Chapter 4 -The Trophy

JULIET POV

Today is supposed to be my prom. Of course I'm not going.

Not for a lack of trying from Connor Johnson's part. I don't know how the idiot actually has a girlfriend but keeps asking me out. And how stupid is the girlfriend for staying with him while he's actively pursuing another girl.

Girls are as stupid as boys.

My choice of school is public now, thanks to my chosen university, who sent me a cheerleading uniform and a photographer who made me do various poses so they can publish the images on their social media.

My father had his hands around my throat as soon as he found out about that publicity stunt.

I'm counting down the days until graduation so I can get the hell out of dodge.

My high school cheerleading coach has hooked me up with a summer job in the West Coast at a cheerleading camp for elementary to middle school students. I'm eighteen now, so I don't need the permission of my father to do anything anymore.

Freedom is lurking right around the corner.

If I wasn't valedictorian, I would have ditched graduation, too.

I'm not completely dead in the inside, it seems.

There's a faint ache in my heart as I lie on my bed and browse my ex-bestie's social media.

Alyssa looks cute in a red gown with her hair pulled up, smiling happily up at some douche that she's dating now. That totally wouldn't have happened if we were still friends. I would have reminded her to keep her standards high. Boys our age just wanted one thing, and it definitely isn't a picture of prom.

As usual, I search for the Moretti triplets. And as usual, I find a post of the three of them together.

They're so different from each other.

Alonso Moretti is the star quarterback with the ripped body and the naughty gleam in his eyes. He probably bags chicks just by flexing his biceps and smirking at them.

Arcangelo is the musical genius. He looks dark and brooding with mysterious eyes and a sensual pull to his mouth. Tattoos run up the length of both his muscular arms, different designs of flowers and musical notes.

Alessio is the preppy one. He's wearing jeans in the picture, but he still manages to look formal in his button-down white shirt.

They're different, but still the same. They may be wearing different clothes and attitudes, but the color of their hair is all the same shade of almost black, and the color of their eyes are the same in a swirl of green and brown. It's difficult to decipher the true color from a picture alone.

Of course they had to be too special to just have one solid eye color.

They are way too attractive for their own good. And they're stinking, filthy rich with an inheritance that most people can only dream of.

Life has a way of turning out unfair for us mere mortals.

I plan on being their worst nightmare.

My hackles immediately rise when I hear the front door open. I quietly get up from my bed and check that my bedroom door is locked. I won't ever make the mistake of sleeping with an unlocked door ever again.

I've already switched the light off because I know the monster will hover at my door. It's the moments that he catches me off guard and awake, which is usually the catalyst of his angry words and strong hands.

I grab one of my cheerleading trophies off the bookshelf in my room, just in case.

My father is a supervisor at a construction company. He's worked with his hands his whole life, and even though he's drinking excessively, he still has a great physique. So I don't know what damage I can do with a stupid trophy, but at least it's something.

It's funny how I started to hear his footsteps at night after that first time he laid his hands on me.

The nightmarish sound stops in front of my door, and my whole body tenses. I clutch the trophy tighter in my hand as my blood swishes in my ears in total fear.

I'm eighteen now. I'm technically done with school. I have a summer job lined up and a full ride scholarship to a prestigious university. I am smart, I am talented, and I have things going for me.

I'm no longer letting the man who is supposed to protect me tear me down.

The pep talk I've been giving myself dissipates when the handle on my door slowly turns. When he finds it locked, he rattles the door, and I clutch the trophy to my chest in terror. What will he do next?

Then complete silence.

I quietly exhale in relief.

My relief is short-lived, though, when the door crashes open and my father stands on the other side with his hands on the frame and his booted foot in the air.

The look in his eyes is terrifying. Pure hate shines through as he looks at me, and I hate the weakness I show when a single tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek.

Kids are scared of the boogeyman under the bed. My boogeyman is my own father, and he slowly enters my bedroom to do his damage.

I don't know what made me do it. Maybe it was the look in his eyes that he would end me once and for all. So, instead of cowering like I usually do, I swing the trophy, and it lands against the side of his neck.

He looks so stunned, his hand going to the place where I hit him. I don't wait for him to recover, though. I hit him against the head in two quick successions, and I flee from my bed when he slumps to the ground on a thud.

I don't dare to look at him as I grab my backpack by the door and get the hell out of there.

When I close the apartment door behind me, I know for a fact that I will never be back.