Chapter 35 Collateral damage

Chapter 35 Collateral damage
BRISELLE’S POV.
  The door to our dorm room didn't just open; it flew inward with a violence that made the frames rattle. I was sitting on my bed, staring at the wall, still trying to wash the scent of ozone and cedar off my skin, when Veronica stormed in. Her eyes were red-rimmed, not from crying, but from a simmering, high-voltage anger. She was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, looking like she’d been dragged through a hurricane.
  "Where were you?" she demanded, slamming the door so hard the lock shook.
  I didn't turn around. I kept my gaze fixed on the peeling paint of the ceiling. "I told you, Veronica. The storm. I couldn't get a cab so I stayed at a friend’s."
  "Don't lie to me," she snapped, stepping into my line of sight. She looked exhausted, her hair a wild halo of blonde static. "I was worried sick! I called Jenna. I called everyone. I called Jenna three times, Briselle. She told me she hadn't seen you since the library yesterday afternoon."
  My stomach dropped. I had forgotten, in the haze of the storm and the aftermath of that kiss, that Jenna was the loose thread in my cover story.
  "I...I meant another friend," I said, my voice sounding weak even to me. "It’s not a big deal, Veronica."
  "It is a big deal when you go missing the night after you’re plastered all over the social pages as the 'mystery girl' for the most dangerous guy in the city!"
  She paced the small room, her heels clicking like a metronome of frustration. "People are talking, Bris. They’re saying you’re his latest project. They’re saying you’re going to end up just like everyone else who gets caught in the Thornefield web—chewed up and spat out."
  "You don't know anything about it," I said, my temper finally beginning to fray. The sleepless night, the coldness of Kai’s apology, the weight of the secret I was carrying, it all surged to the surface.
  "I know enough! I know he’s bad news! You’re not like them, Briselle. You’re not one of those girls who plays the game for the thrill of it. You’re going to get hurt, or worse, you’re going to drag me down with you!"
  That was the trigger. The mention of us, the implication that I was the one threatening her stability, made something inside me snap.
  "Drag you down?" I stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "You want to talk about dragging people down, Veronica? Why don't you look in the mirror?  I know where you spend your nights, sometimes you live at your boyfriend’s place, skipping classes, and leaving me to cover for you every single time the RA comes knocking?"
  She froze, her face turning a pale, stunned white but I didn't stop. The words were a torrent now, fueled by the guilt and the fear I’d been suppressing for weeks. "I spent the night at Kai penthouse! Are you happy now? I slept in his guest room because I was terrified of the storm and I had nowhere else to turn because you're never here! I am drowning in this, Veronica!"
  The silence that followed was absolute. Veronica looked at me as if I were a stranger. Her mouth opened, then closed, her hands trembling at her sides.
  "You slept...at his place?" she whispered, her voice stripped of its fury.
  "Yes," I spat, the admission hanging in the air like a death sentence. "And it was a mistake. But don't you dare act like the victim here when your entire life is built on me cleaning up your messes."
  She didn't try to defend herself or yell back. She just looked at me with a mixture of betrayal and pity that stung far worse than any of Kai’s coldness.
  "You're already becoming one of them," she said.
  She turned on her heel and stormed out, the door slamming with a finality that shook the windows. I was left alone in the stifling, cramped room, the silence rushing back in to fill the void.
  I sank down onto the edge of my bed, the adrenaline leaving me in a sudden, sickening rush. I had done it. I had shattered the fragile peace of our life, all because I couldn't handle the ghost of a kiss and the coldness of a man who didn't want me.
  I looked at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. Jenna. She was the only one who could bridge this gap. She was the only one who knew the version of me that existed before the blackmail.
  I quickly typed a message: Jenna, are you there? I need to talk. Everything is falling apart.
  I hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for the three dots to appear. 
 
  The walk to Jenna’s off-campus apartment felt like a trudge through quicksand. My lungs still burned with the remnants of the shouting match with Veronica, and every time I saw a black SUV pass by, my heart spiked with the irrational fear that it was Kai, coming to finalize his "professional" cleanup.
  I reached the front door of Jenna’s building and let myself in with the spare key she’d given me. I didn't even knock, I pushed the door open, the smell of cheap candles and leftover takeout instantly grounding me in a world that wasn't glass and steel.
  Jenna was sitting on the floor of her living room, surrounded by half-finished art projects. She looked up, her expression shifting from annoyance to pure, unfiltered shock the second she saw my face.
  "Briselle?" She scrambled up, dropping a paintbrush. "What is going on? You texted me like the world was ending."
  I didn't answer, I just walked past her, my legs finally giving out, and collapsed onto her sagging velvet couch. I buried my face in a throw pillow and let out a sound that wasn't quite a sob, but it was close.
  "Talk to me," Jenna said, her voice dropping to a low, serious tone. She sat beside me, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. 
  I sat up, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "It’s over, Jenna. Everything. The act, the secret-keeping. I blew it up."