Kill Switch (Devil's Night 3)

My hands shook as I navigated the VoiceOver Accessibility option on my phone, listening to us out there for everyone to see online.

My kissing and our breathing. The moans and panting.

I love… I hate you.

Yeah, I hate you, too. I just want a hot piece of ass.

Yeah?

It was like I wasn’t even there, experiencing it like this now. Like I was on the outside, hearing a disgusting display of something meaningless and shallow when it hadn’t felt like that at all. My face cracked, splintering in pain as I sobbed, hearing his phone fall in the video, but not cut off, and the sounds, whimpers, and everything we did in the shower coming through, so there was no mistake what was happening.

My mother called this morning, before jumping on a plane with my sister to come home, and assured me I was never naked in the video, both of us having moved out of sight when it fell to the floor, but it had clearly kept recording.

My DMs were piling up, and I knew I shouldn’t open them, but I hadn’t been allowed out all day. The phone downstairs and my parents’ cells had been going crazy, and I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know how bad for me.

I clicked, VoiceOver reading the first one:

You look like a good time, and I could use one right now.

I clenched my teeth, clicking another and holding it to my ear.

So, Damon gives good D, huh? He has a thing for the blind, deaf, and dumb chicks. Close your eyes, plug your ears, and spread your legs, baby.

God, why were they doing this? My head was splitting, and I cried harder. I didn’t know I was being recorded. It was private. It wasn’t like that.

Nasty, skanky slut. How much dick do you have to blow to get anyone to love you? You should kill yourself.

Most of it seemed to come from accounts I didn’t recognize, and the tears came so hard that no sound came out. I wanted to die. He used me. He did this all for a kick. He did this to me, because he got off on it?

The whole time. The past two years. The dancing, the car, the motorcycle, the janitor’s closet, the theater, the fountain in the village square… All of it was Damon Fucking Torrance. I pictured those same black eyes from when we were kids, watching me in the ballroom.

I let out a growl, throwing my phone down on the bed and putting my head in my hands. “I could kill you!”

But then I heard someone barge into my room. “I to

ld you to stay off the phone!” my father bellowed.

I pulled my hands down, still sobbing but feeling him take something off my bed.

I reached for where I threw my phone, but it was gone. “I need my phone,” I argued.

“Griffin—” my mother interrupted.

But my father wasn’t listening to anyone today. “Enough!” he barked.

“You knew I liked him,” I heard my sister say, somewhere around the doorway. “He was arrested, Winter!”

“Good!” I yelled.

“Everyone hates us now.”

“Get out!” I shouted at her.

How could she not be on my side? On this one thing?

“You’re going back to Montreal day after tomorrow,” my father bit out, seething so hard I thought he might hit something. “We’ll bring you back if the police need you.”

“You can’t press charges!” Ari told him.