Cruel Intentions : A High School Bully Romance (Eastern High Series Book 1)

The text has been sitting there since last night, staring back at me every time I unlock my phone.

I’ve read it at least a hundred times. Each word feels heavy, as if designed to fuck with my head. Not because I don’t know what to say, but because I don’t know how I feel about saying anything at all.

Do I even want to hear what she has to say?

Part of me wants to delete the text and pretend it never existed. But then there’s the other part. The stupid, fucked-up part of me that needs answers.

I sit on the edge of Noah’s bed, my phone clutched in my hand, staring at the message like it might change if I just look hard enough. The words blur the longer I focus on them, my thumb hovering over the screen. But I can’t bring myself to type a single thing.

The door creaks open, and Noah steps in, fresh from the shower, his hair damp and messy, a towel slung low on his hips.

His eyes find mine instantly, narrowing when he spots the phone in my hand.

“Still haven’t responded?” he asks, his voice careful but clipped.

I shake my head, looking down at the phone like it’s some kind of bomb about to go off. “I don’t know if I should.”

He exhales sharply, the sound tight and sharp, then grabs a pair of jeans.

“It’s your mom, Aubrey. I get it. But you know how she is. Unpredictable. In and out of your life whenever it suits her.”

“I know,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “But… what if this time is different?”

He freezes for a second, his hand still on the shirt he’s picked up.

When he turns to face me, his jaw is tight, his eyes darker than usual. “And what if it’s not? What if she says all the right things, makes you believe it, and then fucks off again? What happens to you then?”

I can hear the pain woven through his words.

This isn’t just about me—it’s about him too. He’s lived this cycle with me, watched it break me more times than I can count. And now I’m dragging him into it again.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “But she’s my mom, Noah. I have to try, don’t I?”

His shoulders sag, his frustration melting into something softer, something I don’t deserve. He steps toward me, sitting down beside me on the bed. His hand brushes against mine, grounding me. “Just… don’t let her hurt you again, Aubrey. I can’t fucking stand to see you like that.”

“I know,” I say, forcing a small smile for his sake. I don’t know if I’m trying to reassure him or myself.

He studies me for a moment longer, his gaze soft but unreadable, before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss to the top of my head. His lips linger there, warm and steady, and I close my eyes, holding onto the fleeting comfort. Then, with a quiet sigh, he pulls back.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Without another word, he turns and heads for the door, leaving me alone in the room.

I stare down at the phone in my hand, the text glowing on the screen like a taunt. I read it again, letting the words burrow deeper, twisting something sharp and raw inside me.

Taking a deep breath, I start typing.

My heart pounds, heavy and erratic, as I stare at the message, my finger hovering over the send button like it has the power to hurt me.

Every instinct screams at me to delete it, to shove this mess into some dark corner and pretend it never existed.

But I can’t.

With a sharp inhale, I hit send before I can second-guess myself. My hand trembles as the weight of what I’ve just done settles in, cold and unrelenting.

The message delivers, the screen staring back at me, unfeeling and final. I let out a shaky breath and toss the phone onto the bed, like putting distance between us will somehow make it all easier. But it doesn’t. The heaviness stays, gnawing at the edges of my resolve.

And now, all I can do is wait. Wait and pray I haven’t made the biggest fucking mistake of my life.

The soft ping of a notification cuts through the silence, sharp and jarring.

My stomach lurches as I snatch the phone back, my hands shaking as I unlock the screen. There it is—her reply, clear and undeniable.

Of course, it’s today. Of fucking course. She can’t wait—can’t give me time to think or breathe. When it’s about her, it’s always urgent, always immediate, as if the world revolves around her schedule.

I read the text again, the words blurring as heat rises to my face, anger boiling beneath the surface.

I think back to all those months ago—to the nights I sat in the corner of my dad’s house, broken and desperate, tears streaming down my face as I reached out to her. Begging. Pleading. Crying into the void for her to care, to notice, to fucking say anything. To actually give a shit about me.

But she didn’t.

Not a single fucking word. Just silence. Cold, empty, deafening silence. Like I wasn’t worth even a half-assed response. Like I didn’t fucking matter.

And now, she expects me to show up. Just like that. Now she’s got something “important” to say. It’s such bullshit.

The selfishness of it—it’s so fucking her, and it cuts deeper than I’ll ever admit out loud.

She’s always been like this. Picking and choosing when to give a shit, when to show up, when it benefits her, when it makes her feel better about herself. It’s never about me. Never has been. It’s always about her. Always.

I clutch the phone so hard my knuckles ache, the urge to hurl it across the room burning in my chest. But what would that solve? She’d still be her, and I’d still be the one standing here, drowning in this endless, hollow ache, trying to figure out why I even give a damn.

I start pacing, my thoughts spiraling into darker and darker places.

