"Kimie!"

I barely got the chance to react to my name being screamed out in the hallway like that before two hands were on my back, propelling me forward.

Then Ridgerock High School went grave silent.

Everyone had been murmuring about Smooches' new post, expressing disbelief and disappointment and mock, but Macy An shouting my name like she was losing her mind, just before she shoved me, was enough to silence them. I'd never heard the hallway this quiet when so many people were in it.

My right hand slammed into someone's locker as I tried to steady myself, and pain shot through it. Then the side of my face collided with metal when I lost my balance. I heard the shout leave my lips before I realized I was shouting.

Rolling onto my back, I placed my hands over the hurt part of my face, feeling something wet and warm instantly. My head was pounding, and figures swam behind my closed eyelids.

"You told me you were gonna tell her!" Macy screamed at me, unaffected by how hurt I was—unaffected by the fact that I was clutching my face while lying on the floor. "You told me you were gonna talk to her!"

And just as suddenly as she had pushed me, Macy was straddling me and grabbing my hair, a guttural sound escaping her lips.

I managed to hear someone gasp in shock before my head met with the floor.

Then came the chaos.

There was so much noise as people watched Macy attack me, her sharp fingernails digging into my skin. She kept growling in frustration, like a crazy young woman in a melodramatic movie. I couldn't defend myself or fight back, my eyes stung where she'd scratched them, my face was on fire, and I knew that my injuries were going to be bad—terrible.

It all happened so fast that I barely registered Macy being dragged off me before I felt a familiar and comforting hand push hair off my face.

"Hey, Kim?" West called softly, trying to get my hand off so he could see how bad my face was. I didn't want him to see it, so I refused to give in to his urges.

I heard Macy scream like the insane person she was somewhere behind him, and I realized she was struggling with someone.

"Come on, Kimie. Let me see," West pleaded with me.

"She got my eye," I finally whispered, tears streaming down the sides of my face, making me hurt even more. A few drops got into my ears.

He forced my hand off then, and I slowly opened my eyes to see his reaction, blinking several times at the unbelievably bright fluorescent lights.

"Shoot." I knew it was worse than I thought before he mumbled the intensifier under his breath.

People were standing over me, wanting to see if I was okay, but only West was crouched next to me like he really cared. He wrapped a hand gently but firmly around my arm and pulled me up to a sitting position. I scooted back until my back was pressed against the locker that almost mutilated my face, my eyes half open.

"Don't touch me!" I heard from my left and turned to see Macy glaring at Jamie, who glared back with just as much intensity.

His eyes strayed to mine, and I quickly looked away, trying to focus on West.

I blinked rapidly, his face coming in and out of focus, and he noticed.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked. One of his hands was placed on mine, and the other was at his side.

"Fifty-six," I replied sarcastically, catching the little smile on his face before it disappeared and his expression was serious again.

"Come on, let's take you to the nurse's office."

He helped me up, doing a great job at keeping me steady, but my head was spinning and my knees were weak, making it hard for me to stand straight. I felt blood trickle down my face, and a shiver crawled up my spine.

"It's not over, Kimie, you hear me?" my ex-best friend screamed for the last time behind me just before a teacher appeared.

At this point, I was seriously beginning to question what it was that I saw and liked in her in the first place. Why did I choose her as my friend? How did I not see, during all those years, that she was this deranged? Why were her true colors suddenly so obvious? Macy wasn't sunshine yellow. No, her soul was pitch black. And it took me so long to notice.

I'd shared secrets with that girl, worn her necklace that was supposed to strengthen our friendship, let her braid my hair, and watched Japanese movies without subtitles with her, hoping that it would somehow make my understanding of the language better.

Now it was like none of those things happened. It was like I'd been dreaming and just got pinched.

Through my blurry eyes, I saw the teacher's confused expression and widened eyes as she took in the scene, then lowered my head when her gaze fell on me.

"Macy An!" she exclaimed in shock, not needing anyone to feed her the details. Jamie was holding the girl in question back against her will, and blood was running down my face. "What's going on here?"

I didn't get the chance to hear the response given to her—if there was any—because West led me away from there as fast as possible.

It had been a while since I got an injury, especially one like this, and I didn't know what it was that the school nurse dabbed onto the cotton wad in her hand, but it stung when it made contact with the cut on my temple.

My fingers were twitching, and I found it hard staying still. I flinched a few times, grabbed her hand once, and even let tears fall out of my eyes when the pain got too much for me to bear.

West was sitting in the corner, his eyes averted like watching a young woman attend to my wounds physically hurt him.

"Do you feel dizzy?" the nurse asked me, softening her expression significantly.

"A little," I mumbled in response, hearing my voice crack.

"You feel a headache?" She swiped the cotton over my cut again, and I hissed, gripping the edge of the bed I was sitting on. "I'm sorry." She sounded just a little sympathetic.

"Yes. My head—my head aches."

