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

imagined something so devastating and gruesome—something so sudden. One moment, she was there. The next, she was gone, her last seconds—no, days—spent in the utmost horror.

That footage played behind my eyelids over and over again as I tossed and turned, trying to sleep, and when I finally managed it, I was tormented by nightmares.

Blood, death, rape…it was all mixed together until I couldn’t take it anymore, so I gave up on sleep and went into my recording room to play my guitar at four in the morning. I plucked the strings as I chased the happy melody to soothe me, but it was hard to brighten up.

I regretted entering his room. I was such a fool for prying into his business, getting way more than I’d bargained for. Way, way more.

What was he doing with that stuff, anyway? Now I understood what that “Never forget” note related to and why he had the phobia of basements, but what was going on with those photos? Why did he need a reminder not to forget what had happened?

This new mystery only threw me further into a tizzy, so I pushed all my thoughts aside and focused on my music. Managing to calm myself enough to try to sleep again, I left my guitar and wrapped myself tightly in the sheets, finally falling asleep.

My cold was worse when I got up, and I had a fever, so I slept almost the entire Sunday away. I woke up around noon the next day when my parents were at work and found my favorite tomato sandwich in plastic wrap on the plate on my nightstand, along with Mom’s note that said to rest the whole day. She’d also left me some cash in case I wanted to order food.

Starving, I bolted the sandwich down and ordered pizza, then I switched out my pajamas for sweatpants and a t-shirt and went to the bathroom to do my daily routine.

I planned to spend the next few hours watching House for probably the hundredth time, so I ended up lying on the couch in the living room. I’d already made a pile of used tissues next to the tissue box on the coffee table, and my nose was dry and sensitive after all the blowing. My cramps weren’t as intense as they had been on Saturday, but it was enough to keep me cranky.

Mom called to check up on me, making sure I ate well and wasn’t running a fever. I still had a temperature and felt so exhausted I wanted to stay glued to the couch for the rest of the day. My nose was stuffed, and each time I swallowed, it was like I was swallowing a marble.

The pizza delivery was quick, staying true to the twenty-minute delivery time they advertised. I paused the last episode of House’s first season, took the money, and hauled myself to the front door, ignoring the protest of my muscles. At least there was something positive about this—I didn’t have to go to school.

I opened the door and curled my lips up in a smile, but my smile froze because on my doorstep was none other than Blake. After a brief moment of confusion, that video appeared in front of my eyes. All I could see was young Blake in it. Beaten. Devastated. Hopeless.

He saw his girlfriend get raped and killed right before his eyes…

I blinked, clearing my mind of those nauseating thoughts. I spotted his red Ducati Panigale R many chicks at our school drooled over parked in my driveway, and I frowned. Unless Blake was a pizza delivery boy, I couldn’t even begin to understand what he was doing here.

My heart started racing. Maybe he’s found out I was in his room.

“What are you doing here, Blake?”

His gazed moved down my body slowly, so slowly, and my cheeks flamed. I’d humiliated myself in front of him on Friday night, and now that he was here, my words came back to taunt me. My cheeks grew even redder, if that was possible. As always when I was around him, I sucked in my stomach, hoping my muffin top wasn’t as visible as I thought it was.

I coughed and sniffed. The small frown on his face grew deeper when he met my gaze. “You didn’t come to school.” I raised my brows. “I heard Sarah say you got sick, so I came to see you.”

What? I was tempted to pinch my arm, just to check if I was imagining this or not. The school day wasn’t even over yet, and he was here checking up on me. This must have been a prank. He would smile another of his cruel smiles and show me he was just messing with me.

At least he isn’t here because I was in his room and watched the video. This meant he didn’t know about that.

“You…” I started in a voice both squeaky and raspy. I coughed. “You’re checking up on me?”

His eyes seared into me. “You could say that, yes.”

I believed I must’ve been transported into another dimension; that was the only explanation for why Blake Jones—my enemy and bully from day one—was here, checking if I was okay.

“Why? We aren’t friends.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but then the pizza guy brought his scooter to a stop next to Blake’s bike. Blake crossed his arms over his chest. His face didn’t reveal any emotion as he observed the interaction between the pizza guy and me. I couldn’t do anything against the shame that he was seeing me buy pizza. I didn’t want him to judge me for my eating habits, too aware of the fact that he was only drawn to super thin girls.

Until you, my mind chipped in, but I didn’t let that treacherous thought sink any deeper into me.

“That’ll be $11.99,” the guy said as he handed me the pizza.

I gave him fifteen dollars, coughing. It was the middle of March, but it was cold as if it was February. “Keep