The Wicked Truth Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Pru Schuyler

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: Murphy Rae

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  This book is dedicated to all survivors.

  TRIGGER WARNING

  This book contains scenes and depictions of sexual assault.

  The Wicked Truth Playlist

  This is the playlist I wrote The Wicked Truth to.

  For the full experience, listen while you read.

  “Dusk Till Dawn” by Madilyn Bailey (Theme song of The Wicked Truth)

  “In Too Deep” by Why Don’t We

  “All We Are” by Matt Nathanson

  “Us” by James Bay

  “Complicated” by Olivia O’Brien

  “like that” by Bea Miller

  “Wait For Me” by Shane Harper, featuring Bridget Mendler

  “i drive me mad” by renforshort

  “Chandelier” by Madilyn Bailey

  “We Belong” by Dove Cameron

  “Love Me Like You Do” by Kurt Hugo Schneider, Madilyn Bailey, and MAX

  “You’re Somebody Else” by Flora Cash

  “Here with Me” by Susie Suh and Robot Koch

  “Wrong Direction” by Hailee Steinfeld

  “Bloodshot” by Dove Cameron

  “Breathe (2 AM)” by Anna Nalick

  “Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

  —Buddha

  ONE

  A piece of my soul was ripped from my body. I am hollow.

  I am a shell, threatening to shatter into nothingness.

  Then

  I took off running, running as fast as I could. Rain soaked through to my skin. But it didn’t wash away. He wouldn’t wash off of me.

  My feet pounded the ground. My mind felt numb. Yet my body could still feel his hands. I could still feel them smothering me, choking me.

  The streets were black; small lampposts were my only light. Even the stars were hiding tonight.

  I turned the corner.

  Why wouldn’t my legs go faster? Why wouldn’t they just go faster? I pleaded and pushed them harder.

  I just needed to get home. I heard a car turn the corner behind me. Was that him? My skin crawled.

  I forced my feet faster, forced them to stride longer. He couldn’t catch me. I wouldn’t let him. I turned again and hopped the fence. I ran past kids’ toys strewn in the grass. I hopped to the other side and kicked off down the new street.

  Two blocks, and I’d be home.

  My lungs were struggling. I had to force the breaths to go in and out faster, yet I couldn’t feel the burn that I imagined was trying to choke me. I only felt his lips, his fingers digging into my hips.

  One more block.

  The smell of rain invaded my nose, but above it all, I could still smell him, his hot breath on my face.

  I turned onto my street, and my house came into view. The lights were off. Mom was working late again.

  Two houses away.

  Almost there.

  I grabbed my keys from my pocket and leaped the last few steps to my house.

  I hastily unlocked the door and slammed it behind me, locking the handle and dead bolt. My knees buckled, and my stomach finally caught up with my body.

  I threw up on the floor of our entryway. But when I finished, the nauseous feeling didn’t leave, and I didn’t know if it ever would.

  TWO

  “Don’t forget, sweetie; we’re going over to the Carvers’ tonight for dinner!” my mom hollers as she descends the stairs.

  “I think I’m coming down with a cold!” I push two fake coughs out.

  Mom laughs at me. “Very funny! Be ready in an hour!”

  Dammit. The last thing I want to do right now is go meet some new stuck-up neighbors in this stupid, gated community. Why can’t I just stay here?

  I leap and land face-first on my new bed. “Ugh.”

  “I heard that!” my mom shouts, clearly downstairs.

  How could she have possibly heard that?

  We are going to meet the Carvers tonight because Mrs. Carver—no clue what her first name is—is my mom’s new boss and our new neighbor. Who happens to have a seventeen-year-old daughter who happens to be in my grade and who happens to go to the school I will be starting in two weeks.

  So, basically, this is just a huge setup to make me a friend because my mom doesn’t want me to be alone on my first day.

  Thanks, Mom. What could possibly go wrong with a forced friendship?

  After an hour of hair and makeup and changing a million times, I drag myself downstairs to find my mom pacing the kitchen.

  “Let’s get this over with.” I restrain the eye roll begging to be released.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you look so beautiful!” She claps her hands together and smiles, exposing her two dimples, completely ignoring my comment about getting this over with.

  She’s really good at that—ignoring my negativity. I think she chooses to see what she wants when it comes to me; she chooses to see the daughter of her dreams.

  I decided to go with a long-sleeved black skater dress that has lace cutouts on the ribs. I added some black stockings and my Doc Martens. My hair is pinned up in a curly bun with a few long auburn strands hanging down, framing my face. I finished my look off with a dark smoky eye and some mascara.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I force a smile, which I hope is believable, and turn before she can figure out it’s fake.

