Trapped (Bullied Book 4) (Bullied Series) Vera Hollins (best large ereader txt) 📖

tears that came so suddenly. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. It doesn’t matter.”

Ignoring how weak my limbs felt, I turned my back to him and opened my locker. The hair on my neck bristled as I waited for his reaction. I expected him to do or say something that would hammer more pain into me, but he didn’t do anything. I pulled out my French textbook and Le Père Goriot by Honoré de Balzac, which we were going to read in class.

I closed my locker and turned to him, expecting to see his eyes drilling into me, but he was already gone.

What gives?

I smiled.

I didn’t know if this was a small victory or not, but it was definitely progress.

I stood in the middle of the dank room, singing quietly as I filled boxes with wall maps, old lab tubes and bottles, VHS tapes, and other stuff. Dust was everywhere, and I sneezed at least ten times. I was glad I’d brought an old shirt I only wore at home because I was totally covered in it.

Blake wasn’t here, which came as no surprise, although I wondered if he would be suspended for skipping, or if he would manage to turn this around in his favor. I was betting on the latter.

My muscles hurt from all the work, and I hoped I could shed a few pounds. The jeans I wore were already too tight, and I’d bought them only three months prior. I stopped and looked at my thighs, which rubbed together when I walked, and pulled a face. They did seem thicker than three months earlier…

I knew I had to cut down on my sweets and snacks, but it was an impossible mission. It wasn’t fair. These days it seemed I could gain weight just by drinking water, and I wished I were like Sarah. She was so skinny with her thin arms and remarkably slim, long legs, and she wasn’t even trying. I wanted her thigh gap. I wanted her weight. And most of all—I wanted to eat pizza without worrying about those horrific calories.

Think positive, Jess. You’re beautiful the way you are. You’re beautiful the way you are…

I heard quick footsteps in the distance, and I tensed. I hoped it was Mr. Maynard and not Blake. I reached for the flasks on the shelf next to me, my pulse quickening with each footstep. I put the flasks in the box and raised my gaze. Blake entered the room with a big box in his hands and a scowl on his pale face, and my heart dropped to my stomach.

Uh-oh.

“I’m not a coward,” he told me, referring to what I’d said to him this morning, and went to the other side of the room. I didn’t say anything in response as I watched him put one of the VCRs into the box roughly, surprised he felt the need to defend himself to me.

We worked in silence for several minutes. I threw occasional furtive glances at him, noticing that he’d never looked more on edge than he did now, with his face taut and eyes guarded.

Standing on my tiptoes, I took the desk globe from the top shelf, but the sphere separated from its mounting and dropped all the way down to the floor with a loud clunk.

“Fuck!” Blake jumped back and placed his arms in front of him as a shield. He met my eyes, his fear ebbing into rage. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and picked up the sphere from the floor. “The globe wasn’t connected to the mounting well. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He tightened his jaw. “What are you talking about?” He picked up a couple of tubes, avoiding my gaze. “You didn’t scare me. I just hate clumsy people.”

I wanted to tell him it wasn’t my fault the sphere had fallen off, but I swallowed the remark. I thought about what he’d said to me on Monday.

“What did you mean when you said I was your trigger?” I asked, ignoring my inner voice that told me to keep quiet.

He grew still and snapped his eyes up to look at me. “Forget about that.”

His tone left no room for argument, but I didn’t heed the warning that suggested I would regret this. “Why?”

“Because.”

Vexed, I put the sphere in the box none too gently and placed my hands on my hips. “Why do you bully me?” He flexed his hands at his sides. “Why do you hate me?”

He returned to packing, refusing to give me an answer. My heartbeat took off at a gallop. Something deep in me pushed me to get closer to the truth amid the rising anger and warnings in my head.

“Blake, stop ignoring me and, for once, tell me the truth!”

He dropped the projector into the box and pinned me with a glare. “You want the truth?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Here’s your truth.” He approached me with a sneer, his steps slow. “I hate everything about you.”

I recoiled and grabbed the edge of the table behind me for support.

“You’re a whiny bitch. You always hide behind your friends and live like a coward.” Something splintered inside of me, and it was painful. “I hate girls like you the most.”

My nails dug into the unyielding surface of the table, but even that hurt less than the growing wound in my chest.

“You’re always crying and crying and crying, and I’m really curious how you have any more tears left to cry.”

I was cold. So cold. “Okay. Enough.”

“No, sweetheart. You wanted the truth—now handle it.”

He stopped with less than two feet separating us, and I pressed myself against the table as much as I could.

“You’re fat—like do you even have limits?” He pinched my belly, and I yelped, astounded by it. “Look at this. Tell me, do you really think there would be a guy who could like this? Or this.” He gave my cheek a squeeze and tugged at it. “Or this.” He pinched my