NO LONGER HIS PLAYTHING：I'm the Heroine of My Own Story novel Chapter 5

Our team had won gold at the competition, which meant automatic acceptance to Stanford—basically a golden ticket.

Initially, I had declined the offer.

Because I wanted to attend UC Davis with Zephyr.

My mom and Zephyr's mom had been best friends since college.

Zephyr and I grew up together—sandbox to high school, the whole cliché.

But after his parents' nasty divorce, Zephyr's grades tanked.

He completely checked out of school, becoming the textbook rebellious rich kid.

He fell in with guys who were already dealing, started smoking, drinking, getting into fights—living like there was no tomorrow.

He became the school's resident bad boy with a capital B.

Yet girls still flocked to him, buying into that whole "damaged but desirable" fantasy.

I couldn't stand watching him destroy himself.

I tried to reach him, understand him, drag him back from the edge.

I used my status as his desk mate and class rep to force tutoring sessions on him.

I played the childhood friend card to chase away his sketchy friends, practically frog-marching him home with me instead.

I monitored him, pursued him, convinced I could be his salvation.

Behind my back, everyone talked:

Phoebe Johnson isn't even Zephyr's girlfriend, she's just obsessed with him.

Phoebe's nothing but a desperate slut, following Zephyr around like a puppy.

Phoebe's just a pair of tits with legs, throwing herself at guys, but even Zephyr won't touch that trash.

...

I pretended none of it got to me.

Until I heard Zephyr saying worse things himself.

All my devotion and persistence suddenly felt like the world's sickest joke.

As thrilled as I'd been when Zephyr kissed me in the dark,

I was equally destroyed hearing those words.

I still can't stop myself from remembering that deep, wet kiss in the darkness.

That rush of desire stealing my breath, branded into my memory.

I didn't sleep at all, and by morning I was burning up with fever.

I had to take another half day off.

I dragged myself to school in the afternoon, dizzy and disoriented, to submit my application for Stanford's early admission program.

Just as I left the teacher's office, someone grabbed my wrist and yanked me into a confined space.

Zephyr's stupidly handsome face loomed inches from mine, his messed-up hair framing those eyes, the smell of cigarettes clinging to his clothes.

He wasn't smiling. His grip on my hand was painfully tight as he backed me against the wall:

"What the actual fuck, Phoebe? You suddenly too good for me now?"

"Ghosting my calls, leaving me on read, you trying to make me look like some desperate loser?"

"Where'd you disappear to that night? Why weren't you wearing my little present, huh? Not slutty enough for you?"

His eyes narrowed, his tone mockingly casual but dripping with menace.

When I finally registered where we were, I snapped fully awake.

He had dragged me into a stall in the boys' bathroom!

I trembled with rage, bile rising in my throat.