“Stop,” I said. “Please.”
The waterworks came the moment Harper gripped my wrist and yanked me to my knees.
“Do it, slut!” Cleo yelled—as though I wasn’t even her friend. She laughed, and Harper smiled. And I cried.
I started unbuttoning my shorts because I thought—I can’t be tormented for the rest of prep school. I had six months left. Half a year. That was six months too many.
What was one moment compared to weeks and weeks?
But I cried.
I cried as I slipped off my shorts. I cried as I was forced to make a decision that had no good end. The longer I hesitated, the more Cleo threatened me—the more I feared. She said they’d break into my bedroom. She said they’d watch me while I was sleeping. She said that the whole grade would get behind her, rallying against me and my slut sister.
She said all of this with a slur, the alcohol glazing her eyes. And then I thought—I’ll get away. They won’t remember this in the morning.
So in my panties with the sex toy by my knee, I made a decision that would haunt me for six more months and counting.
I stood up and cried, “No.” I shook my head, my hair tangling at my waist. I stepped back into my shorts, zipping them with trembling hands.
And I pushed the girls out of my way. They were screaming behind me, tugging my hair, but I got the elevator moving, and when the doors burst open, I sprinted.
I sprinted, took the staircase back down, and I kept looking back—terrified, haunted.
The next day at school, my locker was filled with condoms.
The next day after that, two guys cornered me in the hallway and tried to give me a titty twister in jest and cruelty.
I always looked over my shoulder. I always locked the door. And I prayed for the end.
Graduation may have come. But my fear always, always stayed.
I wish I could go back and choose the other option. I’ve told that to Ryke before, and he said it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe he’s right.
“Daisy,” Rose says, her voice breaking.
I realize that I’m crying so hard. And both Lily and Rose are kneeling on the hardwood beside me with tears of their own. My throat burns, and it takes me a moment to recognize that everything swirling in my head came right out of my mouth.
That story—they heard every little detail. All the bits and pieces and the pain.
“It’s over,” Rose says, rubbing my back. “They can’t hurt you anymore. We won’t let them.”
I nod, believing her words. I haven’t been confronted by someone in months. Ryke’s made sure of that.
“Daisy.” Lily speaks, her voice surprisingly steady. She’s the one that holds my hand tight. I finally look up, staring into her bloodshot eyes that flood with tears. “I’m really sorry this happened to you. And I know…I know it’s hard sharing this stuff, but thank you for telling us.”
My chest swells, and I nod a couple times.
Rose wipes some of my tears for me with the brush of her fingers to my cheek, and she asks, “Have you told your therapist?”
“Parts,” I whisper.
Rose shakes her head. “Daisy, you have post-traumatic stress. It’s probably why you aren’t sleeping.”
My tears just keep coming, silently.
“You need to tell your therapist the rest, okay?” Rose adds, sniffing. She dabs a tissue under her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara.
“I told Ryke all of it,” I murmur.
“And I told Lo about my problems,” Lily replies sweetly. “It’s not enough.”
I stare at Lily’s hand in mine. Her nails unpainted and bitten to the beds, but she has a beautifully strong grip, one that makes me feel okay and safe.
“Boys are like pillars,” Rose tells me. “Ryke is something to lean on. But they don’t make you move. You have to do that for yourself.”
“I want to be stronger,” I whisper. “I just don’t know how.”
“One step at a time,” Lily says.
“And you’ve already taken the biggest one.” Rose kisses me on the head and Lily tackles me with her hug. I smile into these tears, this sadness that is ready to leave.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.
But it feels good.
I feel light. Airy. Like I can breathe.
68
RYKE MEADOWS
We don’t rush the living room. I walk back and forth in the kitchen a couple times, and then I see Daisy curled on the couch and Rose tucking a flannel blanket around her. Her black dress rises to her thighs as she sits beside Daisy, stroking her hair. Normally Rose would pull down the hem of her dress, but she’s too concentrated on her sister to notice. She whispers to Daisy, who tries to sleep.
Lily pads into the kitchen first, dried tear marks all the way down her cheeks. Lo pulls her into his chest, leaning against the cabinets while she wipes her face.
I’ve spent the last ten minutes explaining what happened with Daisy’s friends to both Lo and Connor. She asked me to do that part, so it would be less awkward. I would have told everyone months ago, but it wasn’t my place. That story is too f**ked up and personal and she needed to talk about it with other people. I couldn’t do that for her.
When Rose’s heels clap into the kitchen, the tension breaks. Her blazing yellow-green eyes are on me, and my back straightens, on the f**king defensive. “I’ve tried to get her to talk—”
“Thank you,” she cuts me off. Surprise coats my face. I can’t hide it, but she continues anyway. “You were there for her, and if you weren’t, I don’t think she could have managed… So thank you.”
My throat squeezes, and I nod in reply.
Connor sidles behind his wife, and his arms slip around her waist. I notice how his palm rests on her stomach for a brief moment or two. His head lowers, and he whispers in her ear.
The silence strings through the kitchen, and there’s this unspoken feeling of regret, of wishing we could have been there to f**king stop it from happening. The most I could do was protect her afterwards, but it was hard while she was still living with her parents. She had to walk down the hallways and find an inner-strength that I couldn’t give her. I don’t think anyone could.
Rose is the first to disrupt the quiet. “I can’t believe it was her own friends.”
Friends aren’t forever. Daisy used to tell me that a lot. One of her f**king theories. I wish I could disprove it, but we’ve all had shit luck with friends since the fame. Small price to pay, most people would claim.
“I never f**king liked her friends,” I say, stuffing my hands in my leather bike jacket. “They were fake.”
“I’m not surprised,” Connor adds. “Teenagers can be crueler than most. They feel above the law, especially the ones who come from our kind of lifestyle.”
Lo nods like he understands that. In prep school, he was known to be a f**king bully and be bullied. But he was also verbally abused as a kid—not an excuse, just a f**king fact.
Lo stares down at Lily as she starts drifting off into space. “You okay, love?” he asks.
“I wish that had been me,” she says softly.
He kisses her temple and holds her closer. The room blankets in a velvet silence. No one saying much of anything. But I think everyone’s heads are at the same place. The kitchen is barren, with boxes and boxes piled high. We’re all moving, separating, but it seems like we’re not at the place we should be.