Winter: A High School Bully Romance (Sunset Beach High Book 2)

by McKayla Box

  He puts his hand on my arm. “Come on. Don't be in such a hurry. We could--”

  I catch him flush in the ear with my phone, smashing it as hard as I can against the side of his head. He jerks back and yelps. “What the fuck?”

  “Don't fucking touch me,” I say. I look at his friends. “Don't fucking touch me. Ever.”

  My heart is racing. I know if they decide to, they can do whatever they want to me. I've taken my one shot and that's all I'm going to get. I hope it's enough.

  “You fucking little bitch,” Kane says, his hand on his ear. He pulls his hand away, examines it, then puts it back on his hear. “You are going to be so sorry.”

  I back up toward the water, then sidestep past him. I'll run if he makes a move toward me and I'll scream as loud as I can. I don't even know if my phone works after using it as a hammer on his skull.

  But he doesn't move. He just watches me, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  It's scarier than if he'd come after me.

  “You are going to be so sorry,” he says again.

  I've got some distance on him now and I finally turn my back to him. It takes everything I have in me not to turn around. I'm scared to death, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of letting know he's scared me. My chest is heaving and I do my best to control my breathing.

  “Thanks for a good time, Presley,” he calls from behind me.

  Just hearing my name come out of his mouth makes me want to puke.

  I hold up my middle finger high in the air and keep walking.

  FORTY

  The knock on the door startles me.

  It's Sunday night. I got home from the party on Friday night and spend Saturday surfing with Trevor. It's a good day. My dad is home on Sunday morning and he makes breakfast and we walk on the beach in the afternoon. He's already prepared me that he needs to go into the office in the evening to get ready for a Monday morning meeting, but we have a really nice Sunday catching up.

  So I'm lying on the couch, half-heartedly reading through a history assignment when the knock on the front door surprises me. I set my book on the coffee table and walk to the front door.

  Bridget is standing there when I open it.

  Her palm crashes into my cheek before I can react, white, hot light racing through the side of my face.

  I stumble backward, in pain and confused.

  “You fucking bitch,” Bridget growls.

  I squeeze my eyes closed for a second, trying to regain my equilibrium, then open them again. There are tears on her face and hate in her eyes.

  “What?” I say, my hand on my ear now, trying to fight off a ringing that's taken hold.

  “You. Fucking. Bitch,” she repeats, enunciating each word carefully.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “With me?” she asks, wide-eyed. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously fucking kidding me?”

  “No, I'm seriously fucking not,” I say. “I have no idea what's going on. I'm not used to opening my door and having my ex-best friend slap me in the face. So maybe you could elaborate a little bit more on why I'm such a bitch.”

  “I knew you couldn't be happy for me,” she says. “I knew it. Everything is about you. Has to be about you.”

  The ringing subsides and now I just have the throbbing in my cheek. “What is about me?”

  “Everything!” she cries, on the verge of hysterics. “Everything is about you!”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to stay calm. “Bridget, I have no idea what you think I've done or why you're so angry with me. So just tell me so we can get this over with. As far as I know, I've done my best to stay away from you because that's what you wanted. So I have no idea what you think I've done to you or what is about me or why I'm such a bitch.”

  She stares at me, then lets out a jagged, ugly laugh. “I can't even believe this. I can't believe you're pretending you didn't do anything. How fucking typical.”

  “You can either tell me what you think I'm pretending I didn't do or you can leave,” I say. “Your choice. But I'm shutting the door in five seconds if you don't start making sense.”

  She smiles at me, but there's no pleasantness in it. There's no friendship. She hates me now and I have no idea why.

  “You probably didn't think anyone would find out,” she finally says. “Much less film it.”

  “Film what?”

  “You thought you could just do it and get away with it,” she says, like I haven't even spoken. “Or just deny it. Like you're doing right now.” The smile creeps back on her lips. “But it's on video and there's nowhere for you to hide. Everyone is going to know who you are. What you are.” The smile disappears and her eyes fill with tears. The hate vanishes, replaced by utter sadness. “I hate you, Presley Baxter. I will hate you for the rest of my life.”

  She turns and walks away.

  I stand there for a moment, frozen in place, baffled by what's just happened. I watch her pull away from the curb. I finally go over and close the front door.

  I put my hand to my face. My cheek is still throbbing.

  What exactly did I do?

  My phone vibrates on the coffee table.

  What does she think I did?

  Who told her that I did something?

  She can't possible be that upset over my hitting Kane with my phone.

  My phone vibrates again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I realize it's going crazy.

  A knot forms in my stomach.

  I walk over to the table and pick up the phone. It's vibrating like it's stuck. I'm afraid to turn it over and look at the screen.

  I'm thinking it's going to be another picture and somehow, it's going to explain why Bridget slapped me and called me a fucking bitch.

  I turn the phone over.

  The screen is covered in notifications.

  I swipe it open.

  I'm wrong.

  It's not a picture.

