26. Juliana

TWENTY-SIX

JULIANA

Stop fucking crying!

Urgency crashes into me. Adrenaline and anger and a sadness I'm too weak to admit, as I race down the hallway aimlessly. I swipe a hand across my cheek, flustered when I wipe away tears I already knew were there. But I discard of the evidence, anyway, swiping the mess on my soaked bikini bottoms, feeling a sense of betrayal—

You asked for it, whispers that little devil on my shoulder, who is happy beyond measure, as if he shot the angel off the other. So, so very smug that I'm in such a predicament, having stooped to levels so low, that when I burst through my bathroom door, I hardly recognize the reflection staring back at me in the mirror.

Another sob wrenches my ribcage, but I swallow it back down violently, stubbornly, as if I can wish the feelings away or ignore them completely. Maybe rewind the last hour or two of my life, if I just... breathe... in and out... good, good, like that... in and out... in and—

Sounds like you're reliving it all. In and out? Just like he used his finger to—

SHUT UP! I scream back, my expression in the mirror contorting into that of a deranged murderer. Red eyes, flared nostrils, chest heaving... In response, all I hear is its high-pitched cackle, echoing inside my mind. Overpowering and victorious, like I handed my insecurities a megaphone. Dammit, am I going crazy?

My emotions resurface once more.

Inhale... exhale... inhale... ex—

"Juliana!"

No, no, no, go away, go away, go away...

Inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale—

"Juliana, please!"

When his voice cracks, another sob escapes me, turning my next breath into frantic gasps for air.

What a great actor he is. No, seriously. He's had plenty of time to practice. That sound of brokenness, of desperation. It's all fake. Well-rehearsed, pre-planned, probably after he hung up with that girl, whoever she is. Maybe he even joked around with her, said he just bagged a helpless romantic—a.k.a. a moron, who thought she could play the role of the promiscuous girl, the cool girl, the DTF girl, and come out unscathed.

Then I'm sure he told those tits to wait up for him. Why? Because he's gotta come grovel, to ensure there's a next time. Well, there won't be, but unfortunately for the moron, the damage is already done.

Boohoo, poor, poor Juliana, taunts that little devil. Such a victim, as if you weren't the one who joined him in that hot tub after slipping this little red bikini back on. News flash. You're the one playing games, sweetie. Games with yourself.

It's true. I really must be, but I didn't anticipate how I'd feel afterward. The... contentment. The joy . Truly unexpected. How is it possible that shame didn't overwhelm me? That's what I expected, regardless of the phone incident—wallowing in regret from the act alone. Not crying from deep-seated jealousy or the fact he messes around with other women.

Nonetheless, here I am.

Wanted to get fucked.

Instead, got fucked in the head.

When I hear steps bounding outside, growing louder, another warm tear slips down my cheek. I dash for the bathroom door. My pulse spikes in rhythm to his frantic puffs of breath, until he's seconds from my discovery. "Julianaaaa, please, just come outside and let me—"

The rest of his lie is cut short by me, slamming the door on its hinges, then twisting the lock. His gasp rings from the other side, before he calls my name again, his hand fumbling with the doorknob until—

BANG, BANG, BANG, the knob wiggles some more, followed by a desperate chorus of pleas. And fuck, does he sound sincere, but I entertain none of it as his attempts at trickery fade into the blackness of my mind.

Staring at my reflection, I keep a level head—I really do—until I begin peeling off my bikini. Then the tears flow.

I'm never going to forget what happened, am I? When a man promises to ruin you, is this what he means? Sentencing you to a lifelong cycle of forever comparing your sexual encounters to him, to this one night, knowing none will ever live up to it?

I ponder the idea, almost in horror, as I free my hair from its tie and meander to the shower. A shower so luxurious, it could fit four people easily, and yet, as some of that banging pierces through my mental fog, I find myself wishing I was back in my cruddy apartment.

Turning the handle, water cascades from the waterfall shower head, drowning out the sounds from afar, and coating the room with thick steam.

