Page 8 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
Despite myself, I can't stop thinking about how small her hand felt against my chest. Or the way she grabbed my wrist like she actually gave a damn what happened to me. She could have just walked away. Should have walked away. Any smart person would have.
But she didn't.
She saw what I saw at that moment. The violence that lives just under my skin, ready to surface at the wrong word or the wrong look. The part of me that my mother turned into a commodity and the media turned into a brand.
And she still grabbed my arm and pulled me back from doing something even stupider.
My phone buzzes with a text from my agent. Probably damage control for tonight's incident. I don't check it. I don't want to know how much this latest outburst is going to cost me.
Instead, I think about red lipstick and small hands and the way Juliet Monroe looked at me like she could see straight through all my bullshit.
Chapter3
Juliet
Six Years Ago
The Delta Tau Delta house is alive tonight. Music blasts from the open windows, Cardi B rattling the glass, the bass thumping so hard I feel it in my chest before I even step through the door. The lawn is a mess of students and lights strung across the trees. Someone has set up a shot luge on the cracked flagstones. Vodka and Jager stream down the slick ice chute into open mouths. Everyone’s screaming, already drunk, already reckless.
Patrick told me to meet him here for our fifth date. He’s a brother here, preferring to live in the house as opposed to living with a bunch of hockey players. I’ve been to the hockey house and found it so gross that I’m actually glad Patrick lives here, in this haven for douchebags.
I tug my cardigan tighter and make my way up the steps, trying to look like I belong, like I’ve done this a thousand times before. My dress feels too short under the floodlights, my heels wobble on the stone, and my heart is already racing.
Inside, it’s suffocating. The air is scorching, heavy with sweat, beer, and perfume. People crammed the hallway wall to wall, pressing together and shouting over the music. Someone shoves a red cup at me, beer sloshing onto my hand. I smile politely and keep moving, scanning the crowd for Patrick.
Bodies jam into the kitchen, making me work to get past them. Bottles line the counter, cups pile in the sink, and a girl in glitter kisses a guy right in front of me. I duck out quickly, cheeks burning, pretending I wasn’t watching.
The living room is worse. A beer pong game has the packed room screaming. A couch sags under six bodies, everyone halfway in someone else’s lap. I stand on my toes, looking for Patrick, but he isn’t here.
I push through the crush of people to the back door. The music dulls a little when I step outside. Cool night air washes over me, smoke from the fire pit stinging my nose. I suck in a breath and shiver. Maybe I shouldn’t be here.
I’m turning away to head back the way I came, to leave this stupid college party, when I see him.
Hunter Huxley.
He’s impossible to miss. He stands near the fence, a red cup dangling from his hand, broad shoulders blocking the light behind him. Even when he’s doing nothing, he takes up all the space. He has a sharp, dangerous energy that makes people turn to look at him without knowing why.
My pulse stutters. He’s too much. Too tall, too intense, too sharp. A walking red flag. Everyone knows it. He sneers at professors, fights on the ice, and makes every girl with sense steer clear. But my eyes still find him. They always do.
He isn’t alone. Jared Garrison, the overeager reporter from the school paper, is beside him. Jared doesn’t belong here, not really. He clings to athletes like his life depends on it, begging for quotes, desperate to be seen.
I smooth my hair. Maybe I’ll say hi. Maybe tonight I’ll finally act normal instead of turning red whenever Hunter looks at me.
Then Jared laughs. Hunter’s voice carries through the yard.
“Juliet Monroe? She’s not all that great. She’s not even hot. Just a control freak with no sex appeal. She probably has a spreadsheet to track her own virginity.”
The words slam into me.
For a second I can’t breathe. Maybe I misheard. Maybe the music twisted the sound. But Jared laughs again. Hunter’s mouth twists into a serious expression that makes it clear he meant it.
“I don’t know. She’s definitely charming, if you know what I mean.” Jared holds his hands in front of his chest, miming big breasts. “I’d like to see some more of her qualifications.”
Hunter shoots him an icy look. “She’s too much of a goody two shoes for that. I’d focus on somebody who’s worth defrosting.”
Jared laughs, slapping Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter gives him an irritated glance. “Good one. Maybe you can give me a list, huh?”
Hunter grunts, sipping his drink. He opens his mouth to say something else, but at that moment, a group of drunk girls bursts out of the frat’s back door, laughing and singing along to a Halsey song that’s piped through the house’s speakers. Hunter turns to look at them and misses me entirely.