"Okay. What did you have for breakfast today?"

I took a pause, then looked away from her. "Nothing. I didn't feel like eating anything."

Before she could respond to that, a knock sounded on the door, and the teacher that scolded Macy in the hallway walked in.

I was mad. Extremely mad.

Mad because I let Macy do this to me. Mad because I didn't grab her face or claw her eyes out or just hurt her. Mad because I didn't ignore her in the bathroom yesterday.

Maybe if I'd just left quietly, she wouldn't have had a reason to attack me.

"Sorry, Hazel," the redhead teacher said, closing the door behind her. "I just wanted to see how she's doing."

"Not too good," Hazel told her, putting the blood-stained ball of cotton in the metal tray next to me so it joined its five friends, her eyes not leaving my cut. "She was a little sick before the attack."

"I'm sorry, Miss Sato. Macy's with the principal right now, possibly getting suspended."

I wanted to tell her that Macy getting suspended wasn't going to do me any good. I wanted to tell her that I wanted a chance to hurt Macy even more than she'd hurt me. But what I did instead was nod. I nodded.

Hazel looked at me like she was aware of the thoughts running through my head, a smile on her lips, then took a tube of ointment and pressed a little of it onto her index finger. She gently applied it to the cut before widening her smile.

"I'll be right back, then we can place a Band-Aid on that and give you some pain killers."

"Okay," I whispered, already thinking of a lie to give my family at home.

She tapped my cheek just like my mom used to, then took the tray and turned to leave. The woman standing by the door gave me a sad smile, after which she held the door open for Hazel, and walked out of the room behind her.

I hung my head, then rubbed my forehead to ward off the headache, but it only seemed to get worse. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I didn't know if it was because of the pain. I just wanted to properly cry.

West rose to his feet and slowly made his way to me. I looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes, but he wasn't ready to let me do what I wanted, gently placing a finger under my chin and using it to lift my head.

"Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up now?" he asked softly, a smile playing on his lips, and I playfully glared at him to hide the smile playing on mine.

"Shut up," I mumbled, averting my eyes again. I didn't want to look at that beautiful face of his at the moment.

"I'm sorry she did this to you."

"You don't have to be. It wasn't your fault." I took a pause, concentrating on the feel of his hand against my skin, praying it would push back the tears burning my eyes.

But my prayer went unanswered, and before I knew it, I was grabbing West's shirt and pulling him closer to me. I buried my face in his stomach and set my tears free.

I hadn't cried like this in a long time. I hadn't let my entire body tremble like this in a really long time.

My face was hot, and the ache in my head increased in intensity the longer I cried.

"Kimie," West mumbled, holding me close to himself and raking his fingers through my hair. "I hate seeing you cry."

His confession made my mind flash to the first time we had a real conversation. I was crying in my car when he'd showed up. A lot of things had happened since then.

"I just hate her so much," I choked out, gripping his shirt tighter. "I hate her."

He didn't say anything, only continued running his hand through my hair soothingly like it was his talent. We stayed in that position for a while, before that ever-present voice asked me how I thought Macy would feel if she knew about this.

She'd be delighted to know she hurt you again. She'd be happy.

It kept repeating that until I found the energy to sniffle and lift my head from West's shirt. I still clung to him, my vision blurry with hot tears and slight confusion, but I made sure he didn't see my face. I didn't like it when people saw me cry, especially people I cared about.

"You're okay," he told me, and I slowly wiped tears from my face.

He gave me a minute, watching me quietly, his hand now rubbing circles on my shoulder, making me wonder how many people he'd consoled. He was really good at it.

"Do you want me to take you home after the nurse is done?"

I kept my eyes focused on the floor for a while, the smell of antiseptic suddenly making me nauseous. Then I nodded in agreement.

His other hand was warm against my face, and I leaned into it, shutting my eyes and letting the world disappear for a moment.

On the way home, I placed my head against the window and played with the hem of my sweater, a thousand thoughts running around my head. I knew that this had to end—I knew how important it was for me to end this before it ended me—but something told me that I was being too fast. What if West started to feel like I was putting pressure on him?

But I couldn't let this last any longer. Once the plan was completed, I'd take the blog down and make it untraceable. After that was done, I'd be safe. Somehow, I knew that Macy was aware that I was behind Smooches, but was just pretending to be clueless. Why else would she attack me like that? She only used my unfulfilled promise as an excuse to go wild.

"Get me a photo of Dray." I didn't have to think about the words before I said them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw West glance at me. "What?"

A tiny smile tugged my lips upward when I realized he was pretending not to hear me. I'd never really thought about it, but I always knew that Dray would be a problem in this plan. If it weren't for Skye, maybe I'd still be struggling to get something on him, and maybe West would be pretending not to know anything about him. Dray cleaned up his tracks really well, and West was a little too protective of this vandalism thing of theirs.

"Get me a photo of Dray," I reiterated, turning so I could look at him.