  I don’t feel beautiful anymore. I feel tainted. Like if anyone looks hard enough, they’ll see it. They’ll see what he did. They’ll see that I’m cracked, broken.

  “All right, let’s head over.” My mom smiles through her words.

  I’m only doing this for her. I’m tired of disappointing her. This is a fresh start for a lot of things, but one of the most important ones is for our relationship. I cut her out for a long time, and it’s one of my biggest regrets. I don’t want her to feel unloved or underappreciated. Because she is honestly the only person in this world I trust right now; she’s the only one holding me together even if she doesn’t know it.

  My anxiety is already starting to stir in my chest. I feel exposed. I haven’t shown this much skin since that night, and honestly, after this, it won’t be happening anytime soon.

  This is my fresh start, my escape from everything we left behind. My mom got offered a dream job at the Carvers’ law firm. She was worried that I wouldn’t want to leave my friends and
the life that we had made back in Pittsburgh. But she couldn’t have been further from the truth. I wanted nothing more than to move to Denver, Colorado.

  I have no clue why my mom insists on driving to the Carvers’ house since their house is literally thirty feet away from our front door. But my mom always says that first impressions mean everything. Which means we drive thirty feet and park on the street just to show up in my mom’s new Audi. I think the only reason that she cares so much is because the Carvers own the law firm she’s partnering at. I still think it’s stupid, but I don’t make the rules.

  I will admit that the Carvers’ house is perfect. Where ours has overgrown weeds and needs some new shingles from not being lived in for a while, the Carvers’ house looks like it was plucked straight out of a magazine. The house is landscaped with pruned hedges and white begonias that obviously take steroids.

  On top of that, their driveway is made of hand-placed cobblestones, and the entire front wall of their house is all windows. Warm yellow light pours from them, showing off the gigantic chandelier hanging right above the staircase. It’s flawless. There’s no way that anyone who lives in this house will get along with me.

  My mom might have money, but we have never cared about the vanity of it. We don’t shop expensive, luxury brands. Our clothes aren’t iron-pressed. We don’t have a maid or a driver, like everyone else in this community. The only things she’s spent any money on are her car and our house. Sometimes, this life gets the better of her, which is why we just parked thirty feet from our front door.

  It’s not like we can’t afford it because we can. We just don’t focus on it. We don’t care about stupid show-off parties, like the one we’re walking into right now.

  A woman in a light-blue floor-length gown greets us at the door. It’s fairly obvious she has had some work done. God forbid we allow wrinkles on our face.

  “Melinda! So glad you and Stella could join us tonight. I know it was kind of last minute.” She smiles at my mom, and then her attention drops down to me, faltering. “You must be Stella!”

  Her smile is as fake as her boobs. Which I can see way too much of right now, by the way.

  She leans in and does the weird double-kiss thing, which I reciprocate with a mwah, mwah on each cheek.

  Oh, my mom owes me big time.

  I push the most convincing smile on my face. “Yes, I am Stella. It is so great to meet you, Mrs. Carver.” I hate myself.

  “Please come in. Herald!” she shouts at a man with a whiskey glass.

  He turns and saunters over to us. He is head-to-toe dressed in luxury.

  “This is Melinda. She just joined the firm, and this is her daughter, Stella.” She gestures to us both.

  I really should win a reward for the act I’m about to put on for my mom tonight. “Hello, Mr. Carver. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  I reach my hand forward to shake his. He takes it and replies with a firm shake.

  “Oh, Stella.” He uses my name like an old friend. “I have heard so much about you. You must meet our daughter, Brooke, tonight. I think you two will be fast friends.”

  Doubt it if she is anything like her parents.

  “Of course we will,” I lie.

  We follow the Carvers through the foyer, filled with waiters and overly priced gowns and suits. My mom walks off with the Carvers to mingle and I’m left all alone.

  I suddenly feel naked. Like a thousand eyes are on me. Why is everyone looking at me?

  They’re not, Stella. Breathe.

  Just stop it. You are being paranoid. Close your eyes. Breathe. One, two, three, fo—

  “Excuse me. I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”

  I jump at the words, staggering back a step. The mystery man reaches his hand out to catch my wrist, but I pull away before he can touch me.

  No one touches me. Not again.

  After steadying myself, I begin searching to find my mom, completely ignoring the body in front of me. I spot her fifteen feet away, deep in conversation with the Carvers. She senses my gaze and turns to me, giving me a thumbs-up.

  If only she knew what had happened, she’d kill any guy within five feet of me.

  I lift my gaze to see the face that patiently waits for my response.

  I’m stunned. Emerald eyes peer down into me. They’re framed by dark eyelashes that match his almost-black hair. He’s gorgeous. I have to look far up to meet his eyes because he towers over me. And he’s sexy as hell in this suit.

  Suit.

