Page 53 of Dirty Chorus

I stroll around the pool table, using my cue as a walking stick until I find a ball worthy of my attention.

“I told myself not to catch feelings, but they’re creeping up on me.”

“I’d rather you fuck five groupies at once than jump into the love bullshit.”

There’s that word. I don’t use it. I don’t breathe it. I won't even look up the definition. The remark caused me to hit the white ball too hard, knocking it off the table. Damn it, I scratched it. I can’t breathe as I lean against the wall, snatching the chalk going downtown on my cue. Might as well face it. She’s been cheering since she’s had baby teeth. She’s a good girl. And good girls like her don’t fall for guys like me. I kind of wish she would though and that thought scares me too.

“I really like her.”

Omen places the cue under his chin, staring at me with dark eyes. “Shit dude. No.”

“She’ll come out. Just give her a few minutes.”

“It’s been thirty. I’ll go talk to her.” Omen leans his cue against the wall and walks off.

Chapter 24

Charlie

Brody: Who the fuck were you with at the movie?

Charlie: Get a dictionary. We broke up. We aren’t together. I can hang out with whomever I want.

Brody: No, you can’t. You’re still mine.

Charlie: You need mental help at this point. I’m not your property. We aren’t together, and if I want to date someone else. I will do so. Stop following me around, and driving by my house.

Brody: It would suck for his little record store to burn down.

Charlie: Seriously? Are you making threats now?

Brody: I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.

Charlie: Leave me alone.

Brody: No, I’ll just send the video of you sucking my dick to your cheer coach. Or maybe your new boyfriend. I’m sure he’ll love that.

My fingers rake through my hair, and I’m about to pull out every follicle. I’m wedged between the sink and the toilet. My knees are pressed against my chest. I wiped away tears pooling down my cheeks with the back of my hand so much that my skin is raw. At this point, the only logical thing for anyone to do is to go to the police. But I can’t. It doesn’t even matter if Brody threatened to burn down Noah’s store. The police won’t fix anything. Brody’s dad is the biggest donor to the judges in the county. They favor him and his son.

Mr. Thomas wins every single case.

My mind spins, and I can’t tell if that’s the White Claws resurfacing or my dumb choice of letting Brody love bomb me for months only to take off the costume of the Perfect Boyfriend and become my own personal night stalker.

The clicking of the lock on the door leaves me still like a statue. Footsteps squeak against the floor as Omen kneels down with no emotion on his face and a hand resting over his knee.

“You could knock.”

“It’s my house. Now talk.”

“About what?” I ask.

“Why are you on the floor?” I know this doesn’t look good. A girl sobbing on the bathroom floor. I’m that pathetic, insecure bitch wanting attention. I’ve seen it half a dozen times, but that’s not the case. I don’t want any attention.

“I’m fine.” I dig my nails into my kneecaps.

“Clearly you’re not.” He doesn’t blink. He just bores into my soul with his dark green eyes.

“I just don’t feel good,” I say. Which is partially true.