After what happened, I don't know why my instincts led me here. Sure, I need to clean myself off, lest I sleep like some miserable, shameful mess, but... as I step inside, letting the heat roll down my cheeks, I wonder if they just wanted to blur the distinction between tears and water.

Just as calmness settles over me, those little devils multiply in numbers, their ranks forming a choir I can't escape as they whisper unsettling things between my ears...

Oh, Juliana, when will you ever learn...?

Guess your skin isn't as thick as you thought...

Now you're just another one of his conquests...

What were you expecting...?

You let him steal a piece of you, again...

Again...

Again...

Again...

The word resonates in my mind, replaying on a vicious feedback loop, in tandem with the water beating against my scalp. I let my eyelids fall, watching as those tiny droplets morph into something else. A memory from a different time. Five years ago, to be exact.

Confetti.

"YEAHHHHHH!!!" Jeremy pounds his fists on the table, rattling our fancy silverware. "Woo, woo, woo, w—"

"Shhh!" I hiss below my breath, embarrassment painting my cheeks brighter than a fire engine as little pieces of paper rain over my head, sticking to my clothes and dotting along my acceptance letter to Yale University. "Not so loud!"

"Sorry, Sis." He sounds like a broken record as he retrieves yet another confetti popper from his pocket, ready for the next letter.

"Oh my god, how many of those did you bring?"

"Fourteen. One for every school you applied to."

I shake my head, hiding a smile. "Thanks, Jer. You seriously thought I'd get accepted by all of them?"

"Of course, Miss Valedictorian." He nods proudly, as if he wasn't one himself.

Hiding a smile, I sweep the colorful mess into a neat pile beside our appetizers, then add the letter to one of two stacks—the yesses and the nos. So far, the acceptances are in the lead, with UCLA, Northwestern, Brown, and now Yale, standing taller than the rejections—Stanford and Amherst College.

Sure, the nos hurt, but I wasn't expecting a clean sweep, not after applying to such competitive schools. Still, I'm grateful Jeremy is here for moral support.

Just one year ago, I listened as he recited his Valedictorian speech in front of his entire graduating class, one year ahead of mine—a task I'm petrified to face in the coming months. Then, at the end of that summer, he flew off to Princeton University to study Electrical Engineering. I can vividly recall watching him open his admission letters, one by one, in our living room with our whole family around.

I didn't want that kind of pressure, but I also couldn't handle this alone, so I asked the person who could best relate for support. Luckily, Jeremy's spring break lined up with mine, so he was already visiting home. Although... if I'd known who he was going to invite, I would've reconsidered.

As if I summoned his presence, a man approaches our table. All I need to see are the designer sweatpants and Gucci slides from the corner of my eye to know it's Hayden.

"Shitttt. You're alive." My brother devolves into his macho alter-ego as the two exchange some weird bro handshake.

Hayden takes a seat to my right, across from Jeremy, and removes his sunglasses, revealing a pair of icy-blue eyes I can't hold for more than two seconds. With a groan, he squints at the light, swiping a hand through his disheveled locks.

"Sorry I'm late," he mumbles groggily, to no one in particular.

Jeremy snorts. "No worries. I didn't think you'd be able to crawl out of bed after last night."

"Spring break is wild, isn't it? Well, not as wild as the parties our frat is throwing this week, I'm sure. I'm flying back tonight, so I don't miss another one, which means..." Hayden smirks, reaching for a menu. "I gotta get some breakfast in me."

Breakfast? I tap my phone. But it's four in the afternoon...

Oh, who am I kidding? Hayden's always been a night owl. Or a vampire. Actually, yeah. With looks like those, definitely a vampire—Edward Cullen and Chris Hemsworth's love child, no doubt.

I sneak another peek at Hayden as he gazes down at his menu. Except, that peek quickly morphs into a stare, sweeping across his sharp jawline, sloping down the bridge of his straight nose, and delving between those silky blond lo—

"Okay, what's up next?"

I jolt at the sound of Jeremy's voice.

Dammit, Juliana, quit staring! I scold myself, whipping my gaze elsewhere.

