The hallway felt too small, too confined, like the walls were closing in after Coach's lecture. My knuckles itched with the need to hit something, to release the pressure building beneath my skin.
"Marcus!" Stacey's voice cut through my dark thoughts like a knife through butter.
Her perfectly manicured hands found my chest, and she pressed herself against me with practiced familiarity.
"You look tense," she purred, her fingers trailing down my arm. "I heard something funny that might cheer you up." Her lips curved into a cruel smile. "My new stepsister? I heard her snoring last night. Sounded exactly like a pig squealing."
The image hit something ugly inside me, and I felt my lips twist into a smirk. Stacey knew exactly how to play me, knew which buttons to push to draw out the darkness that was planted in my bones.
Maybe that's why I kept coming back to her – she never expected me to be better than what I was.
"Want to help me forget about this shitty morning later?" I murmured, already knowing her answer. Her eyes lit up with victory as she led me to our class.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs under the desk as my teammates and Stacey’s cheerleader friends filled the room, their laughter and jokes bouncing around me.
"Man, remember last summer?" Roy grinned. "That bonfire on the beach? The one where Marcus and Stacey—"
"Ohhh, yeah," Tristan cut in, smirking as he leaned forward. "The one where Marcus and Stacey disappeared for, what? An hour? Two?"
The group erupted into knowing whistles.
I shook my head. "Y’all need new stories." But Stacey just leaned in, resting her chin on her palm, eyes locked onto me.
"You remember, don’t you?" she murmured, voice just low enough for me to hear. "That night?"
Yeah, I did. I remembered how easy things had felt before everything became a fight—for the championship, for my scholarship, for my future. Before I realized Stacey’s love wasn’t love at all. It was possession.
She was always jealous. Always checking my phone, picking fights with any girl who so much as looked at me. I’d barely talked to a waitress once, and she’d spent the whole ride home raging about how I "disrespected her." God forbid a teammate’s sister asked me for notes—she’d nearly lost her mind over that.
So, yeah. I’d ended things. Didn’t stop us from falling back into old habits though.
Like last night. Like every time no one was looking.
Her smirk was slow, deliberate, her fingers barely grazing my thigh. "If you say so, baby."
I exhaled, shifting away. Not happening. I wasn’t letting her drag me back into something I didn’t want. I wasn’t getting dragged back into her mess.
"Ancient history," I muttered, already looking away.
She didn’t believe me. I could see it in her eyes. She thought she still had a grip on me.
She was wrong. I wasn’t interested in anything that would screw up my focus. And I had bigger things to worry about.
I ran a hand over my face, barely paying attention as the guys kept talking, as the girls giggled about their latest drama.
The classroom door creaked open one last time, and Betty slipped in, her eyes downcast like she was trying to make herself invisible.
Everything about her screamed weakness – the way she hunched her shoulders, the nervous glances around the room, the hesitation in her steps as she realized the only empty seat was in the front row.
"This is going to be fun," Jade whispered from behind me, and I could hear the malice in her voice.
"We have a new student joining us today," the professor announced, gesturing toward Betty. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"
Betty stood slowly, her hands visibly trembling. The sight of her vulnerability triggered something dark inside me, something that needed to lash out, to prove I wasn't weak like her.
The first oink came from somewhere to my left. Then another. And another. Soon our whole corner was filled with barely suppressed snorts and squeals. I joined in, the sound feeling bitter on my tongue, but I couldn't stop.
Couldn't show that it bothered me.
"That's enough!" The professor's voice cracked through the room like a whip. "Grow up. All of you. If you’re not mature enough to be here, the door is right there."
Betty had sunk back into her chair, her face burning red, but she didn't say a word. Didn't fight back. Just took it, like a punching bag designed to absorb hits.
She really was pathetic, letting the teacher fight her battles. She was everything I had been taught to despise – soft, vulnerable, unable to defend herself.
Stacey's hand found mine under the desk, her smile sharp with approval. She thought she knew me, thought she understood the darkness that drove me. But as I watched Betty's shoulders shake slightly with suppressed tears, I wasn't so sure anymore.