by Elle Kennedy
The fury has no outlet and instead courses through my blood. Heart to fingers to toes and back up again. Hot, boiling rage accompanied by the images assaulting my mind—random guys watching her, leering at her. Jerking it to my girlfriend.
Fuck. All I want to do is start ripping heads off. I glance at Alec and Gavin, both of them hunched forward like they’re about to launch out of their seats. Fists clenched, just like mine.
“How am I only hearing about this video now if you say it’s been going around?” I demand.
“Honestly I’m surprised you didn’t already know.” She glances at her fellow Kappas with a pleased nod. “I guess our efforts are working.”
“Efforts?” I frown.
“To shut it down and stop it from spreading through campus. We ordered everyone on Greek Row to shut the hell up about the video and not pass it around, but I didn’t expect any of those jackasses to actually listen, especially the frats. We’ve been doing everything we can to try to stop this shit from going viral.”
“Who?” I growl through gritted teeth. “Who uploaded it?”
“One of our Kappa sisters. Now former sister,” Abigail is quick to add. “And my ex-boyfriend.”
That’s all the guys needed to hear—there’s another dude whose ass we could kick.
They jump to their feet without delay.
“Where do we find this asshole?” Foster grunts.
“Should curb-stomp his face.”
“’Bout to fuck up his whole day.”
“Dude better have a will.”
“No,” Abigail orders, throwing her hands up like a blockade. “We came here because you need to convince Taylor to go to the police. We tried to work on her and the other sister in the video, but they’re scared. We hoped if you could get through to Taylor, she’d convince the other girl it’s the right thing to do.”
“Nah, fuck that,” I mutter. “She can do what she wants. I’m gonna fucking shred this jackass.”
“You can’t. Trust me. Kevin’s a sniveling little shit and he’ll absolutely go to the cops if you lay a hand on him. You’ll end up in jail and who’s going to protect Taylor then? So simmer down, big guy, and listen.”
“Taylor isn’t talking to me,” I tell the girls, who are all looking at me like I’m an idiot. “I’ve tried.”
“So try harder.” Abigail rolls her eyes, making a show of sighing loudly. “Duh.”
“Put your back into it,” another one says.
“Mind over matter.” This comes from one of the chicks who was at the diner that one time. Olivia something or other.
They’re right, though. Much as I’d like to drag this fucker behind my Jeep, now would be a terrible time to get arrested. As long as that video of Taylor is out there, she’s a target. Who knows what kind of sick pervert might get a real dumb idea to mess with her. I’ve got to be here to watch her back, even if she doesn’t know I am.
I’d do anything to keep her safe.
“I’ll try,” I promise Taylor’s sorority sisters. My voice sounds raspy, so I clear my throat. “I’ll head over to her place now.”
If Abigail’s story about why Taylor broke it off is true, I’ve got to get her back. Up until this point, I hadn’t wanted to push Taylor too hard. Yeah, I probably blew up her phone too much the night she ended it, but I didn’t stand outside her window with a portable speaker or wait outside her classes with a banner. I didn’t want to be overbearing and wind up driving her further away.
But now I realize I was hiding too. The things she’d said that night had really hurt. She stirred up all my insecurities, and I’ve been nursing my pride ever since. I didn’t chase her or beg her to take me back because I didn’t think there was any reason for her to do that. Because I wasn’t worthy of her.
More than that, I think I was afraid of a final rejection there’d be no return from. If I avoided the subject, I could keep believing there was a chance, at some distance time, where we’d come back to each other. If I didn’t look in the box, the cat was both alive and dead.
This changes everything.
42
Taylor
I feel like I’ve put on five pounds this week and I can’t find it in me to care. After the first shower I’ve taken in two days, I throw on a peasant top and a pair of jeans. My mom called yesterday to invite me to another family dinner with Chad and Brenna Jensen, so I have no choice but to make an effort. That means brushing my hair, too. Ugh.
This time they’re making the safe play to eat out at the Italian place in town rather than risk another cooking catastrophe. I’d tried to make an excuse to decline, but Mom wasn’t having it.
And then, of course, I had to dodge on the topic of Conor when she told me to invite him. I told her he was busy, and besides, whatever Coach might have said, he’d probably appreciate not having one of his players tagging along on all his dates. She bought it, albeit skeptically. Mom can read me like a book—I’m sure she’s guessed the relationship has fizzled out, but she’s gracefully declining to press for details.
As much as I’m dreading tonight, I suppose it offers a distraction from the obvious, a commercial break in my infinite binge and self-pity party.
I’ve just got my hair up in a ponytail when there’s knocking on the door. I check my phone for the time. They’re early. Whatever. I didn’t feel like putting on makeup anyway.
“Just give me a second to find my shoes,” I say as I fling open the door.
It isn’t my mom.
Not Brenna either.
Conor stands in my doorway. “Hey,” he says roughly.
I’m momentarily struck by him. It’s like my heart had forgotten his face. His aura. His magnetism and spirit. I’ve forgotten the electric air that crackles around us whenever we’re in the same space, my body still a slave to its baser instincts.
“You can’t be here,” I blurt out.
