Page 15 of Wicked Little Secret
“Ladies room,” I answer, picking up a glass of sparkling water. “I couldn’t findyou when I came back.”
Samson’s suspicion fades thanks to his short attention span. He’s noticed we’re alone at the refreshment’s table and decided it’s the perfect opportunity to make a move. His heavy hand creeps onto my hip, squeezing the flesh like he wishes my dress would disappear into nothing.
“How about we head back to my place? Nobody’ll notice.”
I break his hold by taking a wide step to my left. “Please tell me you’re kidding. This is Heather’s dad’s funeral.”
“So what?”
“She’s my friend.”
“She hated the guy,” he grunts. “Everybody hated the guy. Even my dad only golfed with him ’cuz he had to. They were both on the board for the school and?—”
“Shhh,” I hush, glancing around. “The answer’s no, Samson. I won’t go back to your place to fuck you.”
A glower spreads on his ruddy face. “There’s always an excuse with you.”
“Maybe if you were around more and not always at rugby practice, we could spend time together.”
“Or maybe there’s nothing I can do to satisfy you.”
Before I can even think up a rebuttal, he’s gone, shouldering his way through the parlor. I roll my eyes and cuss him out under my breath.
Typical Samson Wicker.
He’s more petulant child than grown, college-aged man. Spoiled rotten by his old money family, he’s never been toldno.
…until he started dating me and realized I wasn’t going to buckle under his pressure. Samson views me as a conquest while I view him as a means to an end to achieve my goal. He won’t be satisfied ’til he gets inside mypants, while I’m more concerned with using our relationship to access the right circles.
But the funniest thing about him is that he’s like everyone else in this narcissistic community. Oblivious to the fact that I’m not the new face he thinks I am. I’ve simply returned after fifteen years, fully realized as a young adult woman. He has no idea I’m the little girl he tormented so many years ago.
“Nobody likes you or your crappy family!” Samson cackled. “Why won’t you go away?”
I slid out from my desk and rushed toward the classroom door. The rest of the kids were watching in interest, several guffawing along.
When I passed by Samson’s desk, he stuck his foot out. I came crashing down hard on my stomach, my chin colliding with the tiled floor and my breath leaving my body. The pain that throbbed through me was so intense, I could barely scramble to my feet to make it the rest of the way to the door.
Ms. Zhang, the second grade teacher, shook her head at me, pity in her eyes, though she never made any attempt to help me.
She made no attempt to stop them…
The chorus of their laughter fades out for the background chatter buzzing in the parlor.
To this day, Samson’s touch makes me sick to my stomach. He thinks I’m being a frigid bitch when really, I’m repulsed by him and everything he represents.
I’m only able to tolerate him because of the finish line that waits for me. The day I finally get the revenge I’ve worked so hard toward…
“Nyssa,” chuckles his balder, fatter, penguin-shaped father, Mr. Jackson Wicker. He grabs onto me much like his son had, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to squeezeme against his side. “I saw my boy charging off. Have a fight, did you?”
“Mr. Wicker, hello. I didn’t see you coming up.”
“Say the word and I’ll knock some sense into that son of mine. He’s been in a mood since he flunked senior year and is having to repeat his classes. He better be treating you right… or you should find a real man who will.” He winks not-so-subtly at me, allowing his hand to drift from my shoulder, lower down my back.
“Right,” I say, so stiff under his touch my revulsion should be obvious. I scan the room in desperate search of someone,anyoneto escape to.
Instead, all I see are vapid faces mingling with others equally as narcissistic and vapid.
All wealth and prestige and zero substance.