Page 116 of Twisted Hearts

I was barely eighteen when Brooks dragged me to a “cool kids” party at the end of senior year. I remember him passing me a drink with a smile. I barely drank back then. Even so, two or three sips of a vodka soda later, the room was spinning. There must have been something in it. Enough to incapacitate me. Not enough that I don’t remembereverythingthat happened next.

When he led me upstairs and away from the party. When he pulled me into a bedroom and locked the door.

I couldn’t move at all while he had me on the bed, trying to yank off my jeans.

Then he shoved his hand down my underwear and roughly tried to finger me.

All of this while Icould. Not. Move.

Brooks only stopped that night because he got angry at “how fucking dry I was”. I spent another two hours in that room silently crying, still unable to move. When I finally could again, I ran home, a fucking wreck.

Only to find Brooks waiting for me on my front steps. That’s when he told me the dirt he had on me.

My shameful mistake.

I’d only gone out with Brooks in the first place because I was suddenly aware how uncool I was. How unpopular I was in school despite being—or maybebecauseof it—head of the class, academically. Brooks was cool, and rich, and popular, and he was nice to me. So we went out.

Then, when it became clear to him that I wasn’t going to “do anything” beyond kissing, things got…weird. Pushy. Aggressive. What happened at the party was the final straw that sent me running from him.

But a few weeks before that, I’d done something stupid.

I’d given in when Brooks called me late one night, drunk, begging for me to “help him out”. He washorny, he said. He’d beenso patientwith my “blue-balling”, he said. And he asked—more like bullied me—into “assisting” him over the phone.

It was hands down the grossest thing I’ve ever done. I talked dirty—or at least made a cringey, terrible attempt at taking dirty—to Brooks while he jerked off on the other end of the line.

And then, that night on my front steps after he assaulted me, I found to my horror that he’drecordedthat phone call.

That was his leverage. If I ever told anyone about what had happened at the party, he’d make sure the recording of me saying gross, horrible, porn-star things over the phone went public.

For the last three and a half years, I haven’t told asoulabout that night. Not even my sister.

Brooks sneers at me as he looms over me, my back still against the stone railing.

“A man can only take so much cock-teasing, Eilish. What you were doing wasn’t fucking cool.”

I blink, bile rising in my throat.

“I’m sorry, what I wasdoing?”

“You know damn well what the fuck I’m taking about. Teasing me. Leading me the fuck on. Giving me blue balls over and fucking over. C’mon, we both know you wanted me to fuck you. You were just being coy about it. And that’s what that night was supposed to be. Instead, you fucking ruined it.”

I stare at him. “Are you fuckingderanged?! Brooks, you disgusting pig, you fucking drugged me and tried to shove your fingers into me! And then you got angry because I wasn’twet!”

Tears bead in my eyes like hot lead, my chest hitching as I try and suck in air.

“Get away from me,” I spit.

Brooks shakes his head. “I don’t like being ignored, Eilish. And Iwill nottake some Bratva thug’s sloppy seconds.” He glares at me. “Have you fucked him?”

My lips curl. “A hundred times,” I sneer. “Gladly. Willingly. He’s good. Andhuge.”

Instantly, I regret my decision to taunt him. Because Brooks’ face goeslivid.

“Maybe he’d like to hear you begging formydick,” he hisses. “We’ll see if he even wants you once I play him that recording—”

It happens in the blink of an eye. Something dark surges into Brooks, ripping him from me and sending him flying across the terrace. The black shape is on him instantly, the dull sound of a fist pounding flesh echoing loudly in my ears.

Gavan is sitting astride Brooks’ face, savagely beating the absolute shit out of him.

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