“Are you going somewhere?” He examines me, taken aback.
“I have plans.” As badly as I want to throw my arms around him, I force myself to stick to my guns. Bite down and bear it. “You can’t be here, Conor.”
Already the nerves are tightening my chest, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. The strong urge to slam the door in his face and hide rears its head, as shame and embarrassment join the tangle of emotions I’m already feeling. I’m a war within a war, at odds with myself and losing.
“We need to talk.” Conor takes up the entire doorway, all broad shoulders and wide chest. Tension pounds off him like a palpable drumbeat.
“Now’s not a good time.” I try to shut the door on him. Instead, he muscles his way through like I’m not even standing here.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says, barging in, “but this can’t wait.”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” I charge into the living room after him.
His tone is flat, unhappy. “I know everything, T. Abigail came to my house and explained it all. The video, why you broke up with me. I know.”
Shock flies into me. Is he serious? And here I thought Abigail and I had an understanding. We’re really going to have to work on our communication.
“Well, I’m sorry she involved you,” I mutter, “but it’s really none of your concern, so—”
“I’m not sorry,” he cuts in. “Not one bit. What would ever make you think I wouldn’t want to stand beside you through this? That I wouldn’t want to be here to protect you?”
I ignore the sharp clench of my heart, avoid his imploring eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on, Taylor. This is me. You dragged my deepest, darkest secrets out of me because it almost cost us all of this,” he says, gesturing between us. “You can talk to me. Nothing changes how I feel about you.” His deep voice shakes slightly. “Let me help.”
“I don’t have time for this.” Or the emotional bandwidth. I’m strung out, exhausted. There’s no fight left in me this time. All I want is to close my eyes and make it all go away. �
�My mom is on her way over with Chad and Brenna for dinner.”
“So cancel. Let’s go to the police station. I promise, I’ll be right there beside you.”
“You don’t understand, Conor. I can’t. As humiliated as you were to talk to your mom and Max about Kai and the break-in, this is a hundred times worse.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” he counters. “You’re not the one who messed up.”
“It’s humiliating!” I shout back.
Oh my God, I’m at my fucking wit’s end having to explain this to everyone else. Don’t they get it? Don’t they see?
“I go in there, make a report—then that’s another dozen people who see the video,” I say desperately, starting to pace. “They file a case, go to court—that’s another dozen, two dozen. Every move I make invites more people to see me like that.”
“So what?” he snaps. “You’ve got to be getting sick of me telling you that you’re hot as hell, Taylor. Some poor suckers get a few seconds of joy watching you do nothing more than kiss a girl.”
“And you don’t care if a bunch of strangers see me practically naked?”
“I fucking care,” he growls. “And if you want me to beat the shit out of every dude in a twenty-mile radius who looks at you funny, I will. But there’s nothing about this that you should be ashamed of. You did nothing wrong. You’re the victim. When Abigail came by and told me and the guys, every one of them was ready to throw down in your honor. Nobody was cracking jokes or grabbing their phones. We’re only concerned for you. You’re all I care about, Taylor.”
My heart is breaking. Not for me, but for everything we almost were. How good it could have been if Jules hadn’t thrown a grenade in the middle of our relationship.
“You don’t know how it feels,” I whisper. “I can’t just get over it.”
“No one’s asking you to. Just to stick up for yourself.”
“And maybe for me, that means waiting for it to blow over and trying to trick myself into forgetting. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like the whole world has seen you naked.”
“You’re right.” He pauses for a beat. “Maybe I should.”
I blink and suddenly Conor is yanking off his shirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Empathizing.” He kicks off his shoes.
“Stop it,” I order.
“No.” His socks go next. Then he drops his pants in the middle of my living room and pushes his boxers down his legs.
“Conor, put your fucking pants back on.” And yet my eyes can’t pry themselves from his dick. It’s just so…there.
Without another word, he strides out the front door.
“Get back here, you lunatic.”
When I hear his footsteps on the stairs, I grab his discarded clothing and chase after him. But the jackass is fast. I don’t catch up to him until he’s across the parking lot and standing on the grass that abuts the road.
“Get your phones out, people,” Conor shouts into the air, his muscular arms spread wide. “Don’t see this every day.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind.” I watch him twirling, gorgeous and ridiculous. He has a body you only see in airbrushed fantasies, but it isn’t supposed to be wiggling around on the front lawn. “Oh my God, Conor, stop. Someone’s going to call the cops on you.”
“I’ll plead temporary insanity due to a broken heart,” he says.
Fortunately, this is exclusively a college student-infested street. For at least five blocks in every direction from campus, no townies dare to tread. Families long ago escaped the midweek parties and drunks passed out in the bushes, so that means no traumatized children, either.
Doors start opening up and down the street. Window blinds are separating. He’s got an audience now. Shouts and whistles ring out, an eruption of horny banter.
“Stop encouraging him,” I yell back at the spectators. I refocus my attention on Conor and his amazing, swinging penis and groan in frustration. “Will you please stop!”
“Never. I’ve gone completely mad for you, Taylor Antonia Marsh.”
“That’s not even my middle name!”
