He's A Monster

Slut

Danielle's perspective (POV)

"You dirty little slut. You probably let the monster fuck you."

My eyes widened, heat draining from my face. Karen's voice dripped disgust, each word slapping me across the skin. Her eyes scanning the clothes I wore, granted they were Marshals and his boxers.

"I told you...he was giving me a ride home when the car screwed up," I snapped, pushing myself up from the chair beside her.

"Yeah. Guess the car wreck wasn't bad enough."

My heart stuttered. "I never told you we got in a wreck..."

Karen just giggled, twirling a perfect strand of her blonde hair. "Oh, silly me. Just a guess."

God, what a bitch.

I slung the strap of my bag over my shoulder, eyes dropping to the white tile floor. Whispers rippled around me, each one sharper than nails.

"Do you think she fucked him?"
"Look at her."
"Always knew she was a freak."

The strap cut into my shoulder as I yanked it tighter. My sneakers carried me down the hall, insults following like a trail of neon lights. Might as well put up a sign: Not welcome here.

"Look at the slut."
"Did he feel good?"
"Is he rough?"
"Oh-em-gee, she's such a dirty slut."

Three days ago, I was invisible. Now, I was the school whore. Love high school. Note the sarcasm.

"Won't let me in, but you let him? Dirty whore."

I froze. A husky blond guy blocked my path, his smug grin shining from his perfectly pressed prep-school face.

"Are you ignoring me, freak fucker?" His dark eyes bored into me.

My nails dug into my shoulder, clutching the strap. His expression faltered, the grin slipping. His pupils widened like someone had cut the light. He took a step back, face pale.

"D--"

"Oh, dear god!"

I spun around, heart slamming against my ribs. There he was. Marshal. Leaned in the doorway, smirking like always. Smirk. Breathe. Smirk. Scare everyone half to death. Smirk. Look hot while doing it.

God, was that the only thing he knew how to do?

It was the first time I'd seen him all day. He slouched a little, lowering himself just enough to catch my gaze. Me, pocket-sized. Him, skyscraper. Okay...maybe not that tall, but close.

"I thought you were ignoring me," I whispered, voice softer than I meant.

"You look absolutely ravishing in my shirt and boxers." His smirk deepened. Was that a joke? Great, a subject change after knocking out the guy.

"I didn't exactly plan on staying at your place..."

"I was serious."

"Oh..." My cheeks burned.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

We walked side by side, the hallway going silent except for the weight of everyone's eyes crawling over us.

"I heard what they're saying about you. About us." His hand wrapped around my wrist, tugging me through the doors before I could protest. Heat rushed through me at his touch, tingling, burning.

"Just rumors," I muttered.

He let go quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into this."

"It's... fine."

"I'll make it up to you."

Outside, on the school steps, the breeze teased the hem of his button-up shirt I wore, brushing against my thighs. I bit my lip, shivering at the ghost of his scent.

"Remember the first time I saw you?"

His hands slid into his pockets. "Yes. I could ne--"

"Meet me there. Tonight. Eleven."

I left him standing in the crowd, still and waiting, like a shadow carved against the chaos.

By the time I reached home, the bell had rung and the streets were already clearing. I almost made it inside unnoticed until my mom tilted her head at me.

"Did you have a good day--oh? Whose clothes are those, honey?"

"Marshal's," I mumbled, one foot on the stair.

Her smile widened, too bright. "Oh! Well... were you safe?"

"Mom...we didn't do anything, okay? Just talked."

She clapped her hands together. "Well, be safe when you do."

I groaned. Sometimes I swear she wanted me to lose it. I bolted upstairs, straight into the bathroom. The mirror caught me: messy bun, strands stuck to my cheek, Marshal's shirt hanging loose on my frame. I ran a hand over the fabric, lips curving despite myself.

"Still smells like you, Marshal," I whispered.

I flicked off the light, retreating to my room, heart racing with the thought of midnight.

"Tonight's going to be perfect."

Neither can I, Miss Danielle.