Part of me wants to call her out, scream into the void, and tell her to fuck off, make her feel even a fraction of what I’ve felt these last few months. To remind her that she’s the one who left, the one who made me feel like I was nothing.

I stop in my tracks, glaring down at the phone like it’s the root of all this pain, the text carved into my mind like a scar. “Why now?” I mutter under my breath, the words trembling with rage. “Why the fuck now?”

Leaving my phone behind, I head off to find Noah.

The midday sun is blinding and hot, beating down relentlessly and shimmering off every surface. Noah is in the middle of the back yard, slouched in one of the old chairs by the firepit, his phone in hand. His cap is pushed back, the sharp angle of his jaw tight with tension.

I clear my throat, and his eyes flick up, meeting mine.

“Hey,” he says casually, but I can see it—the concern etched into his brow, the way his gaze sharpens. He knows something’s up. He always does.

“I’m going to see her,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. I try to sound sure of myself, but it comes out shaky and small. “This afternoon. She wants to meet up.”

For a moment, Noah doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. His expression doesn’t change, but I see it—the flicker of hurt that flashes in his eyes before he reins it in, masking it with calm.

He stands, slipping his phone into his pocket and stepping closer, his movements slow and deliberate. He’s not angry, not disappointed—just resigned. Like he knew this was coming and hates every second of it.

He exhales, the sound heavy and measured, before finally speaking.

“Whatever you decide, Aub,” he says, his voice low but steady, “just know… it doesn’t change anything for me. I’ll always fucking love you.”

The lump in my throat grows unbearable, tears pricking at my eyes as his hand reaches up to cup my face. His thumb brushes against my cheek, a soft, grounding touch that almost makes me fall apart.

Then he kisses me.

It’s tender and slow, but there’s a weight to it, something unspoken and final, like a promise he’s afraid to make. Like he’s letting me go, even though it’s killing him.

It feels like goodbye.

The realization hits me, sharp and unforgiving, leaving me stripped bare. My chest aches with a rawness I can’t explain, like something vital has been ripped away.

“Noah,” I whisper, the word barely escaping my lips, trembling under the weight of everything I can’t bring myself to say.

His hand lingers on my face, warm and steady, in a way that only makes the pain worse.

But then he steps back. His jaw tightens, his movements stiff, every step like it’s costing him something he doesn’t have to give.

And then he’s gone.

I stand there, frozen in place, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter.

The world around me is quiet, unnervingly so, until the muffled sound of a car door closing breaks the stillness.

My head snaps up, panic surging through me. I run to the side of the house just in time to see him backing out of the driveway.

“Noah!” I call out, my voice cracking, desperation spilling out of me.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even glance in my direction.

The engine growls as the car picks up speed, pulling away. I break into a sprint, my feet pounding against the pavement, the burn in my chest intensifying with every step.

“Noah!” I scream, the sound ripping from me, but it’s useless. He’s already gone, his car shrinking into the distance until it vanishes entirely, swallowed by the horizon.

I stop, gasping for breath, the emptiness inside me expanding until it feels unbearable.

He’s gone. And it feels like he’s taken the last piece of me with him.

The coffee shop hums with quiet conversation, but it feels like the noise is muffled, like the world knows there’s a storm brewing inside me. My mom sits at a small table near the window, her hands clasped tightly around a mug. She looks smaller than I remember—fragile almost—but still the same.

It’s only been three months since she left me at my dad’s and walked away, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Like years of anger and hurt have been condensed into every second since she left.

Her eyes find mine as I step through the door, and she forces a soft, hesitant smile.

Like that’s going to fix everything. Like that smile could erase all the pain, all the betrayal. Like I’m supposed to just forget how she abandoned me.

“Aubrey,” she says, standing up, her arms twitching like she’s about to pull me into some big, heartfelt hug.

But I don’t move.

I stay rooted where I am, crossing my arms over my chest and stopping a good few feet away. The message is clear: she doesn’t get that from me anymore.

Her hopeful smile falters, the light in her eyes dimming as she slowly sits back down. Her fingers tighten around the mug, twisting it like she’s searching for something to hold onto, something steady in the storm she created.

“What do you want?” I say, my voice flat, cold, cutting through the quiet like a blade. No softness, no warmth. Just the raw edge of all the shit I’ve been carrying.

I see it land exactly the way I want it to, see the flinch, the way her shoulders jerk slightly, like I’ve hit a nerve.

Good. She deserves to feel that sting.

She takes a deep breath, her gaze dropping to the coffee cup in front of her as if the right words are hidden somewhere in its depths. But it’s too fucking late for that.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice trembling. “I made a mistake—”

“A mistake?” I cut her off, my voice rising just enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby tables. “You call what you did a fucking mistake? You knew what he was like, and yet you still left me there so you could go play house with your asshole boyfriend. You left me, Mom. You dumped me at Dad’s place, knowing exactly how he is, all so you could shack up with some cockhead who promised you the world. That’s not a mistake—that’s a choice. You chose him over me.”

