The Wicked Truth

by Pru Schuyler

  She squints her bluish-gray eyes. “Yeah, don’t care. You might be new here, but these are the ground rules, skank. Cade is mine. Got it? He’s mine. Not yours. Don’t go near him, or I will make this year a living hell for you.” Her deep brown eyebrows rise up as she mockingly smiles at me. Her gaze shoots behind me. She bumps my shoulder hard and stalks off.

  I’m speechless, tired, and very over today. I don’t even bother to say another word to this girl, whose name I didn’t even get.

  As I turn away to head to my next class, I see Callum Jones staring straight at me—no, straight at where this girl was standing.

  Advanced Calc is about as fun as it sounds. I actually have to focus in this class in order to do well.

  The bell dismisses us, and I head to finally find my locker and unload my backpack, which is full from all my morning classes. I stumble upon the hallway soon enough, and I don’t have to count the lockers to figure out which one’s mine because Cade is already there. He’s leaning against what I assume is his locker with his feet crossed, looking crazy hot, as always.

  Bad Stella.

  He looks up, and his eyes lock into mine almost immediately. Everything else in the hallway fades. Butterflies fill my tummy. I make my way to him, and he stretches his hand out.

  I furrow my brow, unsure of what he’s asking for.

  He reads my expression, and his voice cuts in, “Locker combo.”

  Oh, duh. It’s not like he was offering to hold my hand or anything. Obviously.

  I hand him my sticky note, and he starts turning the dial with my code.

  I can’t stop thinking about this girl who staked her claim on him. Do they really have a thing? Is he the type of guy who would lead me on if he’s dating someone?

  I spit the words out before I can think twice, “So, do you have a girlfriend?”

  He laughs at me, and my face heats up.

  Once he calms himself down, he looks deep into my eyes, no humor in sight. “No, Stella, I do not have a girlfriend.”

  I feel his fingers graze my hand. When did we get this close to each other?

  His eyes flicker to my lips, and my breathing hitches. The air is humming around us. He shifts, closing some distance between us. His warm spice scent invades my senses. He steps closer, and his leg grazes mine; shock waves reverberate through me from his touch. His fingers stroke my hand that’s dropped to my side, and tingles dance on my skin. He tilts his head forward, and time stops.

  Everything happens in slow motion. His fingers glide across my hand and then slowly intertwine with mine. He tugs me toward him, and I let him pull me. His leg is positioned between mine, and his other hand guides my chin upward.

  I close my eyes in anticipation. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His warm breath caresses my lips.

  A locker slams near me.

  Wait. Stop. What the hell are you doing? You are in the middle of the school hallway right now, about to kiss Cade. There are so many things wrong with this picture.

  I take a step back and peel my eyes off his fully parted lips. My body goes cold, already missing his contact.

  “Thanks for opening my locker.” The breathy words escape my lips. I hastily unpack my backpack, very aware of every move he is making near me.

  He shuts his locker and turns to me, his eyes hooded. “Stella, Stella, Stella, what am I going to do with you?”

  A thousand inappropriate images flood my mind, causing my entire body to flush.

  He doesn’t wait for an answer before asking his next question, “Wait, why did you ask if I had a girlfriend?” His head cocks to the side.

  Reality fully floods back into me. “Well, I was sort of approached by a not-so-nice young lady who claimed to be your girlfriend, and she basically threatened me to stay away from you, or she’d ruin my school year.” It all flows from my lips in one giant run-on. It’s hard not to be so open with him.

  “Did you get her name?” he asks. His eyes squint slightly, and he looks away, lost in his thought.

  “Nope. I don’t think she really wanted to talk much.” I laugh and follow him down the hall.

  He laughs with me and responds, “Is she blonde with blue eyes, about yea high, and kind of a bitch?” He raises his hand to the mystery girl’s exact height.

  A tinge of jealousy grows in me when I hear him perfectly describe this girl.

  “Yep, that’d be the one.” My words clip out a little too strong.

  “That’s my …” He pauses. “Well, we never actually dated, just fooled around. But, no, Becca is definitely not my girlfriend. Never will be,” he says matter-of-factly, eyes locked on mine.

