Page 14 of Wicked Scorn
Her cheeks flush, a rosy hue that betrays her true feelings. She grabs her purse, slinging it over her shoulder with a huff. “Just pretend you never saw me last night. Let’s be strangers. It’s better that way. I mean you haven’t noticed me on campus for weeks, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Oak,” I call after her, but she’s already turning away, her golden hair tangled and flowing behind her as she moves down the stairs.
“Just stop,” she bites out, her tone icy. “Those days are dead and buried. Just like whatever friendship we had.”
“Dead and buried?” I scoff, trailing down the stairs after her. “Funny, because it doesn’t feel that way right now.”
“That’s because you can’t let go.” She shoves her phone into her bag, her movements jerky with frustration. “But I have. And I suggest you do the same.”
I follow her to the front of the house, where the car idles impatiently. I mentally note that it’s some dark-haired girl, so I don’t need to bloody another bat right this second. She opens the door, glancing back at me one last time. Her eyes are full of emotion: anger, pain, maybe even regret.
“Goodbye, Jeremiah.” Her voice is softer now, almost a whisper.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Oakley,” I tell her, knowing I didn’t keep the cockiness out of my voice.
She slips into the car, slamming the door shut and blocking me out. The engine revs, tires crunching against the pavement as the car pulls away. I watch until the taillights disappear.
I stand there, rooted to the spot, before heading back into the house. I’ve been stuck in the monotony of my life and had packed her away in my head. But now she’s back and I’m going to figure out just what the fuck is going on and what the fuck really happened years ago.
Chapter 5
Oakley
The room feels like it’s closing in on me. I sit cross-legged on my bed, my single dorm room suffocatingly small as I rant about Jeremiah Blackwood to nothing but air.
Seriously. I was not on his mind for two years and then just because he saw me talking to another guy; he wants to go apeshit. He says that he checked in on me, but that has to be a lie. You can’t care about someone and walk away the way he did over my brother accusing him of sleeping with his girlfriend. I slam my fist against the mattress; the sound echoing off the cold walls. “His bunny, my ass.”
Jeremiah’s face flashes in my mind—those piercing green eyes and that infuriating smirk. He can analyze a play in seconds, but when it comes to our friendship, he’s clueless.
I glance at the clock. Time’s slipping away. With a groan, I leap off the bed, urgency hurrying my movements. I don’t really want to do this right now, but my therapist thought it would be a good idea. My coworker, Willa, told me about Starlet Streams, but she uses it more as a side hustle. Thenagain, she thought going to the party would be a good idea and look how that turned out. My cam show waits for no one, I guess. I shove the desk aside, making space for my backdrop. My fingers work quickly, hanging the black curtain and draping fairy lights across it. Their soft glow casts a whimsical, albeit semi-eerie ambiance in the dimly lit room.
I adjust the lights until they create just the right amount of shadow. My heart pounds with frustration and anticipation, the weight of Jeremiah’s insistence still heavy on my mind.
“Showtime. I guess.” I roll my eyes, because deep down I don’t think this is going to work or make me feel any better.
My fingers trace the lace edges of the masquerade bunny mask, feeling its delicate intricacy against my skin. The mask is more than just a prop; it’s my shield and sword, an invitation to step into another world where I can be anyone but myself. Sliding it on, I feel a rush of empowerment, a tingling sensation that travels down my spine. The weight of anonymity settles over me like a cloak, allowing me to shed my insecurities.
“Here we go,” I whisper, the words barely audible even in the quiet of my room.
I sit in front of the camera, adjusting the angle with care. Everything needs to be perfect—the lighting, the backdrop, the way the shadows play across my face. It’s the little bit of control I can count on. One last check and I take a deep breath, that familiar nervousness and anticipation bubbling up inside me.
“Hey, everyone,” I say, hitting the button to start the live stream on Starlet Streams cam site. The screen lights up instantly, a flurry of messages flooding in from eager viewers, most of which refer to themselves as fanboys. I feel safe herein a way I don’t feel in real life. I can control how much of me they have access to and how much I can keep to myself. Usernames flash in bright, gaudy colors against the dark background. Some of them I recognize and some of them I don’t.
Missed you, BunnyGirl!
Looking gorgeous as always!
How was your day?
The chat box explodes with greetings and compliments, a surge of virtual affection that’s both intoxicating and overwhelming. My heart races as I scan through the messages, trying to keep up with the torrent of attention.
“Hey there, lovelies,” I respond, my voice dripping with playful charm. “You’ve got no idea how much I’ve missed you all.”
Tell us something naughty, VelvetVix
One message reads, accompanied by a barrage of emojis.
“Patience, patience,” I reply, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Good things come to those who wait.”