Not for my brother's sake, who wouldn't notice me staring if I'd pulled out a pair of binoculars. Me, having a crush... on a boy... those two things just don't mix in his brain. He's like an overprotective dad with selective eyesight, who still thinks I'm eight years old.

So, no. This whole not staring at my brother's best friend thing—it's something I've been working on. Or trying to work on, more like. Since... I don't even know how long.

Maybe since middle school, when I finally admitted to myself that I had a crush but was too shy to do anything about it. Or perhaps freshman year, when I quickly realized how different I was from Hayden's type, judging by the cheer squad—half of whom he either dated at one point or fooled around with. The intimate details of which I could never escape, not when he visited my brother so often and the wall between our bedrooms is as thin as paper.

To Hayden, I'm like a subtle draft breezing through the room, inconspicuous and overlooked. Just a geeky girl in glasses he grew up alongside. Which is why he's more interested in food than my admission letters.

Still, his presence doesn't make this any easier.

As I pick the next letter, I clear my throat, catching the sole attention of Jeremy. "This one's from U Penn."

"Ohhhhh, maybe you're destined to be a Quaker."

"We'll see, we'll see..." I tear open the envelope, shaking my head when Jeremy starts drum rolling on the table. On the outside, I may appear nonchalant with each letter, but inside, I'm anything but. My stomach's like a bowl of spaghetti dumped into a KitchenAid on high speeds. That is, until I read the first word:

Congratulations!

I release a breath. "I got in."

POP! Confetti blasts across the table, showering me in praise once more, as our silverware rattles like there's an earthquake, water spilling over the rims of our glasses. "WOOOOOOOO—OW-OW-OW!!!!"

"Oh my god, shush!" I shield my face behind a menu, feeling the gazes of those sitting at nearby tables burning right through the paper. "You're gonna get us kicked out!"

Jeremy's laughter bellows through the air, causing Hayden to cringe at its volume. "Oh, we would've been by now, if Hayden's dad didn't own the place."

My jaw goes slack. I look over at Hayden, whose head still buries between a menu, boredom plain on his features. A subtle smirk is his only confirmation.

I shouldn't be surprised. Sometimes, it seems as if Warren Kingston owns half of Manhattan. It's no wonder the staff didn't bat an eye at Hayden's sweatpants. Being the son of a billionaire—it comes with many perks, I've learned throughout the years.

Releasing a steady breath, I select the next letter, sighing as Jeremy digs into his pocket. A pang of disappointment strikes me when Hayden flips to another page.

Jeremy leans over the table eagerly. "Which school is it?" he asks, exactly how an impatient kid pesters his parents with the classic— are we there yet, are we there yet?!

"This one's for Princeton."

Hayden's gaze flicks over the top of his menu, so subtly I almost miss it, before it darts back down. His jaw ticks, and I swear I catch something I've never seen flicker across his features...

Nervousness.

No, no. That can't be right. My eyes are just seeing what they want. That's all.

I shake my head, before my thoughts spiral out of control, take a deep breath—and just rip the damn thing open.

Silence.

"...what is it? What does it say?"

I release a quick breath. "They accepted me."

Noise erupts from our table as Jeremy somehow outdoes all his previous outbursts. The confetti, the woo-woos, the table pounding, all of it and then some, until his commotion dies down, and the strangest thing happens.

I meet Hayden's stare, who's looking directly at me. Like actually looking at me, as if I exist in his world, a minor blip on his radar. "Congratulations." His voice is calm, his expression cool, yet it's enough to stir butterflies in my stomach.

"Thank you," I say shyly.

The rest of the applications carry on like before. Jeremy is overly eager, while Hayden remains a quiet shadow, who's more interested in his menu, his food, and our waitress. As I open each remaining decision, I'm met with a roar of celebration or Jeremy's words of encouragement. You'll get the next one, he says, before I move onto the next.

All in all, most schools accept me, which you'd think would ease some of my tension—if it weren't for the letter I saved for last. Nerves ripple through me, revealing a slight tremor as I grab it.

Jeremy rests a hand on my shoulder. "Whatever happens, it's going to be fine."

