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A steady stream of tears falls down my cheeks as Jamie clicks out of the video. I glance over thumbnails of Camdyn screwing familiar DuPont girls. Different positions for each one. It almost seems like a documentary: Teens Three-Hundred-and-Sixty-Five Day Kama Sutra Guide. I take a strangled breath. “Are these all porn?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You deliberately showed me those,” I grit out.
“Yes! Camdyn’s pimping out the entire senior class. They screw while wearing masks, or Courtney—”
“Adds weird facial shields to the videos?” I cut in, glaring at some of the footage. There are films with masks of presidents and celebrities to hair-raising demons and weird glitchy facial scramblers.
“Yes,” Jamie huffs. “Now, I’m searching for your video because he’s manipulated you too, Willow.”
Nausea grips my abdomen. I snatch the cellphone from his hand and plop down onto a firm mattress. “Do you get off on seeing me cry?”
Finally, the chip on Jamie’s slender shoulder decays. My eyes bite shut the instant I see myself on the yacht. Camdyn’s head is between my legs. Well, if I’m doing my due diligence, apparently Cam stays strapped and only places his filthy lips on me.
A self-imposed sadist, I flick my fingertip over the screen and preview a carousel of thumbnails. The bedroom we’ve shared in the lake house comes into view. A tiny whimper ribbons from my throat.
Self-destructive Willow begged to forgive Camdyn the Savage asshole, until the precise second he recorded us here. Big Bear Lake was always meant to be our place. Of course, this is his family’s house, but Keane’s “Somewhere Only We Know” played one night while Camdyn cooked for me. I close my eyes, bite back tears, and imagine the aroma of dinner, the scent of him, the sound of our laughter. When my eyes open, on the iPhone screen, an enraged Camdyn’s hauling me into the bedroom after our intense moment in the tub.
Jamie’s eyes search mine. Conflict plays across his face. More videos of us screwing here, hard and fast and soft and slow, are in the collection. Even when we were high and declaring our love to each other. The afternoon, after I found his scars, looks so fucking degrading. At least, the time in the garage isn’t among Camdyn’s catalog.
Sniffling, I ask, “What if I were aware of these videos?” Disbelief crosses Jamie’s face. I jump up from the bed. “Why now? Huh?”
His lips disappear into enraged lines. “You were broken! Made for me!”
Fuming, I hurl his cellphone at a glass figurine. “Screw, Cam. Apparently, everyone is. What about us, friend? You snatched out my heart. We aren’t even together.”
“We should be!I tried to let you go, let you make all those catastrophic mistakes with Camdyn. I haven’t slept since you took my hand in physics—”
“Screw you and your brother!” Desperate to put space between the two of us, I stalk toward the door.
“Willow, there’s more . . .”
At the gravity of his voice, dread pools in my stomach. I spin around. “This your version of giving a damn, Jamie?”
Lowering his eyes, he holds out a video unlike any of the others. Misery and shame bind like a cruel knot in my throat. The footage was captured in darkness. While I listen, I bend at the middle, hands flying around my stomach. Glacial ice blooms in my chest. How could I have given myself to such a heartless beast? This just got a million times worse.
