Queen of Nothing

17. Queen of Getting Played

I sat propped against the headboard of my bed, completely numb. My phone lay discarded at my side. I closed the video after I realized who was in it. There was no point when I remembered what happened in vivid detail. That's where it should have stayed — in my memory, and not filmed and uploaded for the whole world to see.

My phone vibrated with another text. I spent a minute debating whether it was worth answering before picking it up with shaking hands. It was Alexis again.

damn girl! good job on that video. and here i was doubting your commitment to our little project. bravo!

Clenching my jaw in fury, I dropped the phone without replying. Right now, Alexis's little project was the last thing on my mind. I didn't even have the energy to clarify that I had no part in the video's distribution.

Another text popped up on the phone's screen. This one was from an unknown number.

wanna use some of those moves on me u lil slut? nice ass

Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I scrolled through my other messages, and saw more of the same nasty, degrading bullshit from numbers without names. Whoever leaked the video also got a hold of my phone number too.

Even though I didn't want to believe it, there was only one person who could have done this. Was I just a shit judge of character, to not see this coming? Was he just playing innocent this whole time — pretending to be shy and awkward and sweet in order to get me to trust him and then humiliate me? God, was Alexis in on it too? Was this some kind of sick Sinclair brat hazing ritual?

My phone vibrated again. And again. And again. Gnashing my teeth, I picked it up and threw it against across the room with all my might. It hit the edge of the dresser, the screen shattering with an audible crack.

I didn't want to cry. I shouldn't be crying. But the tears flowed in spite of my mental protests, heavy and hot. How could this have happened? How could have Tristan done this to me? I liked him. I honest-to-God liked him, for fucks sake! I must be so stupid. Serves me right for letting my guard down, for allowing myself to develop feelings, for opening my heart up to some stupid guy. It figures that he didn't deserve my affection — they never do.

I lay there for what felt like hours, until my anger abated into nothingness and I was stripped raw of all emotion. Nobody back in Richmond would do this to me. Nobody would dare cross the venerable Sabine Ambrose. And if they tried, my revenge would be swift and true. But I wasn't in Richmond anymore. Here, I was nobody. Here, I was powerless.

Except I wasn't.

I sat up, hope flaring in my core. I wasn't powerless. I didn't need the Ambrose name when I was a freaking witch. Witches didn't lock themselves away from the world and cry. Witches get shit done. Witches get revenge. Witches make their enemies pay. At least, this one would.

Reeling from my sudden second wind, I sprung out of bed and immediately proceeded to take a cold shower. Then I put on my war paint — lips the color of blood and eyeliner sharp as a dagger. With my grimoire in my bag, I prepared to go to Daphne's house to learn some new spells. I bet she knew exactly how to get back at the people who've wronged me.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I took a deep breath, put my game face on, and readied myself to take on the world. But when I opened the door, my newfound resolve shattered. Tristan stood there, looking startled.

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" he said frantically.

I looked him up and down, taking a moment to collect myself. He looked worn — gaunt face, disheveled hair, wrinkled clothing — as if he'd rushed here without a single care towards his appearance. Doubt nagged at me. He was here now, he'd tried to contact me. What if that meant I was wrong about him?