Her face crumples, tears welling in her eyes, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to ease the knot in my chest. If anything, it twists tighter, stoking the anger simmering just below the surface.

She looks down at her hands, twisting them like she’s trying to wring the guilt out of her own skin. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, barely audible over the clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversations around us.

“I thought he was the one,” she says, shame thick and heavy in her words. “I thought he was going to give me the life I always wanted.”

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “The life you wanted. What about me? Did I factor into that perfect little life of yours, or was I just some inconvenience? Leaving me with Dad—who, let’s not forget, drinks himself into a fucking rage most nights—was an improvement compared to me hindering your freedom?”

Her shoulders shake as she struggles to hold back her sobs, her breath hitching with each broken attempt. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” she says, her voice trembling as a stray tear slides down her face. “I thought he was what I needed. But I was wrong, Aubrey. I was so wrong.”

“No shit,” I snap, my voice sharp as the anger bubbling finally boils over.

Her lips quiver, and her voice cracks as she continues. “I thought he loved me. I thought he loved us.”

“Us?” The laugh that escapes is cold, and bitter. “Don’t even try to include me in that shit. There was no us. There was only you and him, and you know it. I was just in the way.” My voice rises. “And how’d that work out for you? Did your knight in shining armor live up to all those shiny promises?”

Her sobs grow louder, and a barista glances our way, hesitating like they might step in. But I don’t care. The words are out now, raw and vicious, years of hurt spilled out onto the tiny coffee shop table between us.

She stares at her hands, now stained with the salty evidence of her grief, wishing the tears could cleanse her regret.

“He cheated on me,” she whispers, her voice cracking under the weight of the confession. “I found him with another woman. He left me.”

“And now what?” I spit, my anger sharp. “Now that he’s out of the picture, you want to come back into my life. You want to play mom again, and act like the last three months didn’t happen? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Her shoulders hunch, as if bracing for a physical blow, her voice a mere whisper as she confesses, “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Aubery,” the words heavy with unspoken regret. “But I’m trying. I’m trying to make things right. I want to go back to how things were,” she says, her voice cracking, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. “I want to be your mom again.”

“You’re not my mom!” I snap, the words like shards of ice, each syllable sharp and cold. “What you did is not something a mother would do. A mother doesn’t pick some asshole over her kid and call it love.”

The anger is a pressure cooker threatening to burst, simmering beneath my skin as I stand there. Her tear-streaked face is almost pitiful; her eyes, red and swollen, search mine desperately for a glimmer of hope. But it doesn’t soften me.

It makes me fucking angrier.

“Why didn’t you text me back?” I demand, my voice rising. “When I needed you. When I told you I had nowhere to live.”

Her face crumples, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

For a moment, she stares, her mouth working soundlessly, as if searching for the right words, her expression a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. Her hands tremble as she wipes at her tear-stained cheeks, her voice barely a whisper as she mumbles a pathetic excuse.

“I thought you’d be okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Okay?” My voice cracks, rising in pitch as fury boils over. ‘That’s your excuse? That’s all you’ve got?”

“I made a mistake, Aubrey” she says again, her voice pleading. “I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know because you didn’t fucking want to,” I cut her off, my chest heaving. “You didn’t care.”

Her sobs grow louder, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, but I don’t let up. She needs to understand she’s the one who broke this, not me.

“I’m happy now,” I state, the words sharp, cutting through the tension between us. I can feel eyes on me, but I don’t care. “I have Noah. I have Ken. They’ve given me more love and stability in these last few months than you ever did. They’re my family now. Not you.”

Her eyes widen, the shock clear on her face, and she stands, the chair screeching over the tiled floor. She reaches out like she’s desperate to close the distance between us. But I step back, putting up the wall she should’ve seen coming long before this moment.

“Aubrey, please,” she pleads, her voice cracking. “I can change. I can—”

“No,” I snap, cutting her off, my voice cold and final. “You don’t get to try now. You don’t get to pretend to be something you’re not. You made your choice. You chose him. And now I’m choosing me. I’m choosing my happiness. So leave. Leave and don’t ever contact me again.”

I turn on my heels, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands shaking as I walk away. The weight of the tears stinging my eyes threatens to break me, but I refuse to look back. I can’t.

“Aubrey!” she calls after me, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please, don’t do this. Please, don’t do this to me, Aubrey.”

I don’t stop.

I don’t look back.

I keep walking, the murmur of her voice blending into the background of the coffee shop as I leave.

I exit the building, each step carrying me further away from the woman who left me behind.

Fuck her and her pathetic excuses. I’m done.