What shitty sorcery is this?

I die a little inside as I catch a glimpse of perfectly curled silky blonde hair and doll-like blue eyes in the mirror. Just my luck. It's my motherfucking nemesis in the flesh.

A depressing sight of white sinks and beige-colored toilet stalls and matching beige tile serve as our backdrop. My nose is swimming with an overpowering mix of pine-scented cleaner and pear-scented body spray. Honestly, the girls' restroom isn't where I imagined having this showdown.

Quickly, I scan the gap beneath the stalls. I don't see any extra pairs of legs or shoes. Pretty sure the two of us are the only ones in the restroom. I don't know whether to feel relieved or distressed. None of her minions are here, which means they can't gang up on me. But, also, there won't be any witnesses if Chrissa Lawrence decides to take things too far. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, I turn to face Chrissa with all the enthusiasm of a tiny slug crawling toward a deadly pile of salt.

The bitch is dressed to the nines. Dainty gold rings glint along her slender French-manicured fingers. She's wearing a perfectly tailored sky-blue dress shirt, the same shade as her eyes, tucked into a white pleated skirt. A pair of black Mary-Jane-style stilettos completes her posh school girl vibe. Her whole outfit combined probably cost more than a month's worth of weed sales.

I feel grossly underdressed for battle in the black T-shirt and basic blue jeans that I thrifted from Savers.

I sigh, "Fine. Let's talk."

In a heavy cloud of expensive-smelling perfume, Chrissa marches past me to lock the restroom door.

My eyes go wide. "Dude, is that necessary?"

She glares daggers at me. "It's absolutely necessary. This conversation stays between you and me. Got it?"

I mutter, "Got it."

Her gaze continues to burn holes in my direction. I avert my eyes and twirl my hair between my fingers. My pulse is racing for some reason. Being locked in a confined space with Chrissa has triggered something panicky in me. I try not to obsess over what happened last time I was locked in a room with her and Brody, but a sense of morbid déjà vu threatens to swallow me whole. At this precise moment, I'm barely holding my shit together. All I want to do is shove Chrissa out of my way so I can unlock the restroom door and make my escape. Against my better judgment, however, I stay. 

I need to see this conversation through.

Chrissa demands in surly tones, "Why the hell haven't you responded to Brody's texts?"

Her animosity pricks me like needles. I struggle to stand my ground. When I reply, my voice sounds small and scared, "Because I don't want drama."

Her blue eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

I have to take a deep breath in, out, in, out, before I find my words again, "Look, I-I won't say anything to Luke as long as you and Brody leave Cruz and Alison and me alone."

Disbelief passes through Chrissa's lovely features. She studies me carefully. "Are you saying that you're willing to keep quiet?"

My head jerks in a nod.

A sharp, shrewd gleam enters her eyes. "Good."

I've said my piece. Now, I just want to get the hell away from this bitch. In hopeful tones, I ask, "Are we done here?"

She takes a step towards me. I shrink back instinctively. Chrissa hisses at me like a snake, "You better not be playing me, Athena. If you so much as breathe a word about Brody and me to anyone else, then I'm coming for all three of you—you, Cruz, Alison—and I never miss my mark."

I assure her, "As long as you leave us alone, I'm not gonna cause any trouble."

She's not done threatening me, though. The bitch seems to be on a power trip fueled by paranoia, and she isn't ready to leave well enough alone. Chrissa pulls out her phone and flashes her screen at me. Images flit through her camera roll. I frown when I see a familiar-looking girl with dark hair appear before me. It takes me a second to realize that they're images of... me.

Oh, God.

In these photos, I'm only wearing my bra and panties.

In these photos, I'm being manhandled in a bunch of compromising, sexual-looking positions with Brody.

These photos make me want to throw up.

Chrissa snatches her phone away and coos softly, dangerously, "I hope you took a good, long look at yourself, you fucking whore."

I can't seem to find my voice.

She presses on, "If you say shit about anything, then I'll just show everyone that you were actually the lying slut who slept with Brody."

Weakly, I tell her again, "I already told you, I'm not gonna say shit about anything."

Chrissa glares at me. "You better tell Alison and Cruz to keep their mouths shut, too. Keep in mind, all I have to do is crop out Brody's face and Photoshop Cruz in his place, and no one will believe a word of whatever you guys say. I control the narrative here, and I'll spin the story to make you look ten times worse than whatever you say about me."

My hands clench at my sides into angry, resentful fists.

"Fuck you," I whisper.

She smiles coldly. "And don't even think about pressing charges. Everyone knows that you're a dealer. I'll make sure to shine a big fucking spotlight all over your shady ass if you try to come at Brody or me. Don't doubt my ability to destroy you in court. I can and will use everything at my disposal if you try to fuck me over, understand?"

Her words make my skin crawl with disgust.

Is she being serious right now?

Chrissa's viciousness cuts like a knife to the gut. This bitch is meaner than a goddamn Marvel villain. Yet, her underhanded Photoshopping skills actually don't scare me as much as her threat to snitch on my side hustle. This particular detail may legitimately cast my character in a negative light. If word gets out, then it could jeopardize my bid to become Persie's legal guardian.

My heart sinks with distress.

There are so many fucked up bits and bobs to unpack here that I don't even know where to begin.

It's like Chrissa knows she can treat me this way and get away with murder. The fact that she's coming at me so hard over a stupid high school relationship feels terrifying. Her sky-high sense of entitlement is unsettling. If this is the way Chrissa deals with minor setbacks, then I'd hate to see her lash out when she's backed into a real corner. 

I want to fight back, but I feel like a caged animal. Chrissa makes me feel powerless. I can't do or say anything that might put my future with Persie at risk.

What would Chrissa do if she knew about my plans to adopt?

Someone like her wouldn't hesitate to blackmail me. If I get arrested for dealing, the courts might question my ability to manage a child's safety and well-being. Worriedly, I consider putting my business on pause, even if it'll cost me thousands of dollars in profits, in case Chrissa or Brody decide to throw me under the bus, anyway, and mess up my chances of becoming Persie's guardian.

Trembling slightly, I glare at Chrissa with fear and hatred radiating from my entire being. In steady tones, though, I manage to bite back, "I understand you perfectly, Chrissa. Now, please, get the fuck out of my way so I can get to class."

Chrissa smirks and steps aside to unblock the restroom doorway. "I'm glad you're starting to know your place."

Without a word, I rush over to unlock the door and make my exit. As it finally swings open, I sprint towards freedom and safety. I can't escape fast enough.

Behind me, I hear Chrissa chirp in a sweetness-and-lightness voice that makes me want to retch, "It was so nice running into you, Athena! We should totally chat more often."

Fake-ass bitch.

My jaw clenches with indignation and misery, the kind of indignant misery that can only be suffered in silence. On my way to class, each and every step feels heavy and defeated. I can't help but wonder what might have happened at Sam's party if Alison never went to Cruz?

If Cruz hadn't found me in time?

If Brody would've ended up raping me?

If Chrissa would've stood by and watched that shit happen with a smile on her fucking face?

In my heart, I already know the answer, and it makes me hate her.

It makes me hate her so much.