Page 50 of Wicked Surrender

Is she here because I taunted her and it’s working like reverse psychology?

“Or maybe she’s trying to overcome her reputation as a goody-goody,” Dennis said, scoffing. “As if that would ever be possible.”

I narrowed my eyes, keeping her in my sight as she furrowed her brow and nervously picked her way through the crowd.

“Yeah, go. Go make her regret it,” Dennis cheered.

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with her on my turf. All I knew was that I couldn’t look away. I wasn’t able to ignore her being so near, not just in my head and in my thoughts but within reach.

After jogging down the stairs to follow her through the crowd, I kept my stare locked on the back of her head. That glossy sheen of her hair was the mark I tracked, but it wasn’t so easy to reach her. There were too many people in here. Somehow, the booming bass of the music made it more difficult to concentrate and see her. The heat of too many bodies pressed in the room suffocated me, and all the cloying scents of too much perfume and cologne made me want to run out of here.

It wasn’t a panic attack, but an accumulation of my frustration to get to her and…

And…

I didn’t know what to say or do, but I had to reach her.

She moved further in, reaching the other living area near the back of the house. We usually called this the den, but with the purpose of prioritizing open space for parties, there wasn’t much in here as furniture.

As I entered, watching her from afar as she slowed in her steps, I realized what was making her stagger to a stop.

On the walls, a slideshow of images rolled through. We usually had all kinds of stuff projected on the wall or on the many TV screens throughout the house, but this was different.

Fuck.

They didn’t…

I watched as everyone else did as pictures flipped and shifted. Photos of women on campus were broadcast as a second-rate beauty contest. And every picture of Laura that showed up was an unflattering one taken from afar on campus.

They did.

We’d talked about having a prank like this, anuglycontest instead of a beauty contest, but none of us ever tried to make it happen.

One of them had, though. Rory likely set it up. He was the tech guy among us.

Anger swept over me as I witnessed Laura’s reaction. She stayed perfectly still, her gaze on the wall as one not-so-flattering picture followed another. Standing ramrod straight, she blinked once and stared at the images. No shout for it to stop left her lips. She didn’t frown and crumple in front of the crowd. No tears.

Struck dumb and shocked, she stood there as everyone cracked up. They all pointed at her, laughing, catcalling, and talking about her even more.

Every one of them pounced on the chance to torment her in real time, and she just stood there.

I couldn’t. Rage made me move. A deep well of anger festered and boiled as I launched forward. This need for violence threatened me to punch the nearest fucker who laughed. To shove aside every girl who added more insults.

Instead, snapping into action, I ran forward and gripped the projector off the table.

With it in my hands, the ray of light slid down, illuminating the partiers with an array of colors. Once I tugged the device so hard that the wires snapped, I squeezed it tightly.

Silence filled the room, save for my yell that slipped out through my clenched teeth.

Then without any hesitation, I threw the projector against the wall. It smashed, and I watched the pieces of it settle in a pile on the floor.

No one spoke. Someone turned down the music in the other room.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move.

All I could do was stare at the projector pieces. With my chest heaving, my heart thundering, and this residual need to inflict pain and destruction until I vented my anger, I zoned out at one simple fact.

This was because of me.

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