Chapter 3
The scent of cologne mixed with cigarette smoke slammed into my nose, making it sting.
I couldn't stop coughing.
Andrew's grip tightened around me, his voice low and heavy. "Don't move.
"I missed you so much."
My nerves were stretched tight, like a string about to snap.
He kept thrusting into me, again and again.
I grabbed his sleeve, my voice hoarse. "Delete it."
Andrew held me down on his lap. "Why does your voice sound like that?
"Didn't you drink some honey water last night?
"Are you still upset because the driver didn't pick you up?"
My stomach twisted, nausea rising in my throat.
I kept quiet, pressing my nails hard into my palm.
I tried to wriggle free from him.
Andrew sighed, sounding helpless. "I checked your phone."
For a split second, my mind cleared.
I started shaking all over.
I was afraid he would see my plane ticket.
Andrew patted my back, trying to comfort me. "Did your bestie snitch on me?
"I brought Freya to the class party last night.
"It was her birthday, and she had no one to celebrate with. I brought her along.
"Harper, don't overthink it."
I slumped against him, my voice barely above a whisper. "Andrew, can you delete the photos you took? Please?
"I don't like it. Please, don't take any pictures of me."
Andrew paused.
His voice was cold, almost icy. "Still acting up?
"I knew I shouldn't have told you.
"How many times do I have to say it? I felt sorry for Freya.
"Harper, I'm not always going to tolerate you."
Andrew's lips moved, but no sound came out.
He kept grilling me, throwing question after question my way.
It was like getting hit again and again, every word landing hard.
He didn't leave me any room to breathe.
I shoved him away and bolted for the bathroom.
My throat stung with bitterness.
I doubled over in pain.
But I hadn't eaten all day.
All I could do was gag on sour bile.
Behind me, I heard hurried footsteps.
Andrew lifted me in his arms.
His lips tightened, and anxiety etched across his face. "You haven't been eating again, have you?
"I'm taking you to the hospital."
I grabbed his collar, my voice choked with sobs. "No, I don't want to go.
"Andrew, please, delete the photos, okay?"
He dropped his gaze, locking onto my swollen, tear-stained eyes.
A hint of struggle flashed in his eyes.
The next second, his phone on the table started ringing.
He glanced up, and the fog in his eyes cleared. He was suddenly back to himself.
He set me down on the bed and handed me the camera. "I'll call the family doctor. Get some rest.
"You can delete anything you want from the camera."
"As for those nude photos..." Andrew paused, tucking the blanket around me. "Once the competition's over in seven days, I'll delete them for you."
He got up and answered the phone.
His voice was so gentle that it was almost unreal. "What's wrong?
"Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Somewhere in the distance, I could vaguely hear someone crying.
I heard Freya was sobbing.
The camera felt heavy in my hand.
It was like a weight pressing into my palm.
The screen showed a photo of me, taken while I was sleeping.
My brows were drawn tight, and there were still tear stains at the corners of my eyes.
My pajama top had slipped off one shoulder, leaving me barely covered.
I tapped the delete button, my hand moving slowly.
I went through every photo on the camera.
There was nothing.
My fingers raced across the screen.
In the end, all I found were photos of Freya.
She was neatly dressed, grinning at the camera.
I kept scrolling.
There were pictures of Freya quietly reading.
I saw shots of her back as she held her books in class.
And there was a side profile of her, head down, scribbling notes during a vocal class.
There were so many that I couldn't even count them.
Every little moment of Freya's life was captured in those photos.
She looked so happy.
I started laughing, but then the tears came pouring out.
So this was what Andrew meant when he said he felt sorry for Freya.
Back when Andrew first got his camera, we went out to the beach together.
Someone asked him to take their picture.
Andrew smiled politely, a bit distant, and said, "I only take photos of Harper."
The sun was blinding that day.
I blushed instantly.
I always thought I was Andrew's one and only.
But looking at it, I wasn't so special to him after all.
It was like I lost my mind.
I tore through the house, pulling out every picture frame I could find.
One by one, I smashed them to bits with the camera.
I didn't stop until I had nothing left in me.
Shards of glass littered the floor.
The place was a total mess.
I sat there surrounded by all the broken pieces, and it hit me that being the one chasing after someone was too exhausting.
I didn't have it in me to keep chasing after him anymore.
As night fell, my stomach was rumbling in protest.
I dragged myself up, barefoot, and made a plate of pasta for myself.
The water was perfectly still, like a mirror.
It reflected how miserable and wrecked I looked.
While I was waiting for the water to boil, my phone buzzed.
My bestie Lilian sent me a screenshot.
It was from Freya's social media feed.
It said: [Got harassed while singing at the bar. Thank goodness he was there.]
There was a photo attached.
In the picture, a guy was stretched out on the couch, looking relaxed.
His head was lowered, as if quietly giving someone instructions.
Lilian was fuming. [What is this? Are they going official or something?
[Doesn't Freya know Andrew is your boyfriend and your fiancé?
[And Andrew let her post stuff like that? Does he even know what boundaries are anymore?]