He Broke Me For The Girl Who Bullied Me Chapter 02
The blood kept dripping. I bandaged the cut, numb.
Blood and tears soaked into the gauze. The sight of it turned my stomach.
I kept staring down at the bandage. My mind kept skipping — to Celeste’s voice on speakerphone: mess with her a little.
Then to every night I’d woken from a nightmare shaking, reaching for the razor in my nightstand drawer — only for Ethan to catch my wrist, his voice breaking.
“Audrey! You die and you get your peace — but what about me?!”
“What about the rest of us who love you?!”
He’d held me so tight. His voice cracking with what sounded exactly like real feeling.
His hot tears soaked into my shoulder, his warmth seeping through me until I finally felt safe.
So I opened up. Sobbing, I told him everything.
How they’d doctored photos of me and passed them around school.
How they’d framed me for stealing from other students’ lockers.
How a group of them had cornered me in the locker room and dumped ice water over me until I couldn’t stop shaking.
How the panic attacks had started after that — how my body never quite recovered, how the cramps got so bad every month I couldn’t stand up.
How I’d had to withdraw from school for a year. Spend six months as an inpatient at a psych facility.
The name Celeste Montfort had sent me spiraling more times than I could count. And every time, I’d forced myself back onto my feet.
On the worst nights, Ethan would hold me until morning, murmuring, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Was he really comforting me?
Had he been taking screenshots of our conversations and sending them to her? Showing off her handiwork?
I didn’t want to know.
His laptop screen lit up on the desk. The messaging app kept blinking.
He’d forgotten to log out.
With trembling fingers, I clicked. And there it was — a private group chat. Celeste was the admin.
I scrolled all the way to the top. Then I read every single message, word by word.
I read through the messages about Ethan pursuing me in college — the courtship I’d mistaken for love at first sight — and finally saw the truth.
He’d pursued me because Celeste had written:
She got into your school?? Is that a joke? Does she even deserve to breathe the same air?
E, I hate her so much. Can you fake-date her? Wreck her, then dump her?
Ethan had replied, breezy:
You won’t be my girlfriend, so now you’re pimping me out?
Fine. You win.
Every time I let my guard down with him, the chat erupted with cheers. They egged him on: Seal the deal. Take her virginity. You know you want to.
He’d posted a video of the day he gave me the scooter, offering it up for their entertainment:
Look at her. So easy to please. Treats a used Vespa like it’s a Ferrari.
They’d sneered at the watch I gave him — the one I’d saved for six months to buy:
Cheap piece of clearance-rack garbage.
Every message was a small cut. Cruel, casual, precise.
My tears splattered on the keyboard. I wiped them away with my sleeve and kept reading.
The farther I scrolled, the less often Ethan appeared in the chat. He stopped participating as often.
But recently — recently, they’d all been waiting eagerly for me to be humiliated. Planning how Ethan would deliver the final blow.
I slumped in the chair, my heart pounding in my ears.​
Then a video dropped into the group chat.​
One of the guys had captioned it:​
For the boys who couldn’t make it tonight.​
I tapped it.​
“Kiss! Kiss her, man!”​
“Lockwood, she’s throwing herself at you. Don’t leave her hanging!”​
The room erupted in cheers.​
I stared at the screen, hollow.​
Ethan scooped Celeste into his arms. She was too drunk to stand. With everyone still whooping behind him, he carried her into another room.
The whooping and wolf-whistling nearly overloaded the microphone. Like they were sending them off on their wedding night.
Slowly, I placed my fingers on the keyboard. Typed. Sent.
You disgusting animals. Why don’t you all just do the world a favor and die.
A second later, I was forcibly logged out of his account.
I thought Ethan had helped me escape my past. Turns out he’d been part of it all along.
Ethan had just been standing between me and it, letting me believe the sky had cleared.
My phone rang. I picked up.
“You saw it all?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait until I get home. I’ll explain — I can explain, I —”
“Don’t bother.”
I sank to the bathroom floor. Looked around at the little apartment we’d decorated together, piece by piece.
“You don’t need to explain. And you don’t need to come back.”
“Ethan. I don’t want to play your game anymore. Just let me go.”
“If I can’t fight you, I can at least walk away.”