His jaw was clenched in response, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he looked away from me. My warning siren went off then, the signs too obvious to ignore.

"You don't wanna do it?" I asked, incredulous.

West drove in silence for a few econds, and it was almost like I never asked a question. His eyes were focused ahead, fixed on the road, like driving was what was most important to him at the moment. I wouldn't mind him stopping the car somewhere so we could talk. I couldn't believe this.

"How do you expect me to do that?" he finally responded, his voice low and emotionless, and I was temporarily short of words.

How did I expect him to do that? The answers were simple. How did he find out about Libby's cheating? How did he find out about Milan?

He couldn't ask me a question like that. He didn't just ask me a question like that.

"You're kidding, right? You can't be serious."

"Dray isn't like the others, okay?" He didn't turn to me as he spoke, the action a little unusual for him. "I hardly know where he is when we aren't together, and he doesn't have friends. You aren't expecting me to just pull out my phone during a session and take a picture, are you?"

"Can't you just find a way to do it? We need to end this as soon as possible."

"I'm gonna need more time, Kim."

I studied his expression, not feeling good about his reluctance. This was dangerous attitude for our plan, and he'd never acted this way before. It bothered me more than it should've, rolling something in my stomach over again and again until I felt it hurt.

But I didn't want to doubt him, so I looked away, trusting that he'd handle it just like he'd handled other situations, and saw him glance at me out of the corner of my eye not too long after.

Later that day, I lay curled up in bed, my head still aching, my fingers running over the fabric of my white sheets. It was soft, just like West's shirt had been beneath my fingers, and it made thinking about him much easier.

Between the time we'd stopped talking to each other in the car and when he'd kissed my cheek after dropping me off, it felt like I was floating. The details were fuzzy, like they didn't really happen. I couldn't remember getting out of the car, or if he said anything to me before handing me my keys and starting the walk back to school, but I remembered the feel of his lips against my cheek, and of his fingers against mine when they'd made contact.

I wondered if this was what it felt like to be crazy. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

A knock sounded on the door suddenly, surprising me more than normal, and my fragile head snapped up, a sharp pain ripping through it immediately.

A whimper escaped me, and the door swung open. Kairi padded across the room to me, gently sitting next to my head and placing a warm hand on my back.

"I'm sorry," she apologized softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

I felt my eyebrows draw together in confusion, before I looked up at her. "You didn't hurt me," I mumbled. "I just have a headache."

She rubbed circles on my back. "How did you even slip in a high school hallway?" she asked, reminding me of the pathetic lie I'd told her when she saw the Band-Aid on my temple.

I'd been torn between covering it up with my hair and just leaving it the way it was, but quickly realized that she was going to find out anyway. After all, the things we try hard to hide never stay hidden for long.

"I didn't see the wet floor sign on time," I replied, burying my face in my pillow afterwards.

"You should be more careful," she advised, moving closer to my head and falling quiet.

I waited for her to speak, knowing, somehow, that she had something important to say. She didn't come to my room just to tell me to be careful, and I knew it. I knew that whatever brought her here was heavy.

But she remained silent—suspiciously so.

"Kairi," I mumbled into my pillow, praying she'd respond, because I honestly didn't have the energy to turn my head, even though it was a little hard to breathe.

"Yeah?" Her voice was quiet then. Too quiet.

"What's wrong?"

"I . . . I wanted to talk to you about something. But I don't wanna bother you—"

"It's okay, Kai. My ears are fine."

Silence.

Then, "It's—it's about that guy we saw at Punch the other day."

I went still, and I knew she noticed, because her hand stopped moving over my back.

"What about him?" I urged her, trying my best to sound as cool as West.

"W—when I saw him, I remembered—I remembered that night. Clearly."

The way she wheezed out the last word, combined with the shock I felt after it was out in the world, injected a little strength into me, and I turned my head in her direction. The breeze that hit my face was refreshing, irritating and nauseating all at once, and I swallowed when I felt bile rise in my throat.

"What?"

She nodded, and I saw the tears in her eyes. She didn't elaborate, but I didn't need her to. I couldn't put her through that.

I badly wanted to throw up, but I had to keep myself together for her. I took her free hand and squeezed it with all the strength I had left.

"He—he was one of them, Kimie," she said just before she started crying. "He was one of them."

Tears burned my eyes as I watched her mourn the life she once had—the life she once loved—and nothing at the moment could convince me that she'd be okay anytime soon. The longer she cried, and the harder she squeezed my hand back, the more I realized that Jett had to pay.

Not just because he sexually assaulted my sister and was currently walking around in all his Man Wolf glory, but also because in a way, he murdered her that night, too.

All my emotions right now in one emoji: 😭

Insert yours here >

I think WPPD is going through a pre-midlife crisis, because these last few chapters kicked my butt.

P.S. All in favor of me body slamming Macy, say aye.

P.P.S. 💕