Chapter Five

*BRIA'S POV"

My head throbs with a slow, agonizing pulse before I even open my eyes.

I groan, burying my face deeper into the fabric beneath me, only to be met with the damp, stiff texture of a cotton pillowcase that dried overnight. I drag a hand down my face, my fingers catching on the sticky residue of dried tears left on my cheeks.

I hate it.

I hate how heavy my eyes feel, swollen and raw.

I hit the pillow with a frustrated fist, letting out a muffled scream. He had been right.

Damon. I spent the entire night curled up in a ball on my bed, staring at the ceiling and weeping until my throat felt like sandpaper.

The memory of Marcus pressing Chloe against the locker room wall, their clothes half-off, their breathless laughter after calling me a pathetic pig—it all burns like acid behind my eyelids.

I glance toward the mirror, catching a glimpse of my reflection, and feel a familiar wave of self-loathing crash over me. My eyes are bloodshot, my hair is a tangled mess, and Marcus’s words ring louder than ever. Pathetic pig. I pull the oversized blanket higher up over my shoulders, hiding my body from my own gaze.

People around my life always have issues with my shape. It’s fucking stupid if one thinks about it. Why should someone else's body matter in your eyes? Everyone talks about minding their business until it comes to unsolicited advice about "getting healthy."

But I’m not even that big.

I say that, yet I still can't find the courage to stare at myself in the mirror.

Even now, I shield my eyes, squeezing the hem of my nightgown that stops at my hips. It’s only in this room that I can wear clothes revealing my thighs. Mum always told me to hide my body with baggy clothes. Said it makes people talk less. A bloody lie.

I force out a shaky breath and slowly lower the blanket, forcing my gaze toward the glass. My face is flushed, my cheeks naturally full and now stained with salt. My lips, swollen from biting back sobs all night, look raw. My soft jawline and full cheeks usually make me look younger, softer, but today I just look wrecked.

Before I can spiral further, the dorm room door swings open.

My roommate, Abigail, walks in. She completely ignores me, tossing her keys onto her desk, and sits down heavily on her bed.

We’ve never really talked. Mostly because while I stay in to study, Abigail is always outside partying. Our courses couldn't be more different, and our lifestyles are miles apart. With her neon pink hair and bold tattoos covering both of her arms, she used to intimidate me. I can only imagine the stroke my mum would have if she ever saw Abigail's ink.

"Why are you still here?"

I blink, checking around the small space to see if anyone else is in the room with us.

"I'm talking to you." She tilts her head, her sharp eyes locking onto mine.

I point a trembling finger at my chest in disbelief. "M-Me?"

"No one is here other than you," she blurts out, sinking into her mattress. Even from the small distance between us, the sharp scent of alcohol clings to her. The makeup around her eyes is smudged, and dark red marks line her neck, completely unhidden.

She must have had a really good time. A dozen questions linger on my tongue, but I don't dare ask how her night went. We've been practically strangers since the semester started. I honestly thought college would be different from high school.

Make friends, pass my classes, get a hot boyfriend.

Those were my exact plans the day I burned my high school uniform.

When I don't respond, her eyelids flutter open, and her striking blue eyes lock onto mine. It isn't like I don't have blue eyes too, but hers are vibrant and full of life.

They don't feel dead like mine.

My cheeks burn as the realization hits that she caught me staring. "Sorry. I was distracted."

"By what?" She raises a brow. Oddly enough, it doesn't carry that fake, bitchy judgment most girls give off. She just looks genuinely curious.

I point toward my own neck, nodding in the direction of hers. "The red bruise."

Her fingers brush over the faint marks, a slow smirk grows on her lips.

"It's a hickey, sweetie. Don't tell me you don't know what that is."

I come close to scoffing and rolling my eyes, but I force myself to hold back. Of course I know what a hickey is. I just didn't expect her to stroll through the dorm building without making any effort to cover it up.

Plenty of people must have seen it on her walk back, just as I did now. But looking at the unbothered expression on Abigail's face, she clearly isn't someone who gives a single damn about anyone else's opinion.

"​l know it's a hickey, I just..."

​"Wanted to know who screwed me last night," she cuts in. I shake my head vigorously, but she just laughs it off like it's nothing. "Chill. I don't even remember."

​"Oh... oka—"

​My phone alarm shrieks, shattering the awkward air. Relief washes over me for a split second before terror replaces it, and I vault out of bed.

​Shit. Today.

​Today was supposed to be my big surprise for Marcus. I had practically begged my way into an athletic department management internship just to pull it off.

Leading up to game days, he ghosted almost entirely, sending brief texts blaming his coach for midnight practices and strict no-distraction rules.

