Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
She’s ready. Wet. Trembling.
I flip her around to face the mirror, press her hands flat against the glass, and enter her from behind, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other muffling her mouth.
Fuck.
She takes all of me—tight, hot, perfect.
Our eyes lock in the reflection. Wild. Desperate. Out of control.
She bites my fingers. Tears streak down her cheeks as she falls apart around me.
And watching her like this—bare, beautiful, breaking—only makes me want her more.
This won’t be the last time. It can’t be.
When it’s over, I slide out of her and fix her panties back into place. She leans against the glass, shaking.
I grab sweatpants and a T-shirt from the closet. She watches me silently as I dress.
At the door, I crack it open and scan for Robin and Sheldon.
Gone.
“Did the robot catch you coming over here?” I ask.
“No. I followed the instructions you left… on the coffee packet.”
I smirk. “Didn’t think you’d actually go for it.”
“Then you shouldn’t have left a message.”
Fair.
I check my watch—waiting for the window. Camera turnover hits in three… two… one.
I grab her hand and pull her into the hallway.
Her fingers brush against mine as we walk. At the corner, she releases me and moves ahead without a word.
I wait a full minute before following.
She’s already at the chess table.
I could end the game in one move. Checkmate.
But I don’t.
Instead, I slide my knight forward—a piece I can afford to lose.
“I wasn’t lying about Jonathan during the serum,” Sadie whispers, eyes still fixed on the board. “He wasn’t a good person.”
“I know,” I say. “I believe you.”
“Do they?”
“They will eventually…”
29
SADIE
Back “Then”…
I’ve only been in the principal’s office two other times since I started attending Stampington Academy:
Once, when my mom was a month late paying my tuition and they wanted to know why. (We can’t afford this place and we’re living above our means.)
The other was when the art and drama teachers held a strange intervention, begging me to choose which “major” I would focus on for my senior year.
“You’re amazing at both, but you can’t do both,” they said.
So they said…
“Miss Pretty?” Principal Sorenson’s rough voice cuts through my thoughts. “Why do you believe that you were raped last Friday night?”
“I don’t think it was rape. I know it was.”
“Well, why does Jonathan have a completely different recollection of events from that night?” He leans forward. “Were you drunk like he claimed?”
“No. I only had two drinks…”
“Did you make the drinks or did someone else?” He presses his lips into a thin line. “Underage drinking is bad enough, but… Perhaps you don’t really know your tolerance.”
“I wasn’t that drunk, sir.”
“That drunk, which means you were, in fact, drunk?”
I let out a deep sigh.
“What were you wearing that night?” he asks. “Did your attire scream ‘I’m just here to have a good time,’ or did it scream something else?”
Clothes can’t fucking talk…
“Mr. Sorenson, I’m telling you the truth. Jonathan Baylor raped me in the bathroom, and he knows he did because he said, ‘Sorry. Always wanted to know what you felt like,’ when he was finished.”
“That doesn’t sound like my son at all.” His father fumes, but Mr. Sorenson shoots him a pointed look.
“Let Miss Pretty finish telling her story. No more interruptions from you, please.”
I nod and walk them through the night step by step, every second of that terrible party the football team invited me to.
The very moment when I slipped into the bathroom to order an Uber and was met with the unwanted delivery of Jonathan’s cock instead.
As I speak, I can’t help but stare at Jonathan’s huge hands. He flexes his fingers gently, far softer than he did when he plunged them deep inside me.
His state championship ring stares at me in defiance, and I can still feel the way its rough ruby jewel scraped my inner flesh.
“Okay, Miss Pretty.” Mr. Sorenson nods. “Thank you for telling your side. Now, before I make my next move, I want you to know that an allegation like this—”
“A lie like this.” Jonathan’s father interrupts. “It’s a lie, sir.”
“Yes, well…” The principal avoids my gaze. “Let’s not get distracted by the semantics. This honestly sounds like nothing more than a ‘he said, she said’ case, and I’d hate to see a young person’s life ruined over it.”
Jonathan’s hands finally stop moving, and I slowly look up at his face.
There’s no remorse in his eyes, not a single shred of guilt.
His lips curve into a slow smirk and I know right then and there that he could sexually assault me on this floor, in full view of Principal Sorenson, and never suffer any consequences.
“I heard you’re here on a partial scholarship,” Jonathan’s father says. “Is that true?”
I don’t answer him.
“I imagine it must be stressful having to balance this high level of academics, along with a double art track and your part-time waitressing job…” He pulls a wallet from his breast pocket, then tears off a check for the principal.