Page 91 of Watched

“Give me his fucking address!” Xan shouts.

“It’s everywhere,” I choke through the disbelief lumping in my throat.

“I’ve reported every post I’ve seen, and Ma is still going, trying to get it taken down. That sick fuck will pay for this.”

I’m always anxious about talking to Xan on the phone, especially when he talks like this. He’s a well-known drug dealer, and I’m always under the assumption the police have tapped his phone.

“Everyone’s seen it… Everyone knows.”

“Give me his fucking address, Rome!”

Tears drip to wet my screen, still buzzing with incoming messages.

All I want is to shrivel away and die as I read the comments on the first post. No wonder he’s a bitch on the pitch. Rome Asstown. This faggot doesn’t deserve to be playing.

“Rome,” Xan calls.

I hang up, and my fractured heart splits seeing one particular message.

Private.8: I tried to call you, but your number’s changed, and you blocked me. I love you, Rome. Everyone knows now. We don’t need to hide anymore.

I stare at the message until the screen turns black. This prick has just released a sex tape of me, and he has the audacity to message me?

Me: Do you understand what you’ve just done??

Private.8: I did it for us.

He’s fucking crazy—even more than Rain, and that’s saying a lot.

Me: There is no US.

Private.8: Don’t say that. We’ve had problems, but I just solved them. I know you love me too. I can see it in the way you look at me.

A laugh of utter disbelief falls from my lips as I screenshot the message chain and then turn off my phone.

If I ever came out, I wanted it to be my way, on my terms.

Pulling the hood back up, I take Rain’s pillow, squeezing it to my tight chest and focusing on the woodsy scent of his cologne as I drown in the bursting floodgates of shame.

I can feel the empty space behind my house crowd with judging eyes, my heart unable to beat through the shattered pieces as tears cascade down my cheeks.

I bury my face in his pillow, a scream tearing my throat.

Chapter thirty-five

RAIN

Freedom smells a hell of a lot better than that stale cell. I know Dad had called in the one favour the Police Commissioner owed him to get me out scot-free.

No ankle bracelet, no court date, no penthouse.

My father’s coat flies in the breeze as he approaches in the night, fury blazing in his eyes. No words are spoken; he simply motions to the car. I slide into the passenger seat, and a phone is placed in my hand, a video waiting.

Rage blurs the edges of my vision as I watch Rome fucking someone.

“When the fuck was this?”

“Someone leaked it online. I went to see Rome last night when it happened, and he said you already know him.”