"I know," I whisper, my tone unconvincing in my own ears.

Hayden lifts an eyebrow, acknowledging us for the first time in ten minutes. "What's so special about this one?"

"It's her top choice."

Hayden freezes, his hand halting midway through wiping a napkin across his lips. His eyes narrow, speaking with food still in his mouth. "I thought Princeton was."

My stomach flip-flops, so violently I miss the worry dripping from his tone, as I swipe a thumb across the letters on the envelope's front. "Columbia has a better Video Game Design program."

When he doesn't respond, I look up, finding him scarfing down his food again, without a care in the world about what lies inside this envelope. A twinge of disappointment strikes me, but it doesn't stand a chance against the sickness that overcomes me when I stare down the letter.

"Remember, whatever happens, it's meant to be."

I breathe deeply through my nose. He's right. I know he's right. There's no changing the outcome. The rest is up to fate. So, I surrender to it, and with two words, I reshape the trajectory of my future.

"I'm in!"

Mom loops her arms around my middle, hugging me tightly. "I know I've said it twenty times by now, but I'm so proud of you, sweetheart."

Emotions catch in my throat as I hug her back, but I manage to keep them in check. "Thanks, Mom," I say, my voice hardly audible over the music blaring through the hallway from the living room.

"Sorry again about the ruckus. I promise we'll be just as rowdy next week when we throw you a celebration party."

I snort. "I doubt Grandma and Grandpa and the rest of the family can outdo Jeremy and his high school friends."

"I don't knooowww, you'd be surprised," she teases with a chuckle, stepping back. "Well, I'm off to bed, sweetie. Get some rest—if you can."

"Night, Mom."

I watch her walk down our narrow hallway and disappear around a corner, before heading into the bathroom I share with Jeremy, flip on the shower, and crank my speaker to full volume.

Mom's right. It's going to be impossible to fall asleep. Not because of my brother's party, but because of the excitement flooding my veins, like a shot of dopamine straight to my cranium.

But I'll try, nonetheless.

Steam billows from the bathroom on my exit. Wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe, with my damp hair draping behind my shoulders, I hum the beat of my last song on the short trip to my bedroom. When I shut my door, the thumping music softens, just a tad, before I twist around and—

I gasp as my heart nearly catapults from my chest.

My computer chair swivels around toward me, revealing Hayden in his usual attire. Navy chinos, shiny yacht shoes, a short-sleeved pressed polo that shows off his tan arms. He's straight off the front page of a fashion catalog, the spitting image of cocky Manhattan royalty.

Here. In my bedroom.

With shadows churning in his blue eyes.

"H-Hayden? Are you o—"

"So..." His gaze peruses across my tiny room, for perhaps the first time—and maybe the last. "You're just going to leave, then?" His words slur slightly.

"Umm..." I pick at the side of my nail, unsure of what to do with myself. "Aren't you supposed to be on a plane to—"

"Answer me, Jules." I roll my lips, like always, when he calls me by that nickname. No one ever does, and even if they did, it wouldn't sound like that. "You're going to Columbia, not Princeton?"

I shift uncomfortably, stuck by the door as water drips off my hair and splashes against my heels. Why does he sound so upset? "Yes, I am. Is that a problem?"

"Is that a problem, is that a problem," he mutters to himself, shooting to his feet, standing to his impressive height. "Yes, that's a problem. Have you not thought it through?"

"What???" I blink. "Of course, I have," I scoff. "Would you like me to list off all the reasons?"

"Yeah, yeah." He steps toward me, nostrils flaring. "Go right ahead."

What the hell's gotten into him? Who does he think he is? Like I need his approval to attend some university?

"Fine," I snap, and it only darkens those shadows. "Where do I start—hmmm..." I tap my chin. "Oh, let's start there. Reason number one, which I already stated. Columbia has a great Game Design program..."

His lips flatten as he creeps closer.

"... Reason number two. It's only a short drive away, which is quite ironic, isn't it? With you saying I'm the one leaving and all, while you and Jeremy are off in New Jersey..."

