Chapter One

Lakelyn

New Girl, Same Shit

I step onto the campus of my new college, clutching the enrollment paperwork in my trembling hand. Nerves, like a swarm of restless bees, buzz through my veins. My heart thumps so loudly I'm sure everyone can hear it, but I’m too distracted by the words typed in a basic, unassuming font to notice.

Lakelyn Asher: Freshman

There’s nothing on the simple white sheet that alludes to how monumental, how utterly terrifying, this moment in time is.

And it truly is terrifying .

The cold winter wind sweeps through the campus, biting at my barely exposed skin and tangling my long, brown hair into a chaotic mess. Strands catch on my glasses, obscuring my vision. With a sigh of frustration, I shove the unruly locks away with my free hand.

As I continue to walk, lost in my thoughts and fears, the world around me blurs into a haze of anxiety. I can’t believe I agreed to this. To uproot my life and come to Texas, of all places. I’m from the middle of nowhere, Oregon and I’m bound to stand out. I don’t fit in here. Usually, I dissolve into the background effortlessly, but here, I’ll have to do everything in my power not to stand out.

I’m a new girl. A stranger. A nobody in a sea of someones .

As if the thought alone has conjured their eyes, I feel the heat of a thousand stares burning into my skin. My lungs constrict painfully, the trembling in my hands increases until it’s not just the wind rattling my paperwork.

Tucking my chin against my chest, I let my eyes flutter closed as I force myself to breathe through the impending panic. I hate being the center of attention. Loathe it with every fiber of my being. It feels akin to having a million tiny knives pricking me all over, digging and prodding, until they find my insides and expose them.

I take even longer to calm down once that particularly vivid image takes root. But after countless minutes, where I no doubt look like an insane person, my breathing finally comes in slower, more manageable gulps. Moments later, I find the courage to unclench my fists, uncoiling my body one tense muscle at a time.

That's when it happens—a sudden, jarring collision resonates through the pavement behind me. My heart leaps into my throat, and I spin around, adrenaline coursing through my veins like wildfire as I search for the attack.

My eyes fall upon the taxi driver, struggling with my meager possessions. Two rolling suitcases, a worn backpack, and a duffle bag that’s seen better days. The realization that this is all I have, all that remains of my life before, causes a lump to form in my throat. I swallow thickly, pushing down the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

The driver, a stout, older man, stands before me, his face flushed from exertion despite the biting cold. Beads of sweat glisten on his furrowed brow, an incongruity with the weather and the minimal labor required to move my bags. He hefts the duffle bag clumsily, attempting to toss it across the five-foot gap that separates us. However, his aim is far from precise, and the bag barely makes it halfway before colliding with the unforgiving pavement.

As though it's my fault he’s out of shape, he shoots me a look that could melt ice, and plants his hands on his stodgy hips, glaring at me expectantly.

“I've got places to be, lady,” he barks, impatience dripping from his words.

I bite my lower lip, unsure of how to respond. Inside, I'm irritated by his rude behavior. Not only this, but the way he stared at me in his rearview mirror the entire way here from the airport, as though he wanted to devour me whole, made my skin crawl. That was the longest, most uncomfortable ride of life, and I was once accidentally felt up by an elderly woman in the back of a rideshare when she mistook my kneecap for her walking stick.

The man clears his throat and holds out his palm expectantly, flashing me the universal gimmie sign like a toddler.

Mortification washes over me as the realization dawns that it's likely not even his job to handle my bags. My cheeks flush with embarrassment when I remember the way I turned my back on him, then proceeded to have an epic meltdown only five steps into my new life.

Fuck me.

Shaking my head at my idiocy, I snatch my backpack from the ground. Charging forward, I nearly trip over my duffle bag as I scramble to pull cash from my wallet. My mouth feels dry, and I struggle to swallow past the lump in my throat. Without a word, I shove a wad of faceless bills into his meaty hands, ensuring our skin doesn’t touch.

He accepts the money with a grunt before his eyes slide down to the chunk of cash clutched in his sweaty palm. His eyes widen, and for a brief second, I think I see a wave of regret pass through his features, but it’s there and gone before I can blink.

Stepping away, I throw my backpack over my shoulders and wipe my hands down the front of my jeans roughly, as though I can scrub myself clean of that entire interaction.

With that, the man retreats to his taxi and speeds away, leaving me to gather my scattered belongings. As I bend to pick up the duffle bag, my backpack shifts forward over my head. It gets tangled in my long hair, knocking me off balance and practically strangling me. Notebooks, pens, pencils and a stupidly expensive calculator spill out around me.

Suddenly, I feel like a fucked up version of Alice; only the Wonderland I’ve fallen into is a murder/suicide at Staples.

With a silent grunt, I fall forward, my knees colliding with the harsh ground. The cement is icy beneath my fingertips, sending shivers racing across my body so forcefully, my teeth chatter.

