Blythe Tatum expected her freshman year at university to be nerve-wracking, though nothing out of the ordinary. The beginning of her school year starts off as averagely as possible, though Blythe soon finds herself caught up in an unexpected and ine...
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reader discretion: this chapter will contain a ✨ spicy ✨ scene, so please skip if mature themes make you uncomfortable!
Back in my dorm room, I can hardly resist running to the shower and scrubbing my skin raw to rid Jacob's touch from my body.
He'd gotten so drunk over the course of the night that he ended up blacking out at the party, leaving me free to go home. Will had offered for Jacob to sleep over with him, assuring me he'd keep an eye on Jacob throughout the night. It's been nearly impossible not to tell Will what kind of monster Jacob really is, but somehow I'd managed to keep my mouth shut and force a smile, thanking him for looking out for my boyfriend. Will's invitation to watch over Jacob had put a slight dent in my plan of getting him to confess to what he did to Naomi, though I try not to let this irritate me too much. I am determined to get the truth out of Jacob eventually, when the time is right.
Zach lingers by the doorway of my dorm, watching me pace the room back and forth with his arms crossed over his chest and a stony expression painted across his features. He barely said a word on the walk back here from the party, and a shadow seems to loom over him even now. I can't tell who has been left more unsettled by the night—me, or Zach.
"Just say it," I say finally, stopping my erratic movements long enough to hold Zach's stare. "Tell me you think I'm crazy and that you don't understand why I'm doing this. I know that's what you're thinking."
"I hate seeing him touch you," Zach utters coldly, completely ignoring my former statement and taking me off guard with the strange remark. His brooding expression turns dark as he eyes me, shaking his head slowly. "I hate it, Blythe. I can't stand watching him touch you. Kiss you. Whisper to you. I fucking hate it."
I slacken for a moment. I hadn't been expecting Zach to say anything along those lines, and his frustration catches me off guard. I hesitate before saying, "Well, how do you think I feel then?"
"I don't know how you stand it," Zach admits, leaning against the wall behind him. "But I hate watching it."
"I stand it because I have to," I retort simply. "I have to act like everything is normal."
"I don't like it."
"Then don't watch," I snap, mirroring Zach's stance. "No one is making you."
Zach snorts, shaking his head once again. "You're a piece of work, Tatum. This was your plan. I'm doing what you asked me to."
"And you're free to back out," I argue with my hands set on my hips. "I'm not forcing you to do anything."
"So . . . what?" Zach questions, kicking himself off of the wall and strolling over to my direction. He towers over my frame, leaving me feeling small and vulnerable. "I walk away from this and leave you to get hurt? No fucking way."
