mind. DD was always an insult, not a pet name. He and his buddies played into it constantly, so they had to know Gold was making fun of me.

Nothing in my life was ever real. It was all a carefully crafted illusion created by people who wanted something from me: a pawn to control, a quick fuck, prestige. None of them ever gave a damn about me—hell, Todd’s boys barely even remembered my nickname, much less my real name. They all lied to me about their animals emerging; that was clear in the quick shifting they did at the pukey prom.

Looking at my splintered reflection in the mirror again, I surge to my feet and stomp over to the dresser, enraged by what I see. My body isn’t my own—I spent hours in the gym to keep my figure as close to their standards as possible so no one would force me to get enhanced. My makeup and nails match the current trends inSassy Pred. I have perfect hair, perfect teeth, and perfect clothes. Others have shaped everything I am. I couldn't control the cosmic twist that erased all of my hard work and sacrifices anymore than I could control anything else.

If that’s how it’s going to be, why am I bothering? Why am I sitting in this room eating when I’m told, hiding like they want, and being the perfect plastic doll they’ve demanded? Doing so hasn’t changed the outcome of this mess, and it certainly will not keep them from sending me to Apex to be killed.

What in the hell does it matter if I go off the rails?

Hell, people will probably expect it. I’m ruined, right? Don’t all disgraced teen socialites go on a bender after their humiliation?

I can get away with damned nearanything,and it wouldn’t be abnormal at all. A complete makeover, booze, pills, tattoos, piercings… god forbid, I might even dye my hair! None of it would be unusual for a poor little rich girl with emotional trauma.

A vicious smile creeps over my face, making a portion of the weight crushing my chest lift. Delores Drew has never shown who she is—not once in her whole life—outside of dance lessons. The things I love and hate, my hope and dreams, fears and failures were all cloaked under the mask of the obedient Council heir. They don’t have a clue what they’ve done.

Death is not a threat hanging over my head anymore; it’s a certainty.

I’m free.

The Council and my parents made sure I understood what outcome they were hoping for by sending me to Apex next year despite my… situation. My only chance at survival is to do what the sexy tiger said and let them think they’ve won. I won’t fight them if they decide to keep me out of the public eye for the rest of the year, not even if I have to miss graduation. I’ll take classesonline to finish school, and I’ll spend the rest of my time in my room—planning.

Their gambit puts not onlymein chains—it restricts their behavior as well. Regardless of whatever PR spin my parents’ team puts on the situation, they have to pretend nothing is wrong until I get to Apex or this scheme falls apart.

That means they can’t actually kill me, or have me never show up in public, because people will be watching. Neither Lucille nor Bruno will want reporters camped out at our house, recording their every move for long. It would interfere with their crooked bullshit and affairs.

Once the fervor dies down, I can defy them in ways I never could before.

That thought is the first glimmer of hope I’ve had since I played confessional with Fitz at Apex, and I laugh through the tears streaming down my face. He’s right; I might be on the mat now, but I will not stay down. I have three months to learn who I am, plan for my enemies’ comeuppance, and find a new family who accepts me for who I am. It will take a lot of reflection, and a lot of heartache, but I have to do it. I need to discover the Delores I would have become if I hadn’t submitted to these expectations since childhood.

My eyes flit to my phone and I scramble over to it. Fixing my Airpods in my ears, I let the music from my ‘In Another Life’ playlist wash over me, helping me focus on existing rather than aching. When my eyes are no longer leaking tears, I clear all the hateful notifications from my lock screen with a decisive swipe. Even though I’m trembling, I block numbers from my call list, and after that, I open each social media app and block every asshole until the taunting numbers on the icons disappear.

Once that’s done, I sniff again, noting my contacts are fairly sparse now, but that’s okay. Every house is built on a foundation, and the new Delores will be as well. It will take time to gather up the pieces of my heart and soul that were shattered last night, and even longer to glue them back together, but it will be worth it to rebuild myself in an image that I love—one that is actually me.

I won’t allow anyone else’s opinion to decide my fate ever again.

When I peekout into the hallway the next morning for my breakfast tray, I’m shocked to find Bruiser missing. I take advantage of his absence to slip out to the gazebo with a croissant, my phone, and a pad of paper.

As I scroll through the paired down names and apps, I remember a few whispered words from my dress shopping excursion, and another tiny grin creeps to my lips. The lightbulb goes off in my head, and I almost cackle in satisfaction when I realize how much this plan will piss off… well, everyone.

I shoot a quick text to my potential ally, hoping the answer I get is affirmative. If it is, I can use the funds I earn to save for my escape. The cachet will keep Lucille from forbidding me from doing it, and the status will give my ex-friends the finger in public—bonus.

No wonder people like this rebellion thing so much. It feels like a mini-orgasm when you imagine how angry the haters will be when they find out they haven’t won. I think I like it—a lot. Infact, I might just stick with it. I mean, being a good girl hasn’t done me any favors, right?

If you can’t join ‘em, fuck ‘em.

It’s time I put on my big bunny panties and show them what I’m capable of. Todd can tell everyone I was a shitty lay on Instagrowl, the Heathers can shun me on Riptok, and my parents can forbid me from leaving the grounds until the press goes away, but none of them can stop me from dusting off my ass and standing my ground. I can take the punches and ask for more; I know I can.

They didn’t like the obedient, properSaint DD?

Fine. She’s a ghost.

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