One

One

Trisha POV

The prickle on the back of my neck was a familiar, unwelcome sensation. He was at it again. I was just trying to get to first period, navigating the post-breakfast chaos with Erik and Daisy flanking me, but this piece of work was trailing us like a vulture, his presence a greasy film on the air.

“Is he still there?” I muttered, not breaking my stride.

Erik, my shadow since we were four, turned his head slightly. “Yep. Still there.” His voice was flat, edged with the same weary annoyance I felt. With his dark hair, green eyes, and the kind of broad shoulders that made other girls swoon, he should have been the one drawing this kind of attention. But to me, he was just Erik. The brother I’d found when we rammed into each other on a playground, two kids who instantly recognized a kindred spirit.

Daisy met my eyes, a smirk playing on her perfect pink lips. Bright blonde, blue-eyed, and with a figure that should have been on a magazine cover, she was my newest, and most unexpected, friend. We’d met just over a month ago, after I’d been transferred to this freak show of a school for “unruly behavior.” The term still made my jaw clench. Defending myself and others from bullies was a punishable offense now.

That’s how I met Daisy—some asshole was tormenting her, and everyone else was just watching. So I stepped in. I always stepped in. I hated bullies. I hated men, especially, who walked around with a sense of entitlement, convinced they were irresistible and untouchable. This school was a breeding ground for them. It masqueraded as a normal high school, but it wasn’t. There was a hierarchy here, a subtle but unbreakable caste system. Certain families, the ones I’d nicknamed ‘Factions,’ ran everything. If you weren’t one of them, you were expected to bow, to literally expose your neck in submission as they passed. Everyone did it. Everyone but me.

“You’re going to go at it again, aren’t you?” Daisy asked, her tone light, almost eager.

I rolled my eyes. Of course I was. A couple months ago, the old Factions had been wiped out by a mysterious sickness that was all over the news—some lethal flu that made your organs explode. A new set had taken their place, bringing with them a fresh wave of bullies and… admirers. A euphemism for the creeps who thought harassment was a form of flirting. The attention had intensified, but it was nothing new. I’d been dealing with it my whole life. This prick, Preston, had been stalking me for three days. It always started the same way.

“Aw, come on, Trish, it’s just one date,” His voice was a unctuous caress behind me, making the fine hairs on my arms stand up. “I can show you a good time… maybe even smack that purty lil’ ass of yours until you beg me to stop.”

I stopped dead. The air left my lungs. Bile rose hot and acidic in my throat. I clenched my books to my chest, the sharp edges digging into my skin, my knuckles turning white. Erik and Daisy instinctively stepped back, giving me space. It was a dance we knew well.

“Go get ‘em, Trisha!” Daisy cheered quietly.

I spun on my heel, the movement sharp and deliberate. “Listen to me, Preston,” I snarled, shoving a finger so close to his face I could feel the heat from his skin. “I don’t know how to make this clearer. The answer is NO. It will always be NO. I find you, your voice, and your very existence repulsive. So do us both a favor and get the hell out of my sight.” My voice wasn’t just loud─it was a blade, slicing through the hallway chatter. Students jumped. A few hurried away. I glared at him, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs.

And then something changed. His pupils dilated, swallowing the color of his irises until they were two black, empty holes. A blink, and it was gone. I blinked, wondering if I’d imagined it. The next second, he moved. Not a human movement. It was a blur of speed, a violent gust of displaced air that smelled of stale cologne and something else, something wild and musky. His hands clamped onto my shoulders like steel traps, and the world spun as he slammed me into the lockers. The metal groaned, the sound vibrating through my entire body, a deep, painful hum in my bones. The impact drove the air from my lungs in a painful whoosh.

His face was inches from mine, and a low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest. It wasn’t a purr. It wasn’t a growl. It was something else, something ancient and predatory. “It’s hot when you get so feisty,” he breathed, the smell of his breakfast—sugary cereal and coffee—washing over me.

I glared, my shock giving way to a cold, pure rage. He hitched my leg up, forcing it around his waist, his other hand groping my thigh, his fingers digging into my flesh with bruising force. Then he crashed his lips against mine. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a violation.

His mouth was wet and invasive, his tongue forcing its way past my teeth, a disgusting, probing assault. For a single, frozen second, I was a little girl again, my uncle’s breath hot in my ear, his hands where they shouldn’t be. *You asked for this,* he’d whispered. *You’re such a tease.*

The memory shattered the shock. My eyes narrowed, and I bit down. Hard. I sank my teeth into his tongue, and he yelled, a muffled, shocked sound of pain. The coppery tang of his blood flooded my mouth. His grip slackened, and I used the moment, shoving him with all my strength. He stumbled back, and I dropped my bag, my books and papers skittering across the grimy linoleum floor like panicked birds.

I was shaking, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from rage. Pure, white-hot rage. I cracked my knuckles, the sound a sharp, satisfying pop. “I told you ‘no’,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “And you put your hands on me like you own me?”

My fist connected with his jaw—a solid, meaty thwack that sent his head snapping back. As he reeled, I grabbed his shirt collar, yanking him forward, and then threw him backward into the lockers. The metal shrieked in protest. Daisy snickered somewhere behind me, and I could see Erik out of the corner of my eye, already gathering my scattered things. But I wasn’t done. The red haze had descended. Flashes of my uncle’s face, of my mother’s turning away, of the pain and the betrayal, blinded me. I was triggered.

I punched him again, and again. My knuckles screamed in protest, but I felt nothing. I kicked him in the gut, a solid, brutal impact that folded him in half, and then shoved him to the ground. My shoulders heaved, each breath a ragged, painful gasp. I finally stopped, my rage receding just enough for me to see the bloody, pathetic mess at my feet.

I straightened my blouse, adjusted my pants, forcing a semblance of control back over my body. Teachers would be coming. I didn’t care. I drove my knee into his face, one final, satisfying assault. He crumpled, clutching his nose as a fresh river of blood trickled down his face. Seeing it was grounding.

Satisfied, I picked up my bag and knelt beside him, my voice a low, venomous whisper. “Don’t ever touch me again.” I stood and rejoined Erik and Daisy just as the first bell shrieked through the hall. We walked away from the scene without a backward glance.

“Think he got the message this time, Trish?” Erik asked, clapping me on the back and handing me my stack of books.

Daisy laughed, a bright, cheerful sound. “Nah. He’ll probably be back for more once his nose straightens out. You got him good, though.”

I managed a small smile at their praise. I didn’t enjoy violence. Usually, my bark was worse than my bite. But they didn’t understand. When you corner me, when you violate me, you don’t get the bark. You get the bite. And you’d better pray you survive it.