The cruel barb punctures the balloon of humiliation and shame that has been swelling inside ever since they barged in. And with a pop, my fury explodes.
All the high pressure and hot air whooshes from my mouth in one gush. I’ve had about enough of these animals who think they’re better than I am because they have dicks and I don’t. My mother may not have known what to do with a little girl asking about the Theory of Relativity or been able to teach me Russian, but one thing she did instill in me was her take-no-crap fight, and it claws its way past my embarrassment. My advisor wants killer instinct? Well here the hell you go.
I’m standing in a roomful of frat boys, wearing a sweatshirt that barely clears the tops of my thighs. They might see my panties and my knees are shaking. My palms practically drip sweat. Every doubt and insecurity about my body crowds in on me, but I force those aside. I shove past Jared and my humiliation and fear until I’m standing directly in front of Prescott. He’s several inches taller, and I have to look up at him. I’m at eye level with his huge Adam’s apple that threatens to poke through his skinny neck with one big gulp.
“This is about the internship, right?” I demand, stepping so close I smell his repugnant after shave. “You’re pissed that I beat you out for the Bagley? Well tough luck, you sorry, entitled, Ichabod Crane looking motherfucker. I beat you with something you wouldn’t recognize if it hit you. Hard work. If it wasn’t for your daddy’s generous donations, you wouldn’t even be on this campus.”
I poke his chest, and he stumbles back a step, disconcerted that the wounded animal is fighting back.
“So you told the hottest guy on campus to fuck me for your little fraternity or whatever you boys have created to compensate for the fact that you’ll barely make it in the real world.” I force a laugh that’s the absolute opposite of how my heart is banging and breaking. “That’s your revenge? You repay me in orgasms? Feel free to take your resentment out on me anytime, Prescott.”
I step another inch closer and go up on my toes until we are practically nose to nose, until I can fire-breathe the words over his lips.
“As you know, I’ll be off campus in New York next semester for our department’s most coveted internship, but for the last few days I have left here, stay out of my way,” I grit out, shaking my hair back and widening my eyes for good measure like the crazy Latina shrew he probably stereotyped me as. “Where I’m from, we eat little boys like you for breakfast, and I have no doubt, if pressed, I can kick your narrow ass.”
I curl my lip and glare.
“Despite your daddy’s money, and all your connections and this little post pubescent posse at your back, when it comes down to it, you’re just a pathetic boy with nothing to show for himself.”
I grab my jeans from the pile with my shoes and socks. In complete awkward silence, I pull my jeans on, looking each one of those cowards in the eye while I do it. Even when I have to strain and wiggle to get my jeans over my hips and buttoned. I don’t know how much longer my bravado will hold. It’s straining and about to break. I rush past them all to leave the back room, determined to get out of here before the dam bursts and tears give away just how shattered I am. I’m scooping up my backpack and on my way out the door when a gentle hand stops me. I look over my shoulder, and cannot believe the audacity of Jared Foster.
“Banner, wait.” That desperation brightens his eyes to azure. It looks like desperation. But he’s really good at making things look like what they’re not. He made me think he liked me, that he wanted me. Mama didn’t raise no fool, but tonight that’s exactly what he made me. And over what? A sculpted body, blond hair, and blue eyes. I did it again, fell for a man’s lies and the flattery of his touch. Am I that desperate? That pathetic?
“You better let me go right now,” I snarl, my eyes tracing a jagged line from his grip on my arm to that damn handsome face.
“No, you will listen.” Frustration sketches lines around his mouth and between his brows.
My hand flies up and slams into his cheek. I’ve never slapped anyone before. Despite my hubris with Prescott, I abhor violence of any kind, but I don’t regret the bright red handprint blooming over his cheekbone. Anger flares in the stare we hold, his bouncing off mine.
“Oh shit,” someone says from the back room.
I glance over his shoulder to find all the guys gathered at the door, watching our exchange. Prescott’s smirk and a few snickers are last straws. Hot tears prick my eyes and I jerk away, walking as swiftly as I can toward the door. On the sidewalk, I can’t hold back the torrent of emotions any longer. A sob erupts from that place I’ve been guarding ever since those lights came on. The indignity, the humiliation, the cruelty of the situation presses against me on all sides, closing in and trying to crush me. I don’t even know how I make it home through the blur of tears, but as soon as I am on the other side of my apartment door, I slide my back down the wall until my butt hits the floor.
And the tears won’t stop. I’m shaking, trembling at the shocking cruelty of those guys.
Aftershock.
How the earth tremors following a seismic disruption. A result of great upheaval at the core. And at the epicenter lies Jared Foster.
I hate him.
I hate them all.
I hate the wretched, pitiful sound of my own tears. I hate the sting of shame piercing my heart like a thorn. I hate my stupidity, my naiveté believing Jared Foster wanted someone like me instead of someone like Cindy. I hate the way my thighs spread, stretching the denim of my jeans. The way my legs rub together when I walk. I hate this roll of fat hanging over my waistband.