  Images of Cade and her fooling around pop into my head, and I wish I could make them disappear forever. But apparently, they are burned into my eyes now. It’s not like I expected Cade Carver to be a virgin, but I really don’t like hearing him talk about his previous sexcapades.

  “Okay. Got it.” I bite my lip.

  We grab our lunch trays, and he leads me toward a table. I spot Brooke immediately. Seated next to her is Brady and a guy I don’t recognize. The table is dead silent once we arrive. I sit next to Brooke, and Cade sits to my left.

  Cade is the first to break the ice. “Everyone, this is Stella. Stella, this is everyone.”

  Thanks for the detailed introduction, Cade.

  “Hi,” I say to the guy I don’t know.

  Cade decides to finish his intro. “And this is Marty. He is the loudest, most obnoxious person I know, but at the end of the day, he’s one of the best people.”

  “At least buy me dinner first, jeez.” Marty bats his eyelashes at Cade.

  I laugh a real laugh, which takes me by surprise. Cade’s gaze shoots to me, and his smile is deep, causing those dimples of his to make an appearance.

  After a couple of jabs and smart remarks between Cade and Marty, everyone gets quiet as we enjoy our delicious lunch. Brighton Prep’s school lunch is actually good. For the first day, they’ve made homemade French toast with bacon and eggs.

  During the remainder of lunch, the boys in the group make jokes and goof off. Brooke stays deep in her notebook, sketching out clothes designs.

  I don’t know when this girl became such a big part of my life, but I honestly wouldn’t have survived today without her. I guess I owe that to my mom since she set this friendship up at the Carvers’ party.

  My growing relationship with Brooke has me questioning every rule I set for myself. I said, no friends. What if I had fully enforced that? I wouldn’t have a best friend who’s had my back the entire day today. I would have had to face this all alone.

  Maybe I could take a chance with Cade too.

  Maybe.

  The rest of my classes go by fast, thanks to Brooke. It’s a miracle that I have four classes with her.

  The whispers and rumors of Cade and me only got worse after I sat next to him at lunch. Brooke stood up for me every time one got a little too far.

  After school, Brooke meets at my place to get through some of this homework. We finally finish a little after nine, and Brooke packs her bag up right before blowing me a kiss and telling me to meet her at eight o’clock sharp for our ride. I’m going to bring us hot cocoa tomorrow. Maybe it could be a little tradition.

  I walk her out and then head back to my room to pass out. I’m so mentally exhausted from today. I start to pack all my school stuff back up when I spot a notebook I don’t recognize. It’s brown leather with a strap wrapped around it. Brooke must’ve left it when she was here.

  I pick it up and flip to a random page.

  I scan it quickly and read through a paragraph in the middle of the page.

  I’m so scared. Scared to be outside, inside. Scared to be at school, scared to walk down the hall. Scared to lock eyes with someone and not know if it’s him. I want to know who it is. I want him dead. He needs to be for what he did to me.

  What the hell?

  I flip to the front page, where it has you write y
our name. There’s no way this is B’s. This looks like a page from my own thoughts.

  But written on the first page is Brooke Carver. I quickly flip back to the page I was on, and I resume reading.

  It hurt so bad. The pain lasted for days after. Every step I took reminded me of what he had done.

  I freeze, and my heart drops to the floor. Cold goose bumps creep their way onto my skin. My breaths quicken, getting faster with every intake.

  My eyes widen as I scan a few more words on the page in front of me.

  … help …

  … he broke me …

  … fear …

  … pain …

  … quiet …

  My heart cracks, threatening to rupture.

  No, no, no, not Brooke. Not her. My sorrow and pain soon grow to white-hot anger, to hatred, and I want to kill whoever did this to her.

  My eyes fly to the start of the page, and I begin reading before I even have time to stop myself. The writing is messy, pained.

  April 10

  Help. Help. I … I need help. I need someone to see me. See the change in me. Why can’t anyone see it? Why can’t anyone tell? He changed me. He broke me. He destroyed me. He took everything—EVERYTHING—from me.

