Made for Cyn: A High School Bully Romance (The Made Series Book 1) by Nina Lincoln

Author:Nina Lincoln [Lincoln, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The next few days, I exist in a haze of pain that keeps me from feeling the shit around me. Cyn’s with some chick—who cares? Jig’s being cruel—okay. I just don’t care, and it’s with an extreme amount of fatigue that I sit down at the lunch table on Friday and rest my head in my hand.

Sleep eludes me because I’m terrified John will come in while I’m vulnerable. For all I know, he has a damn key to the door, so I get some here and there before I jump awake with a gasp. After, I lay back down and try to sleep, but my heart pounds so hard, I can’t relax, and I stare at nothing for hours instead. This is the only good thing about detention. The teacher doesn’t care if I sleep, and I’m too fucking exhausted to keep my eyes open.

My Aunt Pam works so many night shifts or is out of town; it’s like she doesn’t even live there, and the toll it’s taking on me is harsh, to say the least.

Nodding off, I jump a foot when Oscar says beside me, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I rasp, smiling sheepishly and picking up my sandwich, but after one bite, I drop it back to the napkin and lean back into my hand.

I barely stir when Natasha appears and drops her shit in her chair before leaning toward me with a greedy light in her eyes. “Word on the street is that Cyn popped your cherry. Is it true?”

My eyes fly to his, where he looks up at the same time and smiles, raising a curious brow. I stare at him for half a second before turning back to Natasha and asking through dry lips, “What?”

“Yeah, it’s been circulating since this morning. Is it true?”

Swinging back to Cyn, I see he’s still watching me with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, and I frown, curling my hand into a fist. Did he do this because he didn’t want everyone to think Rand popped my cherry? Or is he just being cruel?

“Well?” Natasha demands.

With a fierce glare for Cyn, whose eyes light up with fire at the challenge, I mutter quietly, “I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

Dick. Take that. I don’t remember.

During PE, I flat out refuse to dress down, and the coach just sighs before pointing me to the sidelines while the others play another rousing game of flag football. Climbing the bleachers, I sit down gingerly and whimper when I hit a particularly painful spot.

It would seem with every passing day, the numbness wears off, and it’s more painful than less. Of course, it would help if my dick uncle would let the first set of bruises heal before he started in on more.

Jig is particularly aggressive today, and I watch absently as he throws the ball to a guy near the end zone.

“You need a little reminder, beauty?” Cyn says, stepping up before me and blocking out the sun.

Tilting my head back, I almost swallow my tongue because he looks so fucking good, staring at me with his wicked smile.

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