Never His Girl: Dark High School Bully Romance (Kings of Cypress Pointe Book 2)

@QweenPandora: Me again, lovelies! Still no word from NewGirl, but my sources say she was last spotted riding off into the sunset, following yesterday’s fiasco. Rumor has it, her knight in shining armor was none other than the mysterious cutie who has us all contemplating a move to the south side, SeXyBeAsT.

Maybe NewGirl has plans to test out a theory. The one about getting under someone new to get over someone from the past. Or, ya know, someone who released a sex tape where you’re the star.

What? Too soon?

Well, let’s take a moment to mourn the death of the KingMidas/NewGirl union. No way they’ll survive this. Not only did we all witness NewGirl getting the boot only moments after giving up the goods, but having your naughty bits plastered all over the web isn’t great for building a solid foundation.

Then again, I’m no relationship expert. I suppose only time will tell what’ll happen when all is said and done.

Later, Peeps.

—P

BLUE

It’s never-ending.

The insults. The hate they eagerly plaster wherever they can, for all to see.

And out of everything that’s gone on, the worst part is that they’re not just coming for me. A pack of venomous teens from South Cypress High—girls and guys—have made a target out of Scar, too.

I haven’t even had the courage to call her myself. Instead, I settle for check-ins with Jules every few hours, making sure Scar’s holding up okay. Every time, the report is the same: that she’s perfectly fine and is more worried about me than anything.

I bury my face in the pillow when my eyes need a break from the phone screen. Shame—my closest companion—curls up beside me, never letting me forget that it will always be there, no matter what I do.

The thoughts that must have gone through Scar’s head when she saw the video. After walking in on her with Shane, I made it so clear that we had to be careful who we let get that close to us. Turns out I should’ve taken my own damn advice.

I’m such an idiot.

Now, I’ve officially been labeled Cypress Prep’s whore. No, I’m not West’s first conquest, but I’m the first who let it get filmed and then leaked for the world to see. I’m also the first to, publicly, get kicked to the curb right after.

Pride is a funny thing, because I think that’s the part of me that hurts the worst. It’s not so much that the video is out there, but that West and I are clearly not facing this as a united front.

I’m alone.

My eyes drift back to the screen, and I’m not surprised by the list of new comments that have flooded in, a myriad of nasty names and taunts. None of which are aimed at West. Just me.

“You gonna put that shit down yet? You’ll drive yourself crazy, B.”

An exasperated huff when the other bed creaks behind me is proof of Ricky’s frustration, but I don’t turn to see his stern glare. Still, I feel it. It’s the same one he’s been giving me the past two hours as I pour through the shitstorm on social media.

Am I aware of how unhealthy it is? Sure, but I can’t turn away. It’s not every day a person gets to observe what the world thinks of them in real time. Not every day someone gets to read the unfiltered thoughts and opinions of their peers as they spill out onto their platform of choice.

The consensus is in, and it’s crystal clear. They think I’m a slut and an idiot for letting this happen to me. Apparently, sleeping with a guy who then kicks you out within seconds of it being over doesn’t do a whole lot for a girl’s reputation. Humiliated doesn’t even begin to touch what I’m feeling. There’s so much more than that.

Hurt.

Furious.

Disgusted with myself.

What got me through the night was fantasizing about the many ways I could kill West Golden. I settled on genital mutilation, bringing the torture session to a close with him bleeding out alone in a dark room, regretting that he ever crossed me.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jules. I read the message that pops up before swiping it out of sight. She wants me to call, but I can’t. Not yet.

For some reason, the only person I can stomach even looking at me right now is Ricky. He’s never one to judge, which reminds me of how I haven’t always afforded him that same luxury over the past few months. He showed up without a single question and had been holed up in this seedy motel room with me for a little more than twenty-four hours.

Not sure what I would’ve done without him.

‘What West did sucks, but you don’t have to hide from me,’ is Jules’ next text. ‘Remember that time I made out with that guy at Marie’s party? Only to find out he’s kind of my cousin? If I survived that, you’ll get through this, BJ. Trust me.”

I hate that she’s managed to make me smile. It feels undeserved, like all I should be doing right now is beating myself up for being so, so stupid. I’d been perfectly fine wallowing in self-pity before this.

‘Soon’, I promise her. ‘I just need a minute to clear my head.’

‘Fair enough, but call me as soon as you feel up to it.’

‘Of course.’

Ricky’s bed creaks again and I lower my phone, turning to face him. Both his arms are folded behind his head while he stares at the ceiling. The way he’s working his jaw makes it even clearer he’s not himself. Hasn’t been since he showed up. He stepped in to save me from the whispers, the pointing, the laughter at my expense, but it isn’t lost on me that seeing the video affects him differently than others.

Once upon a time, I was his. Which is why I know him to be a fierce protector. Like, the kind who once broke a guy’s nose for groping me at a party when he thought Ricky wasn’t paying attention. His temper is like nothing I’ve seen before, which is why I’m willing to bet he saw red the entire drive out to this place. Some of that may have been fueled by ego—the sting of seeing me with someone else—but it’s more than that. He cares, and he also knows I’m hurt.

Bad this time.

His phone chimes and he glares at the screen through the darkness. It’s gone off about fifty times tonight and I don’t have to guess who’s hawking him.

“Sorry I dragged you out here. I know Paul’s probably pissed you left,” I say quietly.

I see his silhouette, outlined in pale, fluorescent light filtering in from the bulb over the walkway outside our room’s window.

“It’s fine. I just left some things undone, now he’s all up my ass about it. Things have been … busy.”

Busy.

