Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
First, he tried to destroy what was left of Monica’s self-worth, with him and his buddies fucking with her, and now he leaves me with this fucking mess too.
I should’ve never have accepted him into the band.
Now we’re one guy short, and the others will hate me over it, because this ruins any and all chances we had for a successful audition.
And to top it all off, Monica thinks she has to thank me for saving her by sucking my dick.
If that doesn’t prove how much of an asshole I am, I don’t know what else will.
I sigh and slouch down onto the couch, rubbing my forehead.
How the fuck do I solve this mess?
I wish I knew the answers, but I have none, and it pisses me off.
I only have two days to clean up this house too because if my parents come home to this, I’m dead. But there’s no way I’m gonna make this go away on my own. I need help.
I get up and search for my phone, but I can’t fucking find it anywhere. I haven’t actually seen it since yesterday, right before the whole party went to shit. I left it somewhere on a table, but where?
I rummage through the mess and throw everything into the bin I’m holding. Cups, liquor, snacks. Right there, underneath a bag of chips, is my phone.
“Fucking finally,” I grumble, picking it up.
However, when I press the button, I notice the security is not enabled, and I’m able to open everything up without inputting a code.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
Did I do this last night? I can’t fucking remember, but then again, I couldn’t even fucking remember where I left it. Did I drink too much? Maybe. But not as much as the rest … or fucking Michael, that’s for sure.
But then why does this make my skin crawl?
There are twenty missed calls from Tristan and Benjamin too.
Fuck.
I sit down on a chair near the table and message them.
Cole: Sorry, been busy
Tristan: Sure…
Benji: With what?
Cole: Hard to explain
Tristan: Let’s meet up
I sigh to myself. Of course he’d say that. He’s pissed off about last night, but I can’t change what happened. I can’t undo the damage that was done, and I refuse to fucking back down. So if they wanna talk, I’ll talk, but it won’t change a thing.
Cole: Fine, meet me at school practice
Tristan: That’s Monday, I can’t wait that long
Cole: Yeah, well, my parents will kill me if I don’t clean this fucking house, so tough luck
I close the app and grind my teeth, looking for a cleaner online. Once I find one, I send them a message with the pay and hit sent. Pray to the fucking gods that I get help in time because if not, I’m dead.
I throw my head back, wishing I could rip myself a new one. Fuck me, I should’ve never let those guys convince me to let them invite more people to this goddamn not-a-party party. And I should’ve never, ever let Monica inside. Both in the house and my fucking heart.
Because now, both are fucking ruined beyond repair.
Monica
Without even thinking about the trouble I’m going to be in for ditching my mom even though I’m grounded, I go right back to Cole’s home. I don’t care if he doesn’t want me there, he’s gonna have to answer for what he did.
No one else had that picture of me, so it had to have been him.
I march up to the gate and press the buzzer. It takes him a while to answer.
“Hello?”
“It’s Monica. We need to talk,” I growl, looking away from the camera.
He sighs, and then the gate opens for me.
I storm up the property and ring the doorbell, but one second later, he’s opening the door. I don’t give him the chance to talk.
SLAP!
He stands there with a surprised look on his face as I crumple down in front of him.
“You had no right, no fucking right!” I yell, pointing at him.
“What, I don’t—”
“The fucking picture!” I try to keep the tears at bay, but it’s hard, so damn hard when I’m looking at him. I left my heart with him, and he threw it away and stomped on it as though it meant nothing to him. And then he went ahead and shared that damn picture anyway.
“What are you talking about?” He scoffs.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” I growl, and I fish my phone from my pocket and show him the text I received, including the picture. “You did that.”
His eyes widen, and he tries to take my phone from me, but I quickly pull it back.
“You gonna threaten me too now?” I fold my arms.
“No, that’s not—”
“Save it,” I interject. “Who else did you share this with?”
“No one,” he says, frowning.
“Of course.” I don’t fucking believe him. He was the only one who had that picture, and now it’s out there thanks to him. “You’re an asshole,” I say. “A dirty douchebag who used me for his own pleasure. Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself.”