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

and opening up to her about my latest setback. The last time I had self-induced vomiting was in November last year, after the “Food Slut” photoshopped photo. Blake had had a field day that time.

It’d taken me several sessions to regain a piece of the tenuous confidence I’d gained, and the recent argument with Blake threatened to annul that, throwing me back into those dark, old times when I felt like my body was too big for me and suffocating me. This was all the more reason for me not to let my heart rule because of those few minutes in the basement, but when it came to Blake, I had to deal with many conflicting and unwanted emotions.

“You’re my dilemma. A continuous chase. You break me. You mess with my mind. And in the end, there’s nothing else.” I sang the lyrics I’d come up with just a few minutes earlier as I drove to the clinic, the last rays of sunset lighting the road ahead. The melody was ingrained in my mind, and each line I sang alleviated my tension.

Halfway to the clinic, I pulled into Stop & Shop to get a pack of gum and a bottle of juice. I’d just left the store when I spotted Masen in front of a grocery store nearby. He walked next to a quadriplegic boy in a power wheelchair, and the surprise made me stop.

Masen smiled as he talked with the boy, who couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen. My chest filled with sympathy for him. He was a younger version of Masen with his blue eyes, blond hair, and striking face, which could have meant he was his brother or a cousin.

Masen seemed like a completely different person. There was no usual smirk or conceited look on his face, and his constant swagger and air of arrogance were gone. In fact, for the first time, he looked approachable, leaving the womanizer-douchebag attitude he had in school behind. I didn’t fail to notice that the clothes he wore now looked much cheaper than those he wore at school, which were always brand name and fashionable.

He carried grocery bags around an old silver minivan and to its cargo space at the back while the boy waited for him on the side. There was a grocery bag on his lap, but as he moved the controller with his spastic hand to reposition his wheelchair, the apples slid out and dropped to the ground.

My heart clenching for him, I rushed to pick up the apples. I knelt in front of him, collected the fruit, and took the bag out of his lap to put them back inside.

“Here you go,” I told him with a smile, touched by the innocence and shyness on his face. I was about to put the bag on his lap when Masen snatched it away from me and grabbed my upper arm, jerking me up to my feet.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. His previously nice demeanor was completely gone, replaced with something frightening. I’d never seen him look this scary, with his blue eyes boring into me as if I’d attacked this boy.

“I-I was just—”

“Stay away from him.”

My lips parted. I was astounded by how protective he was being. “I… Sure. I didn’t mean anything—”

He tightened his grasp around my upper arm. “And don’t say a word about this to anyone. You got it? Especially not to that bitch Melissa. I don’t need her to harass him just because she’s neurotic and gets a kick out of putting others down.”

“Mel isn’t like that. She—”

He bared his teeth. “Tell me you won’t say a word. Tell me.”

“Mace?” the boy said tentatively. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Eli,” he answered in a soft voice, though his unforgiving eyes remained on me. “I’ll take the fruit and put the ramp down in a sec.” He got into my face. “If you say even one word about Eli to anyone, I’ll make you regret it, Metts.” He said it so only I could hear him.

I fully believed him. I could clearly see he was ready to do anything to protect this boy, and despite not understanding why he wanted me to stay quiet about him—why it mattered so much that no one knew about him—I didn’t want him as my enemy. I had too much on my plate with Blake as it was. Besides, I’d heard stories of how brutal Masen could be. He’d bullied three girls into leaving school, and he’d sent a couple of guys to the hospital. Better safe than sorry.

“I won’t mention this to anyone. You can trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” he spat out. “And especially not girls.” He pulled away from me. “This is your only warning. Cross me, and you and I are going to have a problem.”

I nodded and hurried to put some distance between us, taking one last glance at the boy, who looked at me silently with sad, wise eyes resembling those of a much older person. I got into my car and drove away.

“Tell me how it all started again,” Susan told me, her notepad in her lap.

I sat in a recliner across from her, my gaze darting between her PhD certificate and a painting of fruits gathered in a metal bowl. I studied the shades of the colors for the hundredth time as I formulated the answer about the moment I’d relived in my mind so many times.

“I was in a school play in sixth grade. I played a supporting role.” I closed my eyes; the old pain coated my chest. “I was extremely nervous about singing in front of an audience for the first time. It was a dream come true, but I couldn’t get rid of the stage fright.”

“What happened then?”

She knew well what came next, but her question helped me refocus and recollect the incident in more detail.

“The moment I appeared on the stage, my peers in the first row broke into hushed whispers.