Tilting his head, he steps again, this time closing a considerable distance, causing my stomach to somersault.

"... N-number three..." I avoid his intense gaze, soldiering on. "They offer a great financial package..."

His presence crowds me against the door, my heart racing at a million miles per minute, muted by the music on the other side. If my brother knew I was in here, alone with Hayden, in nothing but a bathrobe... he'd raise hell.

"There are also many research opportunitie—"

"How about the part where I won't be able to look after you there?"

My lips part on a gasp...

"Huh? Have you thought of that?" Minty breath clouds my brain, mixed with alcohol and subtle traces of tobacco, slurring his words even more. "You're just gonna go off and—who knows?—join a sorority, party on Greek Row in some tight dress, where any arrogant prick can get his hands on you..."

Again, nothing comes out, rendering me speechless, stunned beyond measure. Because... if I'm not trapped in dreamland right now... I'd say he sounds...

Jealous.

And I mean... really jealous.

"Y-you're just drunk," I manage to say.

"Very perceptive of you, Jules." He chuckles a warm sound, racing a shudder through me and dousing my senses with another wave of alcohol. "You're right. I am drunk. Not hammered, but just enough to call off my flight, stumble my way in here, and say things I really shouldn't."

Hope sparks within me, but I quickly squash it. "Sure, but you don't mean anything you're saying."

"No? Drunk words are sober thoughts."

My brow arches quizzically.

"You see? This is why you need me—for guidance."

"You're not making any sense."

He sighs. "Truth is, Jules. I already knew the answer before coming. That you'll go where you want to go, do as you want to do. It's in your nature. Which means... I'm only here for selfish reasons."

I freeze as he pinches one of my damp locks, trailing a touch down its length. When he reaches the end, I stammer, "What're you trying to say?"

He leans in closer, invading my space, pressing my backside more firmly against the door. Resting his forearm somewhere above my head, he stares down from his tall height, right in my eyes, straight through to my soul. For a moment, I think he's not going to say anything, that he's finally sobered up and realized his mistake, until he murmurs...

"That you're mine, no matter where you go."

Mine...

A single word from his lips, and I'm floating on air.

Goosebumps ripple across my skin, and warmth radiates outwards from my chest, like sunlight breaking through clouds, past years of tiptoeing, feeling invisible, and questioning if I was enough—not just for Hayden, but for anyone.

"I... I am?" I croak, tears stinging my eyes.

"Yes, you always have been." He brushes the side of my cheek. "But in case you forget..."

His hand sinks into his pocket, emerging with a gold chain wound around his fingers. An oval locket dangles at the end, adorned with a unique, intricate pattern that catches my eye fleetingly, before he loops it around my neck. His skin brushes against mine, sending a new wave of sensations as he secures the clamp into place.

On his retreat, he pauses, his lips only an inch away, so close I can feel his breath puffing from him on choppy waves. His eyes flicker between mine, left and right and back again, just as mine dart between his, until they trail low, down to my mouth, and pause, burning with fire, yet stifled with hesitation...

I wet my lips—

And his come crashing onto mine, claiming their first touch—

I wretch the memory from my mind, killing it there.

Draping my towel over the ledge of the tub, I walk across the steamy bathroom, naked, amidst the silence seeping through the other side of the door. Like the penthouse is fast asleep.

Alone, at last.

Approaching the sink, I avoid my reflection, as I crouch down and pull back the lowest drawer, revealing a gold chain. Intricate shapes etch into its oval locket, forming unique flowers and other dainty designs. It's beautiful, really, a reminder of my magical first kiss. After that night, I never took it off, not once.

Until I saw an actress wearing it three weeks later. Hand-in-hand with Hayden Kingston, son of billionaire Warren Kingston, plastered across the front page of a celebrity gossip site.

I was an idiot then for not throwing the necklace away. Guess I'm an even bigger one now.

I slam the drawer shut.

It's like those little devils said. Hayden deserves more credit. Maybe he's a genius, after all. A master of hearts, who excels at precisely one thing.

Stealing little pieces.