Rowdy Boy
“All this time, I thought you wanted to protect me,” I say, shaking my head. “But you were just protecting yourself.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she hisses. “But you do.”
“Oh, what? I stole your boyfriend?” I spit back. “He hates you. And you knew. You knew what you did to him, and you flipped the story to make him look like the bad guy, so you’d get away with your scheme.”
“You think I care?” She cocks her head, her jaw tightening. “He deserved it after how he treated me. He never gave me one ounce of the attention he gave his fans. So I thought I’d give him a taste of his own medicine. He wanted attention from fans? He got it.”
“You’re sick,” I growl. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”
“Honey, I told you, you were too naïve.”
“My mom chose this school because you said it was safe,” I reply. “But you were the one person making it unsafe here.”
“Boohoo,” she taunts. “Cry me a river.”
“So you’re gonna admit that you sent that goddamn picture?” I ask. “You wanna be ballsy, but you can’t even admit you were trying to push me away from him. Why? Why couldn’t you let me have this one good thing in my life?”
“Yours?” She scoffs. “He was mine before he was ever yours.”
Suddenly, she pulls a knife out from her pocket, and I step back in fear.
“What, scared now?” she muses. “Weird, because I recall him doing exactly the same thing to you.”
Í gasp. “How …?” But then it hits me. Michael.
He was there, and she had started dating him right after that whole ordeal. He must’ve told her what had happened after Cole told him what he had to do. An eye for an eye. Payment for my silence.
And now it’s come full circle.
“Yeah, I’m not an idiot. Cole tried to shut me out, but I have my ways,” she says.
“You were using Michael to get to him,” I hiss. “And now you’re using me.”
“I’m not doing anything.” She shrugs. “You brought this all on yourself.”
I glare at the knife she twirls in her hand. “What are you going to do then? Cut me up? I’m your cousin!”
“Do I look like I care?” she retorts.
No, she looks like a goddamn psycho bitch. “What the hell do you want, Ariane?”
She snorts. “I think you know exactly what I want.” Her eyes travel down to my phone, but I clutch it tightly in my hands.
Fuck no.
I immediately turn around and head for the door, but she immediately rushes past me and blocks it with her body, pointing the knife at me.
“Oh, no, you’re not getting out of here.”
“You’re not getting away with this,” I growl.
“Oh, yes, I am, and you’re giving me that phone.”
“Why? So you can erase the evidence?” I look her dead in the eyes. “Over my dead fucking body.”
“Don’t tempt me, Monica,” she says.
“Tempt you? Have you lost your fucking mind?” I yell. “I’m your fucking family!”
“Not anymore.” She shakes her head. “You lost that privilege the moment you tried to hook up with him.”
“But you’re the one getting him expelled. Right now. Don’t you want to keep him here?” I ask, trying to reason with her.
“He had his shot. He wasted it,” she replies. “I tried. Believe me. But if I can’t have him, you can’t either.” Her face darkens, and she beckons me. “Now give me that phone.”
“Or what?” I snarl, standing my ground.
“Don’t make me do this, Mo,” she says through gritted teeth.
“I’m not making you do anything. You can stop at any time. You can walk out there and tell Mr. D exactly what you did.”
She laughs. “And ruin my reputation? Never mind my entire fucking education?” She throws me a look and laughs some more. “Bitch, please. Hand me the goddamn phone, and you can go on your merry way to another fucking school. I’ll tell your mom just how badly you fit in.”
“She’ll never believe you,” I say, clenching my fists in rage.
“Oh, but she’ll believe you? The fucked-up, damaged goods over me, the pretty perfect princess?” she mocks. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
She inches toward me with the knife still firmly clutched in her hand. What the hell is she thinking?
“C’mon, Mo. Last chance,” she says, pointing the knife right at me.
“Or what, you gonna stab me?” I growl. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
She suddenly lashes out at me, and I jump back toward the door.
“What the hell!” I yell.
“Give me the fucking phone, Monica,” she barks.
If only I’d known she was a goddamn psychopath sooner.
Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten so deep into this shit.
“Fuck off,” I retort, trying to find anything I can use to defend myself—a plumbing tool, a toilet roll holder, or even a fucking soap dispenser—anything will do. So I pick up the nearest object in my vicinity, which happens to be a broken-off piece of the faucet.