All the Little Truths (English Prep 3)

I didn't want to show my cards, but I couldn’t help it. Every tight muscle along my face fell for a moment. For years?

Madeline’s gaze bounced back and forth between mine, and for a second, she appeared remorseful.

If I wasn’t so fucking pissed, I’d question the momentary dip in her bitchy, cold exterior. But I was pissed. I was really fucking pissed. My chest was touching hers, and I pushed away the burning in my core that told me I wasn’t fooling the horny fuck inside of me before gritting out, “You fucking knew this whole time, and you didn’t think to tell me? Or better yet…” I pressed even harder onto her, her back now smashed against the wood. Wisps of blonde hair flew out of her face, showing me those smooth, high cheekbones. Madeline was completely unreadable; she wore a mask at all times. It was hard to decipher what went through her head, but I could sense the discomfort I was inflicting on her. “Why didn’t you tell your mom to close her fucking legs?” A sarcastic laugh erupted from her as I reached up and slowly moved a piece of her hair out of her face. Her breath hitched as her lips parted. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Her lips slammed shut as she quickly turned her head to the side. I sighed angrily, the bare skin of my chest rubbing over her covered breasts. I hated that I could feel the tightening of her nipples through the thin cotton. I hated even more that I enjoyed it. “It’s on now, Princess.” I backed away slowly and saw her hands planted firmly on the wood behind her, white knuckles and all. “You think Christian was bad after he made a fool out of you at the party a couple of weeks ago?” I turned on my heel and shook my head, sparing her a wicked glance over my shoulder. “You just fucking wait.”

She called after me as I descended the stairs, trying to catch my own breath. I wasn’t sure if I was out of breath from feeling her body pressed along mine, or if it was from my anger, but either way, it felt like I’d just run three hundred suicides back to back on the football field.

“It’s not my fault your dad is a fucking pig, Eric.”

I paused, not turning back to look at those soul-sucking eyes of hers. “No, but you’re a fucking bitch for not telling me. I’d always given you the benefit of the doubt, Madeline—old flames and all. But turns out, that nice girl I met years ago truly is gone.”

She waited until I was almost to the door before shouting down the stairs, “I’m not afraid of your little games, Eric. Nor am I afraid of Christian’s.”

Before walking out the door, I huffed, “You should be.”

Chapter One

Madeline

They said high school was the best time of your life. That those memories of late-night football games underneath the lights, cheering along with your classmates, would be forever cherished. The pep rallies, pop-quizzes, prom dates, all of it. But I’m here to tell you that high school is not the best time of your life. It couldn’t be, because if it was, then my future was looking very, very grim.

The sound from my alarm drove the knife in my back—that I, unfortunately, put there myself—in a little further, reminding me that I had to walk into that stupid, prestigious place in the next hour. Not only did I have to walk into English Prep with a target on my back, but I also had to do that on thirty seconds of sleep—again. The nerves in my stomach amplified as I scanned my phone for new messages, but I had zero. Surprise, surprise.

My finger swiped over the screen as I reread the unanswered texts I sent to Sky, my not so much friend but more so acquaintance that helped me in her own roundabout way.

Me: Sky, please text me back.

Me: I heard all about the races. I know shit hit the fan, but I’m desperate over here.

Me: I’ll pay triple the price.

Me: I haven’t slept in a we

ek. At least direct me to someone else that can help me.

I clenched my phone in my hand, breathing deeply through my nose. If anyone were to read the messages on my phone, they’d think I was some crazed drug addict, but I wasn’t. Sleeping pills weren’t exactly a hot, new popular street drug, according to my knowledge. If I were to go to a doctor, I was sure they’d give me something, legally, to help aid sleep. But then they’d ask why I wasn’t sleeping, and there was absolutely no way in hell I was going down that rabbit hole—I’d never be able to climb out.

I slowly sat up in bed, throwing my phone down to the bottom of my feet with frustration as I swung my legs over the side. Everything in my body hurt with an ache nestled inside each and every last muscle. I hadn’t cheered in months, but it felt like I’d stunted for hours upon hours the night before. My head was ready to explode, and one look in the mirror had me cringing. The bags underneath my blue eyes were there, and they were angry. My skin even looked tired. How was that possible?

My plaid English Prep uniform laid on my desk in the far corner of my room, taunting me with another day of hell. Usually, I’d wear my devil horns with pride as I walked into school, taking in the dirty looks from my peers, but with three hours of sleep for the last week, I was feeling too weak to do much of anything. Even getting dressed was a hard task. I wanted to rip my blonde hair out instead of brushing it, but that seemed like more effort than even performing the task in the first place, so in the end, my light strands laid over the English Prep bulldog logo as I buttoned up my blazer.

Walking into school each day was a harsh dose of reality that I was forced to swallow with pride. On days like today, where I truly just did not have the energy to put up my malicious smile and flawless shield, I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs how sorry I was. How sorry I was that I treated people like they were nothing. How sorry I was that every friendship I ever had was forced and one-sided. How sorry I was that I pushed everyone away because I was too scared to let anyone in.

But I wouldn’t say sorry. Not today, at least.

My teeth ground along one another as I stared at my computer chair pinned underneath my bedroom door. My heart thumped a little faster as I went over to my window, peering out the glass, trying to see if my mom’s plaything was gone yet, but the only car I saw was the same silver Maserati parked along the side of the road as the night before.

I sighed, rolling my eyes.

Why was he still here? They were usually gone by now.

I bounced my attention back to the chair and then back to the green grass below my window. It’d been done before. I’d climbed out of my window in a poor attempt to avoid a slimy run-in with a man twice my age several times in the past. But that was with more energy. That was with more than five seconds of sleep.

I brought my thumb up to my mouth and nibbled as I decided my next course of action. I’d never seen this car before, so I wasn’t sure what type of man my mom had decided to bring home. It was daylight, so it wasn’t like I was going to find myself in the same situation as last time. This man probably wasn’t going to pin me against our fridge and assault me with his mouth, or run his hands over my curves, making me panic. But…

A cold sweat started to trickle along my temples.