  Prom.

  Austin.

  Take a step back, Stella.

  I listen to my thoughts and retreat another step. When I refocus my gaze on his deep green eyes, his lips pull into a half-smile. I can’t help but notice his deep-cut jaw and high cheekbones with how the light is hitting them.

  Stella, stop.

  Austin.

  My stomach drops at the thought of him, and I need to get away from this boy. Without another word, I turn and walk the other way. I need to get outside. I can feel my heart rate rising, and I can’t … I can’t breathe. I need out. I need air.

  I push faster. He is clearly no good for me. No one is. I can’t be touched anymore or looked at or talked to. Not after him. Never again.

  “I didn’t even catch your name,” Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, and So Not Good for Me shouts.

  “You don’t need to know it,” I reply curtly and continue walking, picking up my pace.

  I lose him, darting around a corner. I pass a bunch of waitstaff and finally spot what has to be the back door. I am practically jogging at this point. Which isn’t helping the fact that I’m almost hyperventilating.

  I push the door open and am blasted with a bite of cool air. If the house was impressive, their backyard came straight out of a fairy tale. I walk up to the grand white fountain and place my hands on the side of the cool marble to steady myself.

  “Breathe, Stella. Breathe. He’s not here. He’s not here. You’re safe. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” I count on the inhale.

  After holding it for a second, I slowly release, exhaling. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”

  I do this a couple of times until I finally feel calm.

  Someone clears their throat. “Ahem.”

  I can hear it’s at least a girl, so I feel safe, but I am desperately wishing that someone had not just witnessed my panic attack. I turn, hoping my cheeks don’t show my embarrassment.

  I’m greeted by a girl about my age. Her black hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders. She’s wearing Doc Martens—a win in my book any day.

  She takes a hesitant step toward me. “Are you okay?”

  Do I look okay?

  “Yeah, sorry, just had a little moment there.” What the heck was I supposed to say? You just saw me completely talking to myself and telling myself to breathe. I’m sure I looked insane.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She closes the distance and hops up onto the fountain, next to where I’m leaning, with no regard to the deep burgundy cocktail dress she is wearing.

  I will never talk about this. Ever. To anyone. Not even my mom. I don’t really talk to myself about it. Which is a shocker. Because honestly, I talk to myself more than what is probably deemed normal.

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, of course. Sorry.” She throws both hands up. “None of my business.”

  Feeling at the peak of my humiliation, I push off the fountain. “I should head back in. I’m supposed to be meeting my mom’s work friend’s daughter tonight.” Yeah, that doesn’t sound confusing at all.

  “Who’s your mom?” she asks, stopping my next step.

  “You probably don’t know her. We just moved here. My mom’s Melinda Sullivan. She just started with the Carvers at their firm.”

  A smile breaks over her face. Not quite reaching her eyes, but seeming genuine. “You’re Stella,” she states.

  “Uh, yeah. How’d you know that?” It comes out ruder than I wanted it to.
/>   “Because I am the mom’s work friend’s daughter.” She laughs. “I’m Brooke.”

  I look down, expecting her hand to shoot out but it doesn’t. Hmm, not crazy formal. Point for her.

  “Oh. Nice to meet you.” I’m not sure what else to say.

  “How old are you?” she asks.

  “Seventeen. I turn eighteen in October,” I reply.

  “I’m seventeen too.” She hops down off the fountain and steps to me. “Tell me you hate this party as much as I do, or there is no way we are going to be friends.”

  Okay, this girl is growing on me.

  No friends, Stella. No friends.

  I did promise myself no friends and no relationships of any kind. It all leads to more people, and more people lead to more pain.

  Austin. I shudder at his name. I hate how he controls my thoughts and I can’t. He’s always popping in, forcing himself. Never wanted.

  One friend wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just one though, no more.

  “Soooo?” She drags her word out, pulling me from my thoughts.

  Crap, how long was I just standing there, like an idiot?

  “Yes. I hate this party. Maybe even more than you do.” I meet her eyes, and for a split second, I swear, I recognize something within them. But she blinks, and it disappears.

  “I doubt that. Try having to attend one of these soirees almost every weekend since you were born. Then, you can tell me how much you hate it,” she scoffs.

  “Okay, you got me there.” I smile at her. “That sounds like torture.”

  “Oh, it is, trust me. So, let’s go do something else. I have an idea. Follow me.” She turns and starts walking without giving me a chance to respond.

  “Wait, where are we going?” I take a step forward.

  Am I really going to follow this girl? I don’t know her.

  Footsteps behind me grab my attention. I turn and see Mr. Not Good for Me walking my way and decide it’s better than being trapped out here with him.

  My flight instincts kick in, and I take off after Brooke, who is already a good twenty feet from me.