Page 5 of Bully Roommate

She noticed my gaze and wrapped her arms around her tits. “Go upstairs,” I ordered. “You’re not sleeping in your car like a hobo. Someone could have attacked you.”

Josie’s hazel eyes looked bewildered for a few seconds. “Why the hell do you care what happens to me?” she asked. “You never have before.”

That was true. I’d been her tormentor. The person that made sure she had a shitty day—every day. Nothing felt different. I still hated her.

However, her torment would be at my hands, not someone else’s.

“Go upstairs. Jordan will let you in. You’ll take the room until you can find something else.”

Josie huffed, tucking her wild black hair behind her ear. “I’m not going—,”

Anger floored me. Bending down, I opened her door, grabbed her bag, and slung it over my shoulder. The backseat smelled like her, and even when she protested and tried to grab the strap—I hated her.

She wouldn’t sleep in her car. I bent down and picked her up, tossing her small frame over my shoulder. Her pajamas were drenched in sweat, and I dug my fingers into her thigh as I walked her up the stairs.

She wailed and kicked but I didn’t care. I went to open the door but Jordan stood in the doorjamb, ready for practice with his mouth hanging open. “What in the donkey crap,” he mumbled, opening the door for me. “Dude, I don’t think she wants to be here—,”

I tossed her on the couch, watching her get up and glare at me with heated eyes. I wanted that hate from her because it fueled the hatred I held in my soul. However, amid that hate—something sick—something that shouldn’t be there lingered.

Want. I wanted Josie Lee for reasons I shouldn’t.

“Take a shower and get ready for class,” I said, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. “We’re leaving. You'll take the spare room. You can have it until you find another place. If I come back and you haven’t moved your stuff in ... you’ll regret it.”

Chapter Three

Josie

The dreams were all the same. Unburied from one of my four years of Hell, tormenting me even after it ended. I accepted my high school diploma and walked off the Zachary High School’s football field to my folded white chair.

As if entering ninth grade hadn’t been scary enough, my torment started that year. Everything changed over the summer, I went from being invisible, to the new guy—Maverick Booker’s—punching bag. It’d never made any sense to me, but I’d also never mustered the guts to askwhy.

I was sure it’d end in a shove into the cool metal of my locker.

The buzz in the hallway felt electric as I walked toward my first-period class. I picked up bits and pieces of gossip about a new guy and how he made all the other boys in our class look like B-list actors.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help but want to snag a peek.

It didn’t last long.

Mr. Matthews taught English, my favorite subject, and I felt thrilled to have read his summer reading list. The buzz of the hallways halted when I stepped through the threshold of the classroom.

The new guy sat in the middle of the room, several girls I’d grown up with scattered around him, some chatting amongst each other and some glancing his way.

My eyes zeroed in on him and my heart thudded wildly in my chest. He was—something. I could tell he was tall even though he sat on our school’s old desk. The length of his legs showed from the way they bent close to the bottom of the desk and outstretched widely into the walkway between them.

Dark green eyes caught mine from the doorway but I didn’t stop, I kept walking to the front seat in the left corner where I wouldn’t be tempted to stare.

I unloaded my bag, feeling his gaze on me the entire time. With a glance, I caught him staring. The corner of his full mouth rose into a sneer that chilled my blood.

Bailey Joe, who sat beside him, waved at me, her blonde ponytail long against her petite shoulders and her smile kind. She’d always been nice to me.

I waved back. “Good summer, Josie?” she asked.

“Same ole', same ole’,” I said.

His shoulders stiffened at our conversation and I felt myself sink lower into my seat as he glared at me.

Because even when the teacher walked in and class began, I felt his glare. When the bell rang, and I gathered my things to make a beeline for the hallway, the new guy shoved me, sending me onto all fours and my bag scattered across the hard tile below.

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