  I don’t know how to write this. I don’t know anything anymore.

  I’m so scared. Scared to be outside, inside. Scared to be at school, scared to walk down the hall. Scared to lock eyes with someone and not know if it’s him. I want to know who it is. I want him dead. He needs to be for what he did to me.

  The fear never leaves anymore. It’s always there, crushing my chest. Always making me question my next step.

  Should I go in there? Should I wait for someone to go with me?

  I’m scared to be alone. I’m scared to be with people. My thoughts consume me. I can’t sleep. Hell, I can barely be awake. The pain is too much.

  The pain in my chest, in my heart, in my eyes—the pain is everywhere. It hurts to breathe; it hurts to live. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be here anymore.

  It hurt so bad. The pain lasted for days after. Every step I took reminded me of what he had done. Every time I sat down or stood up, I could feel him in me.

  The pain was excruciating. The pain in my chest is a close second though.

  It’s like his hands are still there, still wrapped around my throat. I can’t look in the mirror anymore. I just see him on me. I see his hands closing in. I see the bruises he left, even after they faded. I see his touch.

  I smell him. I will never forget his smell. Lemon, like he was doused in Lemon Pledge. I can’t even stand to be near a lemon anymore. It is irrational, I know. But I just can’t. If I see one, I see him. If I smell one, I smell him.

  Why didn’t I tell anyone? Why am I so quiet now? Why can’t I speak? I can’t even use the word. I can’t say what he did to me. I can’t even admit it to myself. Maybe if I don’t say it or write it, it will just fade away. Like it never happened.

  I walk so close to the lockers, hoping they will just consume me, that I will just become part of them, to just get away, far away from him. Whoever he is.

  I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know if I know him. That’s what scares me the most.

  Why did he do this? Why me? I can’t stop replaying it—in my sleep, wide awake, in class, at dinner with my family. It’s a nightmare on a never-ending loop in my mind, forever consuming me.

  How can they not tell? How can my family not tell I got quiet? How can they not see the bruises? Why can’t they see his invisible hands choking me? How can they not see me fading away, far away from myself? Why can’t anyone see the pain in my eyes? Why won’t anyone ask if I need help? Why won’t someone help? Why can no one see me?

  WHY CAN NO ONE SEE ME?

  I freeze, locked into these words. Something falls onto the journal—a water drop.

  A tear.

  I didn’t even know I was crying. I lift my hands to my face, covering it completely. I swallow the lump in my throat. The tears I’ve held back for so long break like a dam on a river.

  I pull my knees up, and for the first time since that night, I let some of that pain go.

  The tears burst from me, running down my cheeks, soaking my shirt. I rock myself and let every built-up tear pour down my face. Every tear for Austin, every tear for my old life. I cry for the moment I walked into his trap. I cry for other victims he might have had. I let myself feel it all. My heart cracks, all the rage and agony spew out of my eyes.

  My walls lower, letting what he did to me, what he took from me tear into my heart. The pain I felt for days after, the pain of closing myself off to everyone. The pain of pushing my mom away. Of knowing I’d never be the same. The pain of knowing I was probably not the only one. Of the hate I have for the word victim.

  I cry until my eyes can’t seem to make any more tears.

  I drop my hands to my sides and stare at her journal. Brooke was … Brooke was raped. Every word she wrote, I feel. I feel it to my core, to my soul.

  Something takes over, and I stand up and step into my bathroom. I curl my hands on the edge of the countertop to steady myself. I take a deep breath and slowly lift my gaze to the mirror, looking deep into my own eyes.

  “My name is Stella Sullivan, and last year, I was …” I take a long, slow breath to steady my shaking voice. “I was raped by my boyfriend, Austin.”

  I repeat it like a mantra in the mirror, over and over, until I feel myself regain an ounce of power that he took from me. Brooke gave me the courage to finally admit to myself what had happened, what he had done, to finally say it to my own face.

  I see you, and I’m going to help you, Brooke. I will find who hurt you. I promise.

