JEREMY'S POV I'm sitting in my dark workshop, drinking at 2:30 on a Monday afternoon and I don't even feel the liquor. The last two days have been the worst form of torture, I've ever faced and I wasn't even close to the discipline chamber. Tasting her pussy was the worst decision I ever made and now I'm in deep regret because I can't move on. I'm feel a junkie, spending the entire weekend chasing after her, stalking her socials like a damned addict on the verge of withdrawal. She has tainted my bloodstream, leaving me addicted and under her control. It's fucking up my head and the bandages wrapped around my knuckles are proof of it. I had to spar or fight every other hour because my skin became overly irate. It's like I'm walking on eggshells around my own skin so I don't get triggered, stretching out at the smallest provocation, feeling the needle pricks at the slightest irritation, getting hot and bothered with every memory. She's like a virus, corrupting in my system. Fuck

The pavement wets my ass as I sit on it, quietly waiting for my friend, Jojo Dukes to come out. I slipped in a few minutes after she'd left the group, complaining of migraines and chemicals. Jo's the most clueless girl I've ever known, even Ken isn't that beguiled though her pure lamb expression and stature tend to make her as the victim in most situations. People end up taking her side because she looks too innocent to have done whatever she's being accused of. It works for me whenever we go out together because people see me and instantly think, trouble with a capital “T” and they're not wrong. But the truly naive one among us is Jojo, she thinks she got us into this mess but if her guilty complex could take a dive for a minute, she'd understand that we made this decision ourselves and if anything happens to either one of us, none of us is to blame. From my peripheral, I see a shadow turning a corner from the bathroom into the quiet hallway. Lunch break is about to end in a f

JEREMY'S POV I stalk out of Sabbel High, my skin burning with fierce intensity. I need a fight. I need a drink. I need a fucking smoke. I enter my truck and zoom off to the nearest gas station. As I fuel the tank, I enter the store to buy some alcohol. The other customers stare at me and quickly move the other way as I walk past them. I grab four bottles of cheap vodka— the only ones they have— and the girl at the sales desk eye-fuck me as she checks out the items. I grab the bottles and glare at her, “Do you want to fuck?” She leads me to the manager's office with a shy smile, “He ain't around right now, so…” I push her into the shabby space with a hand on her head and shove her down to her knees. Her hands go to my zip and she pulls out a deflated cock from the confinement. “You need help with that?” The girl asks with a smirk. “Shut up.” An image, one I'd rather not think about appears before me. It's her, in the rain, staring at me with wide innocent eyes. Fuck! My coc

JoJo's POV I fucked a Monster and I paid for it. With my life. Literally. “I can help with the homework and projects if they're taking a toll on your wrists.” With a frustrated sigh, I drop the ball pen onto my lap and it rolls to the ground. It's been two weeks since I woke up from the coma. The doctors said I needed more time in the hospital to heal as my wound was too deep and there was a high risk of infection. Taking my life—Attempting to take my life was a fucked up stretch, one that'll never happen again and I won't say why I did it. The real question is, would you understand? Exhaustion paints my face as I watch my Aunt slash Adoptive Mom. She's standing over me, over the textbooks strewn across the hospital bed and peering into the book on my lap. “Stop hovering.” “Is the Math too hard? Do you need a tutor? Or do you need—” “Why don't I just drop out?” I throw my hands in the air in exasperation. “Why would you say such a thing?” She rebukes. “Why won't I, when you

The telephone rings, disturbing the peace of the quiet office, jerking me up from a dreamless sleep as I throw my two hundred and seventy-eight pounds of body weight around the recliner chair to find balance. Reports and files are scattered everywhere and are on every available surface of the cheap mahogany table. Even my name plate sits inside one of the drawers collecting dust in line with how many years I've been sitting on this case. I flip on the desk light and it blares into my blood-rimmed eyes, shooting straight for my brain and giving me an instant headache. The telephone continues ringing, contributing to the throbbing effect in my head and I pick up the damn thing. “What?!” I snap into the phone while reaching for the half-empty bottle of bourbon on top of a stack of old files. “Burky, did I wake ya?” My partner, Steve Robertson, and old friend teases into the telephone. He's never in a good mood whenever he resorts to teasing. “This had better be good, Steve. What'