​Call it pathetic, but I was desperate enough to take whatever glimpse of him I could get. The university guarded the hockey rink like a vault—you didn't step foot inside unless you were part of the inner circle.

​Hockey was practically a religion on this campus. No one took it lightly. And as the girl secretly dating one of its top players, I was done watching from the outside.

Now we are over. How was I suppose to talk to the professor about removing me from the internship without breaking down?

A few minutes go by, and I'm out of the girls' dorm, rushing onto campus. Abigail fell asleep by the time I was done getting ready, so it was easy to escape. I didn't understand why she started talking to me after ten months of silence, but it feels a little good, unlike yesterday's events.

I adjust my black cardigan and force myself to keep a fast pace without breaking into a run, terrified of missing this morning's class. I didn't even have time to fix my hair, just throwing it up into a messy, uneven bun.

Luckily, the professor isn't in his seat yet. Mutters fill the lecture hall, but the second I step inside, several eyes shift toward me. My heart jumps straight into my throat.

I must be imagining it.

I keep my eyes glued to the floor and take a seat in the front row, pulling up my hood and pulling out my notebooks.

"You seriously came out today?" a voice snickers.

A shadow blocks the sunlight overhead, forcing me to look up through my lashes.

It's Ariel. One of Vicky's main henchmen.

Like Vicky, Ariel has a slim figure, though bigger breasts. Her snarky, judgmental stare makes me clench my hands into fists so tight that my short nails dig into my palms.

My eyes fall to the heavy silver necklace around her neck, a bitter reminder of how vastly different her world is from mine.

That single piece of jewelry could probably pay my tuition for two full years.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

She catches the flash of panic in my eyes immediately and plants one hand flat on my desk.

"You think Vicky didn't tell me what you did yesterday?"

Of course she did.

"She said she wants to see you right after class."

My stomach drops into a bottomless pit. I can't survive another round of them.

I force the words out of my tight throat. "I... I have somewhere to be."

Ariel's jaw tightens, her pleasant facade dropping instantly. "You think she gives a fuck?"

"I'm busy."

"Then cancel it."

We're not in high school anymore. This stupid campus hierarchy shouldn't paralyze me like this. But I can't help it. Vicky's father is a massive deal at this university, especially within the hockey program's board of boosters.

No one is saving me out of this.

"Fine," I whisper, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

A smug grin curves her lips, and she taps my shoulder condescendingly. "Good girl."

The professor finally walks in and class begins, but I don't absorb a single word. My mind spins in agonizing circles, desperately trying to guess what kind of twisted revenge Vicky has planned for me.

I know it won't be like high school, where she once forced my head into a toilet bowl or spread rumors that I was sleeping with the elderly janitor. College bullying is psychological. It's public humiliation designed to break your spirit, and the sheer dread makes me want to bolt out the emergency exit.

The moment the professor dismisses us, I grab my bag to make a break for it, but a thick crowd of students blocks the doorway. As I wait for the aisle to clear, my phone buzzes in my hand.

Unlocking the screen, a sharp wave of pain slices through my chest. My wallpaper is a photo of Marcus on the ice. I had captured his sharp side profile, his effortless perfection, the dazzling smile that used to make me feel like I actually mattered.

Tears prick my eyes. I instantly delete the wallpaper, replacing it with a simple picture of a wild flower I took a few days ago. Opening my photo gallery, I realize it's filled with dozens of secret shots of Marcus.

There's only one photo of the two of us together. We had driven all the way to the other side of the state just to have a private dinner away from campus eyes.

Looking back on my relationship with him now, I feel a sickening urge to slap myself for being so blind.

Another text notification pops up on my screen.

Unknown: Hey cupcake.

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: The man about to rock your world.

Confusion warps my mind. Who could possibly be texting me from an unlisted number? It has to be a scam artist or a wrong number.

Before I can even read the next message that lights up the screen, a hand swoops down and snatches the phone right out of my grip.

"What are you standing around for?" Ariel mocks, holding my phone just out of reach. "Follow me."

I nod numbly. A small cluster of girls joins her side, their eyes sweeping over me, sizing me up and discarding me with looks of pure disgust.

"Is that her?" one of them whispers loudly. "The one who threw a fit at Vicky?"

I gulp, my throat bone dry.

Ariel turns back to them with a cruel, mocking smile. "Calm down, guys. Remember, Vicky promised we wouldn't physically hurt her." She looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes glinting with malice. "Just put her in her place."

How did the tables turn so completely against me? Marcus cheated on me in a public locker room, yet I'm the one being dragged like a criminal for reacting the way any heartbroken girl would.

I follow them down the corridor, keeping my head low as they gossip, laugh, and occasionally glance back to make sure I haven't tried to slip away. They have my phone, so I'm completely trapped.