The cold temperature seems to seep into my very bones here, only frustrating me even more, as I hurriedly collect my belongings. I thought Texas was supposed to be hot. If I’d known to expect weather more suited to the Pacific NorthWest, I would have worn more layers.

Shit, I would have packed more layers.

Huffing in frustration, I untangle my backpack from my hair and drop it on the ground next to me. My eyes widen as I take in the gaping zipper that leads to an inky pit of nothingness, closely resembling my soul. Shaking my head, I clench my jaw so hard, my chattering teeth finally shut the hell up. Apparently, I forgot to zip my bag in my haste to pay the creepy driver and get him on his way.

Do better, I mentally chastise. You’re making a fool of yourself—again.

With shaking limbs, I begin to gather my things, stuffing them haphazardly into my open bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice people walking by, their hurried steps carrying them past me without even a pause to offer help or sympathy.

Note to self: Texas is also full of assholes. Though, I suppose that’s an unjustified assumption. Maybe it’s just this college that’s full of uppity pricks.

I suppose I was warned, after all.

I reach out to grab my calculator just as a group of men in green letterman jackets walk by, their legs so close I could touch them if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Not even a little bit.

They glance down at me, their steely gazes converging on me as one. I freeze, my hand suspended in the air between us. With all five of them leering at me, my muscles go utterly still, locking up as though I’ve lost control of my own limbs.

A breath passes, then another, as we stare at each other. Suddenly, laughter erupts from their lips, cutting through the air like a whip. My brows draw in tight, confusion and embarrassment swirling through me. The feeling of knives penetrating my body starts up all over again, but this time, I’m useless at stopping it. I can’t. Not with them staring at me.

“Look at the freak,” one of them chuckles, his words laced with a mocking hatred I don’t understand.

“Trash,” another mutters, glaring.

A third man with red hair sighs heavily. “Yeah. Let’s get the fuck out of here. It’s not worth our time.”

My eyes slide from one to the next, committing their faces to memory. Even if I can’t get my body to move, I can do this. I can vow to make them pay, some day.

When I’m better.

As my gaze lands on the last guy, a preppy blonde standing furthest away, my body turns to stone. It’s not the laughter ringing through the air, or the cruel words from a heartless stranger's mouth that have my every nerve ending burning through me like a wildfire.

No. It’s the lust I see there, blatant and written all over his chiseled face. His eyes slide down my body, taking in my chunky white sweater and ratty jeans. My outfit leaves plenty to the imagination, but the way he’s looking at me, it’s as though he’s imagining what’s underneath and is determined to find out if he’s right. Nausea swirls in my gut, threatening to make itself known.

His tongue slides out over his thick lower lip before his mouth ticks up in a slow, lascivious grin. His head cocks to the side as he takes an ominous step forward. I instinctively lean back, putting as much space between us as possible, but it’s useless.

“She might be trash, but she looks damn good on her knees, doesn’t she?” He clicks his tongue as his friends murmur their agreements. His eyes flick to mine, the pupils blown out in some sort of sick satisfaction. “I’ve heard trailer trash can suck better than the rich bitches around here.” He cocks his head to the side. “That true, new girl?”

I try to swallow the bile again. Try to find the words to tell him to go fuck himself. That it’ll be an even colder day in this Hell I’ve found myself in before I ever let this asswipe touch me.

But, like always, the words never come.

What does come is anger laced with an unhealthy amount of fear. I shove the fear down, holding onto the anger with everything I have.

Just one more minute. Just one more. One more.

I need to get the hell out of here. My teeth grind together, and my jaw clenches as I shift my body to quickly snatch the calculator back, effectively ignoring the lot of them. The humiliation stings, but I refuse to let their words or laughter break me. I’m used to bullies. To people making harsh assumptions about me based on where I come from. It’s nothing new.

You can’t break what’s already broken.

Just as my fingers graze the hard plastic, the dick with the horny eyes takes another step forward, letting his shoe come down heavily on my calculator. I jerk back before he can add my fingers to the pile of destruction. The device shatters along with the little bit of self confidence I’d managed to wrangle.

Laughter rings out around us, and it’s then that I realize it’s not just his friends that’ve stopped to watch, but others as well. My cheeks burn hotly as acid churns in my gut. My eyes fall to the ground and my nails dig into the pavement. The jock-asses continue to make jokes, performing for their loyal fans as I imagine a hundred different ways I’d like to die.

Why can’t I just disappear, already?

Get up. Get up. Get the hell up!

“What the fuck is wrong with you assholes?” a deep voice barks, making me jump. My head snaps up just in time to see a massive man with long, dark hair, send his meaty fist into the blonde asshole's jaw. He moves so quickly that no one sees it coming. Between one blink and the next, the jock is on the ground and the courtyard has gone utterly silent.

No one moves. No one speaks. And if it weren’t for my roaring heartbeat thundering in my ears, I’d swear no one dares to breathe.

My lips part. A shocked gasp whooshes from my aching lungs.

What the hell just happened?