5. Angry

IVORY’S POV

Detention?

No, no, no. That word echoed in my head like a curse. I couldn’t afford it. Not with my grades hanging by a thread and my self-esteem already six feet under. What did I ever do to deserve this?

The ride home was quiet—eerily so. The taxi driver didn’t speak, and I didn’t dare make a sound either. I just stared out the window, counting lampposts like they were seconds of freedom slipping away.

"I'm back, Mom!" I called out the moment I stepped into the house, praying she wouldn't start one of her twenty-question marathons. I bolted up the stairs like I was being chased by ghosts.

In my room, I yanked my wardrobe open and began sorting clothes like a madwoman, anything to distract my brain. That’s when I saw them—the suits.

"The suits! Ugh!" I smacked my forehead. How could I forget them? Where exactly did I forget it? I mean I had always had limited movements around the campus unless completely necessary so I should be able to find the suits before the gang does.

I snatched my phone and dialed Alicia, my only lifeline in this endless chaos. But she didn’t pick up.

Of course. Just perfect.

"Honey?" Mom’s voice floated up the stairs like a warning bell.

"Yes, Mom!" I answered, trying to keep the panic from my voice as I shoved the change into clothes Alicia had gave me under the bed like a criminal hiding evidence. Of course my mom knows Alicia but she would probe further by asking me why and what reason I needed her clothes.

I can't even imagine telling my mom that I always get picked on by a group of popular girls at school and now the notorious boy group has taken me as their target.

Of course my mom would storm right into school and demand an explanation for it. But that would only make the situation worse. I mean the perpetrators are all students whose parents are rich and are the major supporters helping the school funding and also scholarships program. I don't think our voice would mean anything in that setting.

"I made dinner. Come down and eat before it gets cold." Mother said with a full smile on her face. Her beautiful voice snapped me right back into reality.

Her footsteps retreated, and I finally let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I tried calling Alicia again. Still no answer. What was she doing? Where was she? Did Stella get to her too?

I dragged myself downstairs, every step heavy with the weight of tomorrow. I could already picture the whispers, the stares, the laughter—my humiliation on full display.

"Ivory. Ivory!" Mom snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Are you even listening to me?"

I blinked out of my spiral. "Huh? Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?"

"I asked if you wanted more cheese in your mac and cheese." She gave me that soft, knowing smile. The kind that made me feel guilty for keeping everything inside.

"Oh. No, it’s fine like this," I muttered, poking at the food.

I forced the meal down and retreated to my room the second I was done, slamming the door behind me like the day had personally offended me. I collapsed onto my bed, letting the darkness swallow my thoughts.

The suits. The fight. The slap. The stare Daniel gave me.

Before I could even process it all, sleep pulled me under.

~~~~~

DANIEL’S POV

The engine growled as I slammed my foot on the gas, the city lights blurring past like streaks of guilt and confusion. I wasn’t supposed to care. I shouldn’t care. But I did.

Damn it, I did.

The memory of her face kept playing in my head like a scratched record—those wide, stunned eyes. The way her voice cracked when she said she hadn’t done anything wrong.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Then it happened.

A shadow darted in front of the car, and I hit the brakes so hard the tires screamed.

"Hey! Watch it!" the guy yelled, slamming his palm on my hood.

"Sorry!" I shouted before I could stop myself.

Sorry? When was the last time I’d said that word?

What was she doing to me?

I yanked my phone from my pocket and called a number I hadn’t used in months.

"Get me a ticket," I ordered and hung up before they could ask questions.

I turned the car around and headed for the one place where I could shut everything out.

The underground fight den was already alive with noise and neon when I arrived. Someone tossed a ticket at me the moment I stepped into the dark alley.

"Didn’t think you’d show tonight," Blake said, raising an eyebrow.

"Surprise," I muttered, brushing past him.

My opponent was already in the ring. A beast of a man with a body like a wall and hair so short it looked painted on. They called him Demon. Fitting.

"Demon! Demon! Demon!" the crowd chanted like he was some kind of god.

He puffed his chest and roared at the crowd.

Then he charged.

Wrong move.

I ducked low and swung with all the rage I had bottled up. My fist connected with his jaw so hard he crashed to the ground like a demolished building. Gasps filled the room.

But I wasn’t done.

I grabbed his collar, lifted him slightly, and hammered blow after blow into his face. His blood was on my fists. My arms. My shirt. I didn't care.

This wasn’t a match. It was therapy.

When I finally let go, Demon crumpled to the floor in a heap of blood and broken pride.

I wiped my hands on his shirt, tossed a towel over my shoulder, and walked away like I hadn’t just left a man half-dead behind me.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because no matter how hard I hit, her face was still in my head.

And I hated that it was the only thing I didn’t want to forget.