They stop in front of a heavy door to a private student lounge I've never seen before. Ariel pushes it open, revealing Vicky already lounging behind a sleek wooden desk.

Her flawless, airbrushed skin feels like a personal insult to my red, swollen eyes.

"Shut the door," Ariel commands from behind me as the rest of the group files inside.

I pull the heavy door shut, silently pleading with whatever God is up there to save me.

But why would He start listening now? I've spent so long being angry at Him for standing by while my life fell apart, and now I'm paying the price all over again.

"Take a breath, Bria," Vicky teases, leaning back in her chair with an amused smirk. "You look like you're about to pass out. Please don't. None of us have the strength to carry your heavy ass."

Ripples of nasty laughter break out among her friends.

Vicky then reaches down, pulling something up from beneath the desk and placing it front and center.

A dark chocolate cake.

"Why am I here?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Vicky's lips twist into a dramatic, exaggerated pout. "You ruined a perfectly good cake yesterday, Bria. I had to scrub frosting out of my hair for an hour, and I still smell like cocoa powder. I have to say... I really hated it."

"You slept with my boyfriend," I say through gritted teeth, my voice shaking with raw fury.

​"Boyfriend?" a blonde girl near the back shrieks, bursting into a loud, mocking laugh. "Who the fuck would date a building like you?"

​Vicky's eyes turn lethal as she glares across the desk. "Sit down, Bria."

​I walk slowly toward her, my steps hesitant and careful until I pull out the chair and sit down directly in front of the dark chocolate cake.

​She pushes the plate forward, her lips curving into a cold, triumphant smile. "Now, I want you to eat this cake. With your mouth. No hands."

​"Vicky!" I shout, my throat tight.

​She slams her palm flat onto the wooden desk with a deafening crack, making me jolt in my seat. "Eat the fucking cake with your mouth, you bitch!"

​Before I can react, her hand flies out, wrapping tightly into my messy bun. She forcefully shoves my face straight into the middle of the cake. Dark, thick frosting coats my skin, blocking out the light until I'm faced with nothing but black.

The loud, cruel cheers of her friends echo off the walls, ringing in my ears like a nightmare.

​This humiliation is nothing compared to what I've faced in the past. I tell myself I can bear it a little longer.

​I reach up, grabbing Vicky's wrist to wrench her grip off my hair, and push back from the desk, staggering away.

​"Don't touch me!" I breathe heavily, wiping the thick frosting from around my eyes. Blinking through the blur, I see a wall of smartphones lifted in the air, their camera lenses pointed at me, recording every second of my breakdown.

​Then, as if completely rehearsed, the group begins grabbing chunks of the ruined cake and throwing them straight at me.

​"Next time, you won't dare lay a hand on Vicky!" Ariel laughs, hurling another handful as I raise my arms to block my face.

Heavy crumbles of cake and sweet icing hit my clothes and cling to my skin.

​Driven by pure panic, I spin around, rush toward the door, and throw it wide open. But before my legs can carry me into the hallway to escape, I crash full-force into a broad, rock-hard chest and tumble backward onto the cold floor.

​"What the fuck is going on here?" a low, lethal voice growls.

​The sound cuts through the chaos, snapping me out of my downward spiral. I look up, wiping frosting from my eyelashes, and freeze.

​Standing in the doorway is Damon Black.

​This is the second time he's arrived right when I feel completely hopeless.

​His dark eyes look absolutely frozen—an expression I never imagined a guy like Damon was capable of making. And worse, he looks furious entirely because of me.

​How did he even get here? Is he in on this too?

​My heart aches with a sudden, sharp pain. Maybe that's the real reason he offered to help me last night. So he could run back, tell them how broken I was, and watch them throw a cake at me too.

​My brain screams that he's just like the rest of them, but looking up at the terrifying intensity in his eyes, my heart begs to differ.

​Damon drops to one knee right in front of me, completely ignoring the cake smeared across the floor. He looks like a man on the brink of tearing someone apart.

​His surprisingly warm, calloused hands reach out, gently cupping my cheeks. His thumbs brush over the thick frosting on my skin, his gaze searching mine with an intensity that burns right through me. His jaw clenches so hard a muscle ticks beneath his tattooed skin.

​"Who started this?" he asks, his voice dangerously low.

​My lips part, the air rushing completely out of my lungs.

Is... is he fighting for me?

​Damon slowly shifts his head, his dark, deadly gaze sliding past me to lock onto the stunned crowd standing in the room.

He speaks again, his tone cold enough to drop the temperature in the hallway, uttering words that instantly change my entire world.

​"Which one of you touched my girlfriend?"

​His... what?!