I know what that means, and it makes my heart skip a beat. It means he’s been out on the streets more, doing his uncle’s bidding, putting himself in danger. I knew as much when he took off his shirt before going into the bathroom to shower last night. Not only was there a gun visible, tucked into the back of his jeans, but there was also a new-to-me tattoo on his back. With its bold colors and pristine artwork, I found the depiction of a skull clutching a bloody rose in its teeth both beautiful and tragic. Above the image, words I’d seen and heard before.

‘Justicia en la vida. Justicia en la muerte’.

Justice in life. Justice in death—the maxim upheld by those entangled in his family’s “business”.

Seeing it there, forever marking his skin, it became clear how much deeper he’s gotten involved since we were involved. How much harder it would be for him to get out, if I thought it possible at all.

I decide not to speak on what he’s just shared about his uncle. It’ll only end in an argument, and I don’t have the energy. Instead, I lie still and quiet, trying to convince myself this nightmare of a life isn’t real.

Mike isn’t a raging alcoholic.

Mom didn’t run away and forget about me and Scar.

Hunter isn’t locked up.

Ricky isn’t headed down that same path.

And I didn’t just make even more of a mess of my life.

When will I wake up? When will the bad dream end?

“Not gonna happen.”

I’m startled when Ricky utters those three words, seeming to answer the question I hadn’t said out loud. Then, I realize he’s on a call.

“I understood the first time you said it, and I already told you, I’m not worried.”

Before I can catch the gist of what the conversation is about, it’s over.

“Paul again?” I ask.

There’s a long sigh before Ricky answers. “Who else?”

For a second, guilt sets in. After all, he dropped everything to be here with me. But then I remember what it is I pulled him away from, and I don’t feel so bad about it anymore. At least with him here, I know he’s safe.

The silence between us grows long, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It does, however, leave me curious about what’s been said online while I wasn’t glued to my phone these last few minutes.

Just before I give in and check…

“We haven’t talked about it,” Ricky says.

It only takes a second to know he’s referring to the video and everything that’s followed.

“There isn’t much to talk about. I went against my gut feeling, let my guard down, now I’m paying for it. Plain and simple,” I answer.

I see him staring up at the textured stucco above, expressionless.

“Last time it came up, you said you two weren’t involved. Guess you changed your mind.” His tone is stoic, but not at all judgmental.

There’s no clear-cut way to explain, but what I know for certain is that I screwed up. Royally. I should’ve been smarter, should’ve known better.

So, I draw a response from that place.

“West was a mistake waiting to happen, from day one. Now, I know what the universe was trying to protect me from, but stupid me didn’t listen.”

“You’re not stupid. We all do shit we wish we could take back.”

I feel him so hard on that one. Only, my list is filled with things that were easily avoidable had it not been for my inherited impulsivity.

Thanks, Mom.

“I can’t stop thinking about how I let him get inside my head,” I admit. “After everything he did, I still let him in.”

Just saying those words relights the fire within me. Not that it had gone out, but I had managed to mostly keep it in check.

I’d been West’s verbal punching bag for months, holding my tongue because I feared the aftermath I’d face if I pushed back too hard. Then, I somehow let him convince me he’s human, and that beneath all that broody alpha B.S. he has a heart.

So, so stupid.

“I want him to hurt. Like he hurt me.”

The sound of my voice has me uncomfortable, because I honestly don’t even know where that just came from. It’s like my emotions just took shape, became words, and then left my mouth.

I feel Ricky’s gaze land on me again and I’m breathing heavy. “You don’t mean that,” he says back.

Only, I do. I do mean that.

“He deserves it.”

“Never said he didn’t,” Ricky’s quick to counter. “You know I’m with you on that part. I’m just saying, revenge is a slippery slope. Trust me.”

Before, that would’ve mattered to me, but very little matters right now. I’ve never felt so violated, dirty. West did that.

Here come the tears again and I’m sick of crying. It doesn’t fix anything, but regardless, I can’t seem to stop.

Ricky stands and my gaze follows as he circles to the other side of my bed. Then, the mattress creaks and dips beneath his weight. The feel of his warmth against me a second later has my eyes falling closed from the familiarity of it. His heat burns away the loneliness just a little.

Always has.

“You’re better than him. Better than most of us,” he insists. “Dirty shit like revenge is more my style.”

I laugh at the joke and settle against him more when his arm slips around my waist.

“It’s never too late to learn new tricks,” I say back.

“Nah, you’re one of the good ones. Don’t let one asshole’s mistake change you.” He’s quiet and I feel the weight of his stare again. “Well … two assholes’ mistakes.”

I know he’s talking about himself, know he’s referring to how his lifestyle ultimately proved to be the death of us.

Without much thought going into the action, I place my hand on top of his, where it rests on my stomach.

“You always know what to say. Why is that?”

He chuckles softly and his breath moves strands of my hair across my neck, and then comes the spinetingling chill.

“Just saying what’s true,” he concludes.

I consider that, whether his words are true universally, or just from his perspective. I’ve never considered myself to be ‘one of the good ones’, mostly because I don’t exactly come from good stock.

An apple never falls far from the tree, right?

“Get some sleep,” he says quietly, easing my phone from where it’s locked in my fingers.

His weight covers me for a moment when he reaches across to place it on the nightstand and everything about him sends my mind into nostalgia overdrive. His scent, the feel of him.

We were good together once and I can’t make myself forget that, even with all the effort I’ve put forth.

He settles behind me again and I feel something I’ve lacked for a while now. Since Mom bailed, since Hunter was taken away.

Peace.

And … I missed this.

“Sleep,” he says again, just before yawning.

I lift my head when his arm replaces my pillow, and I already feel myself relaxing. Guess I needed this, needed him.

“Thank you for showing up,” I breathe against his skin. “Not many people do that for me.”

A soft kiss to the back of my shoulder comes before words, a declaration I would’ve known even if he never said it.

“I’ll always show up for you.”