  I see you, Brooke.

  TEN

  I’ve spent every spare minute studying the guys in the school, who they hang around, who keeps tabs on Brooke, et cetera. I need to build my suspect list. So far, I’ve got three possible skeezebags for it. Topping the charts is none other than Callum Jones himself.

  In the course of four days, I’ve watched him hit on at least ten girls in the school hallway—too forceful, mind you. He’s also pushed four freshmen into their lockers, and he and his band of hooligans have forced a poor sophomore into the restroom to only do God knows what. Thanks to Cade, the kid will never have to find out.

  Cade has filled me in on why he and Jones are always at each other’s throats. Since they started high school, Jones has always had it out for Cade—from trying to steal the girls Cade was with to putting a dead bird in his locker.

  The boy has some serious issues. But the nail in his coffin was when he grabbed Brooke’s butt in the middle of the hallway—in front of Cade.

  When Cade told the story, he was heating up from his rage for Callum. Since that incident, Cade has been going out of his way to make Callum’s life a living hell. Which he deserves nonetheless.

  He has the most motive right now out of everyone. His hatred for Cade might have made the sick bastard act out in the most heinous way imaginable.

  I spend the next few days watching movies with Brooke and biting my tongue to keep my secret in my mouth. I manage to slip her journal from my backpack back to hers when she is in the bathroom. I needed to get it back to her before it was missing long enough for her to become suspicious.

  I haven’t decided if I want to tell her that I found it. I don’t know how to say, Hey, you know the entry in here that tells the deepest, darkest secret in your life? Yeah, I read it. Sorry. She’s my best friend, and I really can’t lose her. Once I find out who did this, I will finally tell her what happened. Maybe then she will be able to forgive me.

  Brooke has been begging me all week to go with her to the opening football game tonight. I finally give in this morning on our ride to school. She held my hot cocoa hostage until I said yes.

  She wants to go shopping after class to get an outfit for tonight. The color scheme is black. Every home game, the school sets a c
olor for students to show their pride. For opening night, they’ve chosen a color to represent our mascot, the black panther.

  After classes, Brooke and I head to Woodbury Mall. The only mall Brooke ever shops at for some reason.

  I thumb through the racks at Nordstrom without an outfit idea in mind. I turn my attention over to Brooke, who already has a pile of clothes in her arms.

  If this girl had a superpower, it would be styling cute outfits.

  She turns, and a warm fire glows in her eyes. I love how the smallest task can bring her such happiness.

  “Find anything yet?” she taunts, flaunting her finds.

  I laugh. “Not yet, smart-ass. Got anything in there for me?” I nod to her arm full of clothes.

  “Actually, yes, I do.” She shifts the stack of clothes in her arms, pulling out a black leather jacket with a gray knit hood.

  It’s really cute.

  My smile beams. “Okay, I need that on me—now,” I exclaim and thrust my arms toward the jacket.

  I slide the jacket on and strike a few poses. Then, I ask Brooke, “So, what do you think?”

  “Perfect!” she squeals. “Do you have a black V-neck or something to go under it?”

  “Yeah, about fifty of them.” I chuckle. It’s my staple piece.

  “I found this for me.” She pulls out a black bomber jacket with shiny silver hardware. “I’m going to wear a black V-neck, leggings, and my black combats.”

  Excitement bursts in my chest. I’m actually looking forward to tonight. If you had told me a few months ago that I’d be going to a football game, I would have told you that you were crazy. And if you had told me I’d be excited for it, I would’ve checked you into the asylum myself.

  “It’s perfect, B,” I swoon.

  My heart swells for my best friend.

  A chill sweeps through my arms, guilt pushing down on my chest. I’m lying to my best friend. I know her secret, and I’m lying right to her face.

  After we buy our outfits, we take off for home. Time to get ready. We decide to go with high, straight ponytails and a black smoky eye with a little mascara.

  There’s no way I would ever be able to handle this outfit without Brooke by my side. The exposure I feel in this shirt alone makes me want to hurl. I feel a little naked. But she gives me a sense of security and strength.