“I’m not normal people.”
“You sure as f*ck are not. Normal people don’t hire their nemesis as an assistant.”
“That’s because they lack imagination. This is the perfect way to torment her.”
His expression is deadly serious as he asks, “And then what?”
“What do you mean, then what?”
“You’re doing this for a result, no?”
“No. The endgame isn’t necessary, the process is.”
He chuckles. “Crazy c*nt.”
“I should be calling you that for your recent involvement with the mafia.”
“We’re cool.” He smooths his tie. “Besides, the tables have turned now, and you’re the main entertainment.”
“I’m no one’s bloody entertainment.”
“We’ll leave that to the court of the group chat. I’m sure everyone will agree that you brought this sh*tshow upon yourself.”
“It’s not a sh*tshow. It’s called cold-blooded revenge.”
“You’re still holding that much of a grudge, huh?”
I stare at the closed shutters and I can perfectly imagine her on the other side. Only, she’s not the desperate Nicole who stooped low to work as an assistant.
All I see is the girl who made my and my best friend’s lives in school hell.
The girl who was on a mission to destroy everything pretty I held of her. Everything…innocent.
It’s smudged in dark red blood now. Dry blood that’s been there for over a f*cking decade and refuses to come off.
But now, I’ll use her to scrub that blood clean.
“It’s not a grudge, Knox. It’s a f*cking game.”
Like the one she used to play back in the day.
This time, I’ll win.
4
NICOLE
AGE EIGHTEEN
I’m doing this.
Yes, it’s wrong. Yes, I’ll probably regret it and curse all my unlucky stars come morning.
But to hell with that.
To hell with being a good girl and counting every step before I take it.
To hell with being lucky.
I don’t want that. I never wanted that.
All I’ve ever wanted are peaches and him.
But I lost them both.
At eight, my allergic reaction to peaches nearly got me killed. So I can’t eat the fruit anymore—if I want to remain alive, that is.
I can’t even wear perfume with a peach smell if it has the natural fruit as an ingredient. So I wear cherry perfume instead and pretend it’s my favorite scent.
My wardrobe is filled with pink, peachy-colored outfits. My bags. My shoes. Everything.
Just because I can’t consume it, doesn’t mean I can’t stare at it from afar.
The same applies to Daniel.
We’ve had the rockiest relationship ever since that day. Although calling it a relationship is an overstatement. We’re mainly acquaintances who attend the same schools and classes and are shoved together at the same social events.
That day, I couldn’t tell Mum that I ate peaches on my own or else she would’ve been the one who killed me instead of the allergic reaction. So she assumed Daniel gave them to me, went to his mother about it, and he was grounded.
He thought I was the one who incriminated him. After that, I tried telling Mum that I did it on my own, but she wouldn’t believe that a “good girl” like me would do something so nasty. She preferred to believe the saying that it’s always the boy’s fault.
Whenever I tried to speak to Daniel at school, he’d glare at me and ignore me.
I keep missing him. Every chance. Every encounter. Every damn day.
I end up biting my lip and choking on the unsaid words he refuses to hear. He told Chloe, my close friend, that I should rot in hell.
I waited until I was alone in the bathroom and cried.
That’s what I do when it gets to be too much. I hide and cry where no one can see me tarnish my good-girl image.
Good girls don’t cry.
Good girls don’t let people see them weak.
But it’s been too much over the years.
When we were eleven, we went to one of our mothers’ gatherings and I might have followed Daniel from afar.
Sometimes, I just want to watch. It’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m not going to make him, I just want to see him.
I saw him steal the cake and take it to the other boys. Our eyes met and he paused, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Don’t you dare say anything, Peaches.”
That’s what he’s called me since we were eight, but only when he’s not mad at me. Only when he actually talks to me instead of ignoring me.
And I think I’ve fallen in love with the fruit even more since that day.
“I won’t,” I whispered, smiling.
It was one of the times I felt so goddamn proud. Because Daniel was entrusting me with a secret. We had something in common and I intended to keep it.
However, soon after, someone tattled on him and he thought it was me. I shook my head and went to him, but he pushed me until my back hit a tree.
“Stay the hell away from me, Nicole, or I’m going to hurt you next time.”
“It…wasn’t me.”
“Sure it wasn’t. Is that why you smiled after saying you won’t. You like making people trust you just so you can hurt them, don’t you?”