  It's far worse.

  FORTY ONE

  It’s a video.

  Most of the notifications on my phone are from Snap. I’m getting tagged as people are sharing the link. My breath is ragged and my finger shakes as it hovers over the screen.

  I’m afraid to look.

  But I know I have to.

  I open up one of the notifications and touch the link.

  It takes me to a video sharing site.

  For porn.

  My stomach convulses.

  I can see my face on the frozen image of the video, just above the big, black play arrow.

  I take a deep breath, then play it.

  And a weird, animal-like cry escapes my mouth.

  I’m naked and I’m straddling a guy, my hands pressed to his chest, my hips grinding against his. His hands are on my ass and he’s lifting up into me.

  I can’t stop looking at myself.

  It’s me, but it’s not. It’s my hair and my face and looks like my body.

  But it’s not quite right.

  There’s sound and I have to listen closely.

  The moaning and groaning turns my stomach.

  I guess it could be my voice, but it’s hard to tell because there are no words being spoken.

  It’s just grunting and sex.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes.

  It’s most definitely not Trevor I’m on top of. He’s bigger and heavier. His face is obscured by a pillow, the edges having ridden up, blocking his face.

  I’ve never had sex with anyone but Trevor.

  I know it’s fake.

  But most people won’t.

  It’s too real.

  I’m not sure how it was done, but someone had made a video that absolutely looks like I’m having sex.

  And loaded it up to a porn site.

  The fake me is moving faster now and now she’s screaming as she writhes in pleasure. She collapses on top of the guy, breathing
heavy, nearly passed out.

  The camera shifts angles, moving upward just a bit, above the edge of the pillow.

  And my knees buckle.

  Because it’s Kane Tressle’s sweaty, ugly face looking back at me.

  FORTY TWO

  I’m on the floor of my living room.

  I’m crying.

  I can’t believe what I’ve just watched.

  I don’t know how they did it, but this isn’t like the picture. They created an image of me and brought it to life.

  And it looks like I fucked Kane Tressle.

  I scream and throw my phone across the room.

  Bridget’s anger now makes sense. Everything she said now makes sense. She thinks I had sex with her boyfriend.

  And why wouldn’t she?

  It looks real.

  It is real in the sense that it’s a video of two people having sex.

  But I know it’s not me.

  The only time I ever touched him was when I hit him with my phone.

  But now it’s out there.

  I’m not stupid.

  I know that most of my school and who knows how much else of the world has seen it by now.

  I know it.

  My friends will know it’s not me, they’ll believe me.

  Trevor will believe me.

  But I know no one else will.

  I crawl across the living room and grab my phone.

  I text Bridget.

  That isn’t me.

  She doesn’t respond.

  I text Gina and Maddie.

  That isn’t me.

  They don’t respond.

  I text Trevor.

  That isn’t me.

  He doesn’t respond.

  I wipe angrily at the tears on my face and call him.

  It goes right to voicemail.

  “That isn’t me,” I say, my voice hoarse and tight. “It isn’t me.”

  I hang up and stare at the phone.

  One of them will text me or call me.

  I know it. They are my friends. They have to know that what they're seeing has been manipulated and faked. They have to know that it's not me, that I'd never do anything like that.

  They'll call.

  I look at the phone.

  But they don’t.

  And now I realize I was wrong.

  Not even my friends believe me.

  I am alone.

  FORTY THREE

  I consider telling my dad I’m sick so that I can’t go to school, but I know that will just prolong the inevitable.

  No one has texted or called.

  I am alone.

  I get myself dressed but don’t eat because I know I’ll just vomit back up anything I try to put in my stomach. I wait until my dad leaves, then pull my bike out of the garage.

  Because I know that no one is coming to pick me up.

  My stomach is clenched the entire ride to school. I feel as if everyone is looking at me as I pedal through the parking lot. I pull the bike into the rack and lock it up. I see Maddie pulling into her parking spot, Gina in the passenger seat.

  I hesitate, then walk toward them.

  They both stay in the car. Gina nods in my direction and Maddie's eyes find me. Gina says something to her, then they both get out.

  “It wasn't me,” I blurt out. “You have to know that.”

  “Presley, come on,” Gina says. “We aren't fucking stupid.”

  “I know you're not,” I say. “That's why you have to know that isn't me.”

  “Who is it then?” Maddie asks.

  “I have no idea,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “I have no idea. But I swear it's not me. For twenty different reasons, it's not me.”

  “Did you talk to him on Friday night?” Gina asks.

  “Who?”

  “Kane.”

  I start to say no, then remember my walk down the beach.

  “Bridget said she passed you on the beach,” Maddie says. “And Kane was down there.”

  “It wasn't like that,” I say. “I literally had to hit him with my phone.”

  “Why didn't you tell us that?” Gina asks.

  “I don't know,” I say. “Because I didn't think it mattered?”

  “Or because you were gonna fuck him,” Maddie says.

