You’re Mine

Chapter 82

Chapter 82 Easton The sound of my phone wakes me up.

Not the alarm that is set, giving me just enough time to shower and drive to school.

This is non—stop notifications— Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, texts—all going off at the same time.

There's so much buzzing, the vibration almost knocks the phone off my nightstand.

Still half asleep, | grab the phone and quickly scroll through the messages, trying to figure out what's going on.

It's too fucking early for something dramatic to have happened, I'm sure of that.

Except I'm wrong.

The second | see the Instagram post I'm tagged in, my back shoots up straight from bed, the blanket falls from my chest, my lips part as anger bolts through my body.

It's from WHGOSSIP, the account that was opened my freshman year, ran by someone at our school who loves to spread malicious rumors.

They've been quiet since the school year started, but now they have a tip to share, which has been posted to their main feed.

Atip that's all about me.

WHGOSSIP: Good morning, Washington High.

My gossip spies have been hard at work and have come across something deliciously scandalous.

You all know the perfect couple we've been seeing walk the halls.

Yes, I'm talking about the big man on campus and his favorite WHORE.

Well, it looks like things between them aren't as perfect as they seem.

We all know animals can't be tamed ...

Who's the mistress? None other than Mrs.

Scott.

Yes, friends, our school administrator is sleeping with the most popular guy at school, and he paid a visit to her house last night.

| wonder if she's teaching him about anatomy ...

even though he had plenty of experience on the subject long before the WHORE and Mrs.

Scott came into his life.

If you need proof, head on over to my Snapchat, there's a nice little photo of his Jeep parked outside her house.

Hey, WHORE, did you know he was sleeping with the school administrator or are you as surprised as us? Smooches, WHGOSSIP With hands that won't stop shaking, I click on WHGOSSIP’s Snapchat account and see the photo of my Jeep parked outside her house.

It doesn't prove | did anything.

It certainly doesn't show me fucking her.

But it reveals enough, and my phone won't stop exploding with texts.

Ryan: | hope to fuck this isn‘t true ...

Julia: Damn, boy.

DAMN.

Leigh: Call me right now! Aisha: | knew you were fucking around on her, Harper has to be a dead fish in bed, but with HER— Mrs.

Scott—now that's a surprise.

Too bad it wasn't with me...

Ryan: You've got some fucking balls, you know that! Blake: | told Harper not to date you.

Going back for seconds with Mrs.

Scott, you sick motherfucker.

Hunter: Nice, man! So are her tits real? Parker: Hunter and | have a hundred bucks on whether you fucked her anal.

Come on, spill the news.

You fucked her in the ass, didn't you? Rachel: You really have slept with the whole school, haven't you lol Ryan: You're not going to write me back, asshole? Goddamn it! Whoever did this, whoever sent that photo, whoever shared it, I'm going to kill all of them.

| can't look at any more messages, this shit is completely out of control.

The second | toss my phone on the bed, getting it out of my sight, it starts ringing.

Hoping it's Harper, | grab it again and Leigh's name is on the screen.

| don't want to answer, but | get the feeling she'll keep calling until she reaches me.

And if it's not now, it'll be the second | step onto school grounds today.

"Hello—"

“Easton ..."

Her voice is so sharp, it can cut through my skin.

"Who did you tell that you came to my house last night? Because photos of your Jeep are all over the fucking Internet.” | bend my knees, pressing my forehead against them.

"No one."

| take a breath.

"| told no one.” “Was it you who submitted that photo to WHGOSSIP, then? You're the one who did this to me—"

| cut her off before she can continue and say, "It wasn't me.

| don't know who took the photo and | don't know who WHGOSSIP is.” | rake my hand through my hair, pulling the strands from the roots.

"This fucks both of us, Leigh." This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

| can only imagine the look on Harper's face right now.

The tears streaming from her eyes.

The way her heart is breaking.

But it doesn't stop with Harper, my parents are going to chew my ass out if they find out, everyone at school are going to be fucking brutal with their shit talking.

This isn't going to end.

"Easton, do you have any idea how much trouble {'m in? The school board has already reached out, they want to meet with me in an hour.

They're going to conduct an investigation, | could be terminated, do you know what that means?"

I'm sure they're going to want to talk to me and hear my side of the story.

They're going to want to check my phone for texts between us, they're going to look at the camera footage and see all the times | went to the office.

"| won't rat you out, don't worry.” "Don't WORRY?"

Her yelling echoes in my ear.

"| could lose my whole fucking career over this.” It sounds like she's blaming me, like this whole goddamn thing is my fault.

“Leigh, let's not forget that it was your ultimatum that brought me to your house last night."

"Fuck you."

Fuck me? This is all her fault ...

and I've heard enough.

"If the school board asks me, | won't tell them anything that's happened between us, you have my word, but | have to go, | have my own shit to deal with right now."

She laughs, a sound of pure evil.

“Easton, let me make one thing clear.

If you try to take me down, I'll not only bury you, but I'll bury the whore you're sleeping with."

The phone goes dead.

| stare at the black screen, but it doesn't stay dark for long, more texts making their way through, their words filling my head, not even bothering to look at who sent them.

Holy fuck, | can't believe you slept with Mrs.

Scott.

You fucking animal.

Is she good? Tight? Dude, you're my hero.

| stop scrolling and pull up Harper's text box, hoping | missed a message from her, but there isn't one.

Just the small, red heart that she sent me last night before she went to bed, a few hours after | left her place.

| don't know what the hell I'm going to say, but | hold the phone to my face and listen to each ring, her voicemail then picking up.

| try again and she still doesn't answer.

| pull up the text box, seeing if | can get her to respond this way, and | start typing ...

Me: Please call me.

We have to talk about this.

It's not what you think, Harper, | promise.