Page 67 of Wicked Duty
Callum’s rejection hits me in waves, dumping barrels of old trauma in its wake. Self-hatred and insecurities from my foster care days crawl out of the pit in my stomach to tangle with more recent wounds.
I silence my sobs with a pillow before stumbling back to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I should’ve told him about the text. But I couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak. The photo was too humiliating. The knowledge that he saw it writhes through my stomach like worms.
I don’t want anyone to see me like that, but especially not him.
Victim, my demons chant.Whore. Spoiled goods. Untouchable. Undesirable. Unlovable.
I’m dirty all over again.
With shaking fingers, I yank the shower knobs until the water’s on full blast, as hot as it’ll go, and then I step beneath the scalding spray.
I’ll scrub my body some more, until it burns. I’ll rake my skin raw. Over and over. As many times as I can stand.
But no matter how long I scrub my skin before bed, I never manage to purge myself of my insidious past.
In the morning, I force everything from my mind.
Today marks our last competition before the judges choose the three finalists. After this, it’s a set of promo shoots in two days. If I bomb this round, it’s over for me.
And all this pain and suffering these past few weeks—all this drama with Callum—will have been for absolutely nothing.
I can’t let that happen. I owe it to myself to come out of this with something to show. At least I can be proud of the career I’ve built, even if I’ll never be able to truly feel like myself again.
Callum and I don’t speak while we get ready, and the silence weighs down on my shoulders like a cloak. The creeping shame has me aching for yet another shower, even after I’ve meticulously dressed and put on a fresh face of makeup.
His cold, hard demeanor has returned. No sign of the man who knows how to laugh, or the man who kissed me in the middle of a fight. I suppose I’ll never see that man again.
Hot, bitter tears burn the back of my eyes.
I swallow them down.
So what if I’m on my own? So what if he’s just like everyone else?
I have a job to do, and nothing’s going to stop me.
This particular challenge takes place on a dramatic rooftop set with skyline views in every direction. Midday sunshine beats down on us as set assistants bustle around the concrete with clipboards, earpieces, walkie-talkies, and shades. Security guards mark all the entrances and exits. Callum blends in with the rest of them, positioned near the thick padded mat at the base of the set.
The contestants all wear safety harnesses.
Today, we’re going to fly.
A protective net stretches over the matting. Several feet above the net, constructed wire scaffolding stretches up into the sky. The theme for the shoot is “breaking through barriers,” and the Runway Revolution set designers selected avant-garde aerial props.
Brightly colored geometric sculptures hang at various heights from the scaffolding, accented by flowing fabric installments that catch the wind and reflective surfaces that sparkle in the sunlight and cast magical light effects across the rooftop.
They’ll string us from the scaffolding just like the props so we can pose for a series of photographs. Scores from the judges will be combined with votes from fans and competition enthusiasts that cull the remaining eight of us down to three.
And because I won first place in the charity event, I’m the last to go today, right after Heather. Yesterday, this excited me. More time to prepare.
But now, going last just means I have more opportunity to stew on the shit show last night devolved into.
I’m still reeling. The kiss was…so good. I haven’t experienced anything like Callum’s kisses, well, ever.
And even though I thought I’d never want someone to touch me again, never want to get vulnerable like that, every little stolen second with Callum has been amazing. Even his aggression felt incredible.
Until he ran. Disgusted. And for good reason.