  My heart nearly stops. “You honestly can't believe that.”

  “Here's what I believe,” Gina says. “You left on Friday night and went somewhere. Bridget said it was after she had an argument with him and you passed her on the beach, headed toward where he was. I don't know what the fuck happened, but I know what I saw on that video. You fucked Kane.”

  “I didn't!” I cry. “I don't know how that thing was made, but I didn't have sex with anyone! You guys know me! You know I wouldn't do that with anyone, much less him! You know that!”

  They exchange looks.

  “I don't know how you fake that video,” Maddie says. “It's not like the picture. If I look at it a hundred times, a hundred times it's you riding him.”

  I look away because I can't stop the tears.

  “I just don't get why you'd do it,” Gina says. “I know we were all mad at Bridget, but come on. And you're with Trevor. Now you're just sleeping with everyone.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “The only person I've ever had sex with in my whole life is Trevor. That's it. The only one.”

  “Then explain the video,” Gina says.

  I want to. I've never wanted anything as much in my whole life. But I can't.

  “I can't,” I say.

  Gina laughs and shakes her head. “Well, alright then. Look. I know what I saw. I won't be able to unsee it. What you did was...awful. Because you did it to Bridget and with that ogre. I don't know if you were drunk or if I just read you wrong or what, but I just sat in my room last night and couldn't believe it.” She stares at me. “And I don't want to be friends with anyone who'd do that shit to someone.”

  “Me either,” Maddie says.

  They walk past me, leaving me alone in the parking lot.

  FORTY FOUR

  I'm standing at my locker, trying to get the tears to stop, when I heard the footsteps behind me. A bubble of fear rises up inside of me, not knowing who is standing there or what they're going to say to me. I'm thinking that I should've stayed home after all.

  Finally, I turn around.

  Trevor is looking at me.

  Jake and Brett are behind him, looking at me.

  “What the fuck?” Trevor asks.

  “It's not me,” I say.

  He laughs. “Seriously? That's what you're going with here?”

  “It's not me,” I say again.

  “Everyone knows it was you,” Jake says, frowning at me. “Try again.”

  “It's my face,” I say, my voice shaking. “And I know it looks like me. But it's not me.” I look at Trevor. “And fuck you for thinking it's me.”

  “Fuck me?” he says. “You go and fuck the guy that you know I hate the most and now it's fuck me? That's incredible.”

  “It's not me,” I repeat. “I've never touched him. And you should know that.”

  “I know you told me to go hang with the boys on Friday,” he snaps. “I know you were talking with Kane on Friday night. And I know it looks like he got you off pretty good.”

  “It's not me,” I say again, desperate for him to listen to me.

  “What is it then?” Brett asks.

  He's the only one of the three who doesn't look like he wants to kill me.

  “I don't know,” I say. “I just know that it's not me. The picture wasn't me and this isn't me.” I look at Trevor. “I shouldn't have to explain this to you. You know I'd never do this.”

  “All I know is what I see,” Trevor says. “And what I saw was you getting a pretty good ride from Kane Tressle.”

  The words are like razor blades to my heart. He's looking at me like he can't stand the sight of me.

  “What you saw is what someone wanted you to see,” I t
ell him. “I can't explain it and I don't know who did it, but it's not me.”

  “Yeah,” Jake says. “And Santa is super fucking real.”

  “Fuck you,” I snap.

  “Looks like you would,” he says. “But I wouldn't stick my dick anywhere near your nasty snatch after it's been on Tressle.”

  The razor blades cut deeper, sharper. The tears start again.

  Trevor steps closer to me. “I thought you were different. I thought you were the one.”

  I don't say anything, tears falling off my cheeks onto my toes.

  “But you're just like the rest,” he says, his voice lower. “Just like the rest. I'm guessing I wasn't even your first.”

  “Not true,” I whisper. “So not true.”

  “You wouldn't know what true is if it bent you over and took you from behind,” he snarls. “I'm done with you.” He leans in closer. “And you're done here. Remember that. People listen to me here. I'm going to make sure every last person at this school sees that video so they know who you really are. A lying, cheating skank.” He backs up away from me. “Don't text me. Don't call me. And don't look at me. Ever again.”

  I stare at my feet, unable to even meet his gaze.

  “Fucking waste of time,” he mutters.

  He turns to leave and I wait a moment before looking up.

  Both he and Jake are already to the corner of the hall, their backs to me, walking as fast as they can, Jake saying something in his ear.

  Brett is hanging back, just behind them, still looking at me, like he's trying to figure something out.

  I look down again.

  I know I can't go to class.

  I can't gut my way through the day.

  I feel sick to my stomach.

  I have to get away from everyone.

  I look up again to see if Brett is still there.

  But he's gone.

  FORTY FIVE

  I grab my bike and ride home. I call the school and tell them Presley Baxter will be out today because she's not feeling well. I get in my bed and pull the covers over me, shutting my eyes, trying to make it all go away.

  But it won't go away.