Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 25

Few days laters

The red liquid some kind of cheap, sticky fruit punch or food coloring mixed with corn syrup—dripped from my chin in slow, humiliating beads. It soaked through my shirt in uneven patches, turning the white cotton a sickly magenta. The hallway smelled sweet and chemical, like a carnival gone wrong. Phones were already up, red recording lights blinking like accusatory eyes. I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, shame and rage twisting together until I couldn't tell which was winning.

Billie leaned one shoulder against the open locker door next to mine, arms crossed loose, that devilish little smirk curling her lips like she'd rehearsed it in the mirror.

"What happened to you, bae?" she asked, voice dripping fake concern.

I gripped the locker edge until my knuckles ached white. "I don't know. You tell me"

Her brows lifted in mock innocence. "Me? Why would I do something like that?"

"Because no one else would waste their time humiliating me in front of half the school just to get a reaction" I slammed the locker shut hard enough that the bang echoed down the corridor. A few strands of her hair whipped across her face. She blew them away with a soft "Oof," then smiled wider.

"Mmm. I like when you get mad. It's hot. You know I'd let you top me again if you kept that energy, love"

The words landed like a slap half tease, half promise and my stomach flipped despite everything. Butterflies. Still. Even now. I glanced around quick, checking faces, checking phones. Too many people still filming. My anxiety spiked sharp and cold; I could already picture the clips circulating, the comments, the whispers tomorrow.

"Billie" I said, forcing my voice steady even though it wanted to crack. "I don't know what game this is supposed to be, but stop. Act like an adult for once. Take what I said seriously. I'm tired. I want peace. I don't want to keep doing this with you"

Her smirk faltered—just for a second—replaced by something raw and disappointed. Then it hardened again.

"Sad. You're boring, you know that? This was just the warm-up and you're already tapping out? I thought you'd at least shove me against the lockers, throw a punch, give everyone a show. They love that shit" She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her cologne over the sticky sweetness on my skin. Her voice dropped. "And don't act like you deserve peace after you broken mine"

She leaned in like she might kiss me lips hovering, breath warm then pulled back and raised her voice just enough for the phones to catch it.

"Why can't I hurt you back? Fair's fair, right?"

Her shoulder bumped mine as she passed—deliberate, casual, like I was nothing. I stood there frozen while the crowd murmured and filmed and stared.

Then I ran.

The bathroom door slammed behind me. I locked it, threw my bag against the tile so hard the zipper split a seam. Mirror showed a girl I barely recognized: hair plastered to her forehead, red streaks down her cheeks like cheap horror makeup, eyes glassy and furious. Disgusting. Pathetic.

I turned the faucet to scalding and scrubbed—face, neck, arms until my skin burned pink and most of the sticky mess rinsed away. Paper towels smeared the rest; my shirt was ruined, stains setting deeper with every wipe. I threw the wad into the trash and pressed my palms to my eyes.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck"

My back hit the wall. I slid down until my ass met cold floor, knees pulled to my chest.

"You're such a dumbass, Anna" I whispered to the empty room. "How do you let her do this? You should've—ugh, god"

Knock-knock-knock.