My Bullies, My Lovers

3: Tori

Tori

There are too many bodies to see who it is—just inked fingers parting people like the Red Sea.

It’s not until we’re sandwiched among a mass of sweating bodies that I recognize my rescuer. Of all the people I didn't want to see, Thorne is the last name on the list. His grip tightens, pulling me flush against his chest as he tilts his head down toward me. I want to fight, to tell him to back off, but all I can think about is the way his body used to make me feel.

He’s the only one who’s ever made me come undone, and no matter what he’s done since, part of me wants him to do it all over again. You ruined me, Thorne. My first time was more than I could handle, and now nothing else compares. He didn’t just ruin my search for pleasure—he left a hole in my chest too.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says, his voice flat, like my presence is nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“I’m starting to figure that out.” I take a step back, only to be shoved right back into him by the crowd.

“Why are you here, Vic?” His dark eyes narrow, suspicion simmering behind them as if he’s trying to dig into my brain. You’ll only find regrets.

“I don’t know,” I admit, unable to handle the weight of his stare, my eyes drifting toward the DJ booth instead.

“Go home, Vic. Nobody wants you here.”

His shove sends me stumbling through the crowd, and I take my chance, spotting the back entrance. Without looking back, I make a beeline for the door, sucking in a deep breath of night air the second I’m outside. I don’t stop—I can’t. Not until I’ve run a few blocks down the road.

What the hell were you thinking, Tori? I berate myself, mentally kicking myself in the ass for ever showing up. I didn’t see Sadie, had no clue what the party was even for, and I wasn’t even sure the Iron Triad were still friends. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Once I’m far enough away, I slow my pace, leaning against a campus building to catch my breath. The reprieve is short-lived, though. A haunting whistle echoes down the street, sending a chill through me and dragging me right back to senior year.

Ryder isn’t far. I can practically feel him grinning, enjoying the chase like the psycho he is. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I force myself to walk calmly to the bus stop, plopping down on the bench as if waiting for the last public bus of the night.

Totally normal behavior sitting alone at a bus stop after midnight. As if that makes me any less of a target.

“Vicky, Vicky, Vicky. Were you really going to leave without saying hello?” His voice drips with mockery as he materializes behind me, almost like a ghost, whispering that stupid nickname.

“Yeah, actually.” I nod without turning around, refusing to meet those infuriatingly blue eyes.

“Well, that’s pretty rude, don’t you think? I went out of my way to greet you.” His tone is all fake hurt as he clutches his chest like I’ve shot him.

“Nobody asked you to, and my name isn’t Vicky. It’s Tori.” How many times do I have to say it before it sticks?

“Oh? Tori, huh? That’s... new.” Ryder hops over the back of the bench, landing beside me and pressing in far too close, his arm glued to mine. Personal space has never been his strong suit.

“If you say so.” I shrug, my eyes fixed on the flickering streetlight ahead, praying it won’t go out entirely.

For a moment, he’s quiet. No biting remarks, no petty jabs—just silence. Long enough that I stupidly let my guard down.

That’s when he strikes. In an instant, he’s on his feet, standing directly in front of me. His blue Polo cologne—same scent from junior year—hits me like a punch to the gut. The same scent that clung to his jacket, the one he lent me the day Blaze made me run naked out of school.

Don’t drop your guard again, Tori. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with.

That jacket was the reason my acceptance to my dream college was rejected. The reason I almost didn’t graduate. It’s amazing how quickly pockets full of drugs can ruin your future. Hard to prove they're not yours when they're found on you.

“What are you doing?” I snap, unable to hide the tremor in my voice as fear creeps in. My body’s in full fight-or-flight mode, adrenaline pumping hard and fast.

“You’re different,” he murmurs, studying me like he’s solving some sort of puzzle. “I don’t like it.”

His words cut deeper than I expect, and for once, I’m at a loss. No quick comebacks, no witty retort—just silence. His expression shifts, forehead creasing as if he’s trying to make sense of it all.

Then he leans in, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine, invading my space too much, too fast. I don’t blink—I can’t. If I close my eyes, I’m afraid he’ll become the devil I know he is.

“Maybe I need to remind you who you really are.” His threat hangs in the air like a thick fog, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“You don’t know s**t about who I am,” I spit, forcing the words out despite the tightness in my chest.

“Oh, I know more than you think.” His smirk curls, and in one swift motion, he pulls back, standing tall like he’s won something. “Don’t forget—I know everything about you.”

How could I forget? He posted pages of my diary all over school.

He brushes his thumb across his bottom lip, then mine. My mind spins, unable to keep up, but trying to understand Ryder Hayes is like trying to read hieroglyphics.

“Mmm, so delicious.” He laughs, strolling back to the party with his hands shoved in his pockets, leaving me alone in the empty street.

My mind is a mess. Torn between who I am now and the girl I used to be. Stop reminding me, damn it. Memories flood in—Ryder’s cruelty, his laughter echoing in the halls at my expense. But there’s one moment, one sliver of vulnerability he let me see, a side no one else knows.

What's that saying? There's a fine line between hate and love. Maybe I'm walking it. What the hell is wrong with me?