Page 81 of Broken By the Bad Boy

Olivia blows air on her fake nails. Her condescending gaze runs over me, but I don’t shrink. I meet her gaze, and she rolls her eyes. She tries to pass me, but I drag the bitch back by her hair.

She yelps, but there’s no one to help her. Without her minion, she’s another expired coupon. Her cheeks grow redder by the second. I release her, and she curses. She launches herself at me, with her nails out to scratch my face, but I sidestep her. I am so done with her bullshit. I fold my arms on my chest. The look in my eyes must have scared her because she doesn’t attempt to come at me again.

Placing a hand on her hip, Olivia asks, “What the fuck was that for, Tessa? Are you insane?”

She will find out soon.

“Did you upload that video?” My tone is eerily calm. Olivia looks around. “I’m talking to you.”

“What video?” she asks.

What we will not do is feign ignorance.

No one in school but she and Ben know about the vitiligo. No one teases me about it but her.

I take a menacing step forward, but Olivia stands her ground. I’m not Ben. Her innocent facade doesn’t fool me. I know her for who she is, and I feel so stupid for letting this go on for this long. She is a hater. A jealous bitch who can’t bear to see people living their best lives without her.

“Tessa, if you don’t have anything to say, fuck out of my way,” Olivia murmurs. I don’t move. My mind plays the video on repeat, and my fingers tremble with the urge to hurt her. I need to be calm. “Let’s get one thing straight. You helped me that night, but that doesn’t make us friends. We can’t, and we will never be friends. Now, get out of my way. I have more important things to do.”

The hallway is empty, but Olivia decides pushing me is the only way she can move forward. Her shoulder slams into mine. Something inside me swells to my chest and explodes. Every mean thing she has said in the past returns to haunt me. Mom’s voice grows louder in my head. The anger and pain of moving many cities away from my boyfriend consume me. And the realization that the entire school now knows what I look like underneath my clothes spurs me into action.

I punch her.

The hit comes as a surprise to both of us, but I recover faster. Olivia tries to retaliate, but I dodge her attacks effortlessly. How did I let this weakling bully me? We fall to the floor, and I pin her under me. I am on autopilot, with my limbs moving at an insane speed, thrashing and tearing at her. Her clothes. Her face. I want to hurt her. I need to hurt her. She will pay for everything.

Someone tries to drag me off her, but my elbow rams into their side. “Gracie. It’s me.”

It’s a guy.

The voice is familiar, but my brain only recognizes my current mission. Mission destroy Olivia. The guy pries me off her. I struggle in his grip, but his firm arms tighten around me. He whispers something about calming down into my ear, about loving me, and my body sags against his.

He sounds like Ben. He smells like Ben. My Ben.

I stop fighting him. My chest heaves, and a sadistic smile curls my lips when I spot the bloodied girl on the floor with her shirt ripped open to reveal her bruised boobs. Who has zebra skin now?

An odd satisfaction spreads through my chest. I straighten up. I feel free. My knuckles ache, but it’s worth the pain. A symbol of my freedom after months of tolerating her. Hate flickers through me at the small crowd gathered in front of us. They never helped me when I was getting bullied.

Ben lets go of me to help his friend, and I turn to the dumbstruck faces to yell, “Who is next?”

Thirty-Nine

BEN

Mrs. Beckham is not answeringher call. I redial her number, but it goes straight to voicemail. As always, she’s never there when her daughter needs her. I kick the air and groan. My fingers slip into my scalp, and I tug on my hair. I should be heading to the hospital Olivia was transferred to, but I need to speak to Gracie first. Thinking about the last few minutes makes my head hurt. That was unlike her.

The door to the principal’s office opens, and I stop pacing. Gracie walks out with a smile that widens when she sees me. Her knuckles are bruised. She has a cut on her lips, but she’s smiling.

Holding her close, nose buried in her hair, I breathe her in. She scared me. “What did he say?”

“I’m suspended,” she answers with a shrug.

For someone who is getting into trouble for the first time, she looks pleased with herself. “How long?”

“A week.”

I groan. The play is this Thursday, and the Dean of SAS is coming. It might not mean much to her, but it does to me. If I get in through the scholarship, I will be closer to Asher and never have to worry so much about the expenses. In two years, I’ll have access to my funds. Life will be easier.

“Not bad,” I hear a voice similar to mine say.

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