Ximena's POV
Monday mornings should come with a warning label.
Pulling myself from beneath my covers after the nightmare that was Kane's party feels like an impossible task. Every muscle in my body aches, not from physical exhaustion but from the emotional beating I took Saturday night.
The memory of that cursed spin-the-bottle game won't leave me alone. Ezekiel's arrogant expression. The chorus of cruel laughter. Anton's voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.
I convinced myself the weekend would wash it all away. That by Monday, everyone would have moved on to fresh gossip.
What a fool I was.
Stories like mine don't disappear at our school. They multiply, spreading through the hallways like poison until they become legendary tales of humiliation. The kind that follow you for years.