“It’s a middle name and I don’t care, if this is what I have to do to take away your embarrassment, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”
“You need to be hospitalized,” I declare, all the while smothering the laughter threatening to spill over.
This man is…ridiculous. I’ve never met anyone like Conor Edwards, this sexy crazy handful who’s flashing the entire neighborhood just to prove a point and make me feel not as alone.
“Edwards!” someone thunders.
A car rolls up, and from the driver’s side window Chad Jensen pokes his head out. “What the hell are you doing running around with no pants on? Put your damn cock away!”
Conor glances over at the car, completely unfazed. “Hey Coach,” he drawls. “What’s up?” When he realizes my mother is in the passenger side, he offers a sheepish smile. “Doctor Mom, good to see you again.”
Unbelievable. I shove Conor’s clothes at him. As he covers his junk, I glance over at my mother and see that her lips are shaking with the effort not to laugh and her eyes are watering. Brenna, on the other hand, is hysterical in the back seat, so loud her laughter is echoing off the buildings.
“Are you quite finished?” I ask this big dumb idiot with a heart of gold.
“Only if you’re ready to go to the police.”
“The police?” My mother leans toward the window, visibly alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
I shoot Conor a glare.
I could lie. Make up some innocuous story my mom wouldn’t buy but might accept as an alternative to the clear indication that I don’t want to discuss it. I could say Conor was just chasing away a creeper who had been hanging around. Fight dick with dick, or whatever. Mom understands boundaries—she trusts my judgment and doesn’t push me to make uncomfortable decisions.
And maybe that’s why I don’t, and never have. Nobody has ever encouraged me to make the hard choices, and I never pushed myself to do it. My whole life I simply retreated into myself, allowed an ever-growing chasm to build between me and anything that could cause me pain. Anything that could reject me.
I created my own safe space and avoided drawing attention to myself. No one can point fingers if they can’t see me. There’s nothing for them to laugh at if I’m not there. I stayed inside my bubble, safe and alone.
No, I don’t especially like my friends and enemies and lovers joining forces to press my hand. It’s not how I operate. And yet…maybe it was exactly what I needed. A good kick in the ass. Not because they’re right or I’m wrong, but because I wasn’t serving myself. I was serving my fears. I’ve been feeding them and allowing them to take up more space inside me until I’m no longer myself and can’t remember a time I was anything else.
This is how people grow up to be old and bitter. Jaded and spiteful. When they let the world and the bad actors in it strip them of joy and replace it with doubt and insecurities.
I’m too young to be this unhappy, and too loved to be this alone. I owe myself better.
My gaze drifts to Conor, whose earnest gray eyes tell me he won’t leave my side if I allow him to stand beside me. Then I turn toward my mom, whose concern is visible and whose support is mine for the taking. There are people who want to fight for me. I should want to fight for myself.
I meet Mom’s gaze and give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll tell you on the way to the police station.”
43
Taylor
It’s late when Conor and I get back to my apartment. I leave him on the couch watching TV while I take a long, hot bath. I put on my relaxation playlist and turn off the lights except for a couple of candles on the bathroom counter, and for the first time in a week, I feel some of the tension leaving my body.
It was mortifying explaining the situation to my mom while Conor drove the three of us in his Jeep tonight. I was sorry I w
as the reason she called off dinner with Chad and Brenna, but when I tried to apologize for spoiling her plans she wouldn’t have it.
“My daughter comes first,” she’d said firmly, and it was as if all the times she’d neglected me in the past had just disappeared. Today I was her first priority, her only concern. Everything had ceased to exist for her but me, and for that I was grateful.
After a chain of text messages, Abigail, Sasha, and Rebecca met us at the police station. I had a good conversation with Rebecca before we made the decision to go through with filing a report. Both of us were hesitant. Her because of what her parents might think; me because of the added exposure. Eventually, we came around to the idea that we could turn this into an opportunity for something positive. We didn’t ask for this, but rather than hiding, ashamed, we could take our power back. So with the beginnings of a plan in mind, we walked in there together. Stronger.
As Abigail’s mother explained to us over the phone, Massachusetts doesn’t have a specific revenge porn law. If Abigail herself, for instance, had uploaded the video, it might not have been a crime. However, Jules and Abigail’s ex Kevin can be charged under other state laws for the unauthorized access to Abigail’s phone, the Kappa cloud server, copying the video, and uploading it without consent. Mrs. Hobbes believes, and the officer we spoke to agreed, that there’s a strong case.
I didn’t ask what would happen to Jules and Kevin, or when. I don’t particularly care, as long as they’re punished. My mother, however, called Briar’s dean of students at home and scheduled a meeting with him first thing tomorrow morning. By the end of the day, I suspect Briar will begin the process of expelling those two.
My brain is still spinning. Dominoes in my mind have yet to fall. Just the click, click, click of a thousand consequences rapidly colliding toward an eventual conclusion at some distant time, in some future place.
The panic has subsided, though. The overwhelming cord of dread around my neck has loosened. Instead, I’m bursting with ideas, surging with adrenaline. I’m sure the chemical stimulation will fade soon and I’ll crash a few days from now to sleep for a week. Until then, dot, dot, dot.
