Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
They… they locked the door? I’m trapped in here. Trapped in the locker room, naked and alone. I take a wobbly step backward and sit my bare ass against the wooden bench.
I shiver at the thought of someone coming into the bathroom while I was showering, but they did. Someone did, and that someone is going to pay. I’m not sure how long I sit there stewing in my rage, waiting for someone to unlock the door, all while knowing no one is going to be coming, at least not until tomorrow morning.
Tears form in my eyes, and I clench my hands into tight fists. The urge to punch something, to hurt someone like I’m hurt right now, is consuming me, but the only person to hurt is myself, and the people around me have done far enough of that.
Tucking my feet into my body, I wrap my arms around my middle and stare at the door defiantly. If it doesn’t open soon, I’m going to scream. My frustration mounts with every passing second.
Why did he do this to me?
Why does he still hate me so much?
I thought we were past this.
All the questions pile up on top of each other, suffocating me. My chest heaves, and a single tear slips from my eye.
There’s a commotion on the other side of the door, and I swipe the tear away with the back of my hand. The lock disengages, and I wait, ready to attack when the door is pushed open.
Quinton steps into the bathroom, his hulking frame taking up most of the doorway. I hate how handsome he looks, how he stands there staring at me like he doesn’t know what happened when this is his fault.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” I grit out, jumping up off the bench. I toss my hands in the air, uncaring that my body is on display to him.
He doesn’t seem affected as his gaze remains on mine. It’s piercing and cold, and I want to make him feel the way I feel. I want to hurt him.
“Where are your clothes? Why was the door locked?” His tone turns accusatory, and my lip curls.
“Do you think I would just lock myself in this locker room for fun? Or misplace my own clothes?”
He’s playing stupid, but I’ve seen through it. Quinton and I will always be enemies.
“I don’t know, Aspen. But it sure seems to be that way.”
“You,” I growl, finally losing my composure.
My blonde hair clings to my skin, and I take a step toward him. Every part of me says, do not engage, do not piss off this man, but deep down, I know I have to do this. I have to let him know that I’m onto his games and that this won’t be happening again.
His lip turns up at the side. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You did this! You snuck in here, took my clothes, and locked me in here so that you and your stupid fucking friends could humiliate me and laugh about how I had to beg you for my clothes back. Maybe take a video and show it to your friends?”
Quinton doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even blink, and that only makes me angrier. He doesn’t deny anything because I probably got it right, and that’s when it happens. All my built-up anger, pain, and resentment boils over, and I snap.
Before I can stop myself, I lunge for him. My hand moves on its own, striking him across the face. The slap echoes off the shower walls, and his head moves to the side with the hit. My hand tingles all the way through to my fingertips. I shouldn’t have done that, oh god.
Everything falls into an eerie silence.
My chest heaves like I’ve run a marathon, and I can see Quinton’s toned chest rising and falling at equal speed. We stand at a face off, neither of us saying a single word.
I didn’t hit him hard, but plenty hard enough to leave an angry red mark on his cheek. My palm is suddenly on fire. Maybe I hit him harder than I thought.
His face is slightly tilted, a few longer strands of his hair sweep over his forehead while surprise is painted over his normally stoic features.
Slowly, he turns his head until his burning eyes bleed into mine, and I swallow… hard.
“Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you hit me again?”
My mind flashes back to when I hit his arm after he took a bite of my candy. That feels forever ago now.
Next time, I will hit you back…
I can’t back down now, no matter how scared I am. I might never be his equal, but I can tell him I’m done being his punching bag. Lifting my chin, I puff my chest and square my shoulders.