Heading home with Maxine, we curse Trace’s name the entire way. Then I hide out in my room, my saving grace. At least in here, I’m calm. I lie on the bed, trying to block out all feelings and emotions.

Maxine enters a while later saying Trace stopped by to explain. Pfft. Explain. Please.

When Hailey entered that bathroom of the country club, I could tell her smarmy smirk and devilish eyes sought me out. It’s like she was on a mission to ruin my life.

However, I never expected anything like this. The whole thing of Trace dating me was because he lost a bet. On the night of the party, right when he’d made a spectacle of himself and pushed all the chips across the table.

I’m an idiot. A complete naïve idiot. Trace doesn’t do girlfriends—he was only fulfilling a bet. Makes sense, but still. I want to scream and punch people. Maybe random people or maybe just Trace. A stupid freaking bet. I hate him. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word, but I dislike him so very much.

Maxine enters the room with a mug of tea. “Here. I made this for you. Would you rather have ice cream?” she asks, handing me the cup.

“No, I don’t want anything.” I take the tea and place it on the nightstand.

“Honey, I know you’re upset,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I huff at her and roll my eyes. “You think?”

“I still can’t believe he used you. I thought he was really into you. I had never seen him act this way with a girl before.”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t have acted any way toward me if he hadn’t been dared to.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Still, I think that boy is twitterpated over you.” She smiles.

I raise my eyebrow. “Twitter-what?”

“You know, from Bambi. He has a crush on you. He raced over here to talk to you.”

“Well, I am never going to talk to him again.” I cross my arms tighter over my chest.

“Fine. I don’t blame you. I’m just saying maybe you should hear him out.”

“No.”

“Okay, well, listen, I have to work tonight. Are you gonna be okay here by yourself?”

“Like, do you mean am I gonna grab a razor and end myself in the tub? No, not hardly. I value myself a little more than that.”

“God, Vanessa, I wasn’t thinking that. I was just thinking are you gonna put on loud angry chick music and write mean poetry about him.” She laughs.

“That sounds more like my speed.” I take a few sips of tea.

“That’s my girl.”

She gets up and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I return the cup of tea to the nightstand and grab my notebook.

Angry girl music and poetry sounds like a great idea, and I grab my pen and write.

Every poem starts out the same way: complaints of a broken heart and a stupid mind. I look at the latest poem-in-progress and crumple the paper.

I listen to the words of Flyleaf blaring through the speakers and think I am so sick. So sick of Trace’s lies—what a great actor to make me believe he cared. He really should go to Hollywood. That way, I would never have to lay eyes on him again.

I head over to my desk and thumb through my poetry project. Each poem is laced with Trace innuendos. Seeing the poems I’ve written about him and their corresponding emotions makes me want to vomit. Every emotion is a mix of happiness and euphoria.

I throw the project onto the bed and decide a nice shower might help calm me. Breathe and relax. In through the mouth, out through the nose, or however that goes.

My comfy pink pants and tee are my outfit of choice, given my mood. Stir crazy and scatter-brained, I pace my room. Trace asked me to be his girlfriend, and I was so happy at the notion. Now, my anger and frustration boil. I keep running through the house, pulling my hands through my wet hair. I know I need to find a way to calm down, but I can’t. My heartbeat picks up, and my face grows flush.

I look at the clock on my phone and see it’s 9 p.m. I’m hoping a snack will do the trick and smooth my pent-up energy.

Eating my food, I call my mother to let her know everything is all right. The last time I talked to her, I filled her with worry by talking about a stalker.

“Hi, Mom,” I say into the phone.

My mother’s voice carries through the phone, and I instantly miss her: her baking delicious treats for me, her constant companionship. Should I move back home? I left home to get away from Eric, just to end up hiding from Trace… No, I won’t run anymore.

She fills me in on Eric’s punishment. He violated the restraining order I had against him. My mother asks me if we want to press charges.

I tell her I will need time to process everything, and she agrees. She tells me his father has a close eye on him and won’t let him out of the house. They are trying to help save him by making him more active in their church. This for him is punishment enough.

I hang up with her, assuring her I will call more often. Then I turn my music up on full volume and immerse myself in writing. I barely hear my phone when it rings.

I grab the phone and answer, “Hello.”

“Nessie, hey, it’s me, Jordan.” He sounds out of breath.

“I know. I saw the caller ID. What’s up? You okay?” I put my pen down and stand up.

“No. I mean yes, I’m okay. Listen, I called Eric to kind of talk to him about everything. Well, he swears up and down that he didn’t attack you in the bathroom.” He says in one long breath.

“Wait? What? Jordan, you’re kind of breaking up.” The phone becomes static, and I can barely make out what he is saying. I pace my room, trying to find a better reception spot where the line will clear up.

“I’m on my way to your house… Ness, I don’t think… There might be someone else trying to hurt…” The line goes dead, and I look to the phone to see the call has dropped. The doorbell rings, and I rush to the front foyer and turn the security system off.

I open the front door and am startled by who I see. I choke up when I see his attire: a black hoodie covering his body. A lump forms in my throat, my jaw clenches, and I blink rapidly. Heartbeat raging in my chest, my legs wobble. I feel rooted to the spot and try to scream, but he muffles it with his hand. I bite down hard on his fingers as the other hand crashes something hard against my head. My knees buckle, and my world turns to darkness.