Prologue

August 27th, 2019.

Chrissy’s POV

I woke up to distant rumbles coming from the living room downstairs. With a sudden burst of energy, I leaped out of bed and hurried down the stairs. It wasn't a surprise to find my father hitting my mother, his angry shouts filling the room.

"...You are a fucking piece of shit, Lena. You are gonna die and rot in this bitch ass marriage..."

As my father scurried towards the stairs, I could smell the booze and cigarettes on him. He glared at me, his eyes filled with daggers, before continuing on his way. I ran to my mother, who curled up beside the sofa. She had bruises on her face and arms, and her hair was disheveled, with a few strands falling across her tear-stained face. I knelt down beside her, cradling her face in my hands. I couldn't find any words to say; the hatred I felt towards my father had reached its peak.

Releasing my mother's arms from my gentle grip, I stood up. Anger burned within me as I began to walk away.

"Chrissy... Chris..."

My mother called out from behind, her voice barely a whisper. She didn't have much strength left, as my father had rendered her powerless. She knew me well, always defiant.

I stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a chopper knife from the drawer, swiftly making my way out. Just as my father descended the stairs, he caught sight of me. The look I gave him could tear his soul apart if I had the power to do so. He nervously laughed at me when he noticed the knife in my right hand. My eyes shifted in my mother's direction, but she shook her head, silently urging me not to do anything. Despite her attempts to dissuade me, I was fixed on stabbing my father if he didn't leave as I commanded.

"Little goblin, you don't wanna use that blade on your father, do you? You can do nothing—"

"Leave... This... House... Garry," I said in a low, trembling voice, my hands shaking. I was only a step away from plunging the knife into his heart.

"I was gonna leave anyway, little goblin!" he retorted, clutching his luggage tightly as he walked past me. By the time he reached my mother, who was struggling to stand on her feet, he didn't say a word but left immediately.

Lena staggered towards me, and I was still holding the silverware. She took the knife from my hand and hugged me tightly.

"It's over, honey. It's never going to happen again. I promise you, baby."

"You could have let me kill him. He deserves to DIE! I will never forgive Father for what he did to us," I said, pulling away roughly and running up to my room, holding back the tears in my eyes.

Despite the broken state we were in, I couldn't help but feel relieved that the person who had tormented our lives was finally gone. However, there was still Dayle, the oppressor at my school, Hemsville High School.

It all started in 9th grade, during a camp organized by our History class teacher. It was meant to last a day or two. On the night before our departure, Molly, who was known as "Mischievous Molly," suggested a game called "Straight Dares." Molly, popular and wealthy, was the head of our class and a teenage actress and fashionista. She was trending and considered an icon by most Hemsville girls.

Everyone gathered around the campfire after a few students performed karaoke. Molly stood up, and the students applauded her.

"So guys, why do I feel like that was beautifully boring?" she asked, puzzling everyone, though it had been a great show. Murmurs filled the air as they questioned her remark, and she laughed. "I was kidding, darlings. I have a better and more exciting game for us... Straight Dares!" she exclaimed, and the students cheered, especially the boys. They loved the idea of the game.

Our class of twenty was divided into two groups of ten. I was chosen to join the first group, which consisted mostly of wealthy students, including Dayle, my longtime crush. About five students played the game, and it quickly became intense. The bottle spun, and it pointed at Dayle at the top and me at the bottom.

"Are you ready, hotties?" Molly asked, her excitement palpable. She held a copy of the questions for the game and began reading. "Question seven says, 'sex in the tent!'"

The students cheered, and his friends nudged Dayle, wishing they had gotten that question instead. Dayle stood up, and I felt my stomach tighten, a mixture of fear and disgust. I had never been intimate with anyone, and I certainly didn't want it to happen this way, through a game.

Dayle wore a smug smile, seemingly unfazed by the situation. It probably wouldn't be a big deal for him, considering he was known as one of the bad boys in the entire school. He was wealthy and influential.

He approached me, his hot breath hitting my trembling face. Tears welled up in my eyes, and before I knew it, I began to cry. Tears streamed down my face, leaving everyone astonished, and then they started laughing. Dayle felt insulted by my inability to comply, and he was clearly angry.

"Is she crying now? Is she a crybaby?" Molly mocked.

"Fuck!" Dayle blurted out, smirking. "Someone should've brought Chris-shit along, or we'll all drown in her tears!" His words triggered even more laughter from both groups, amplifying the humiliation.

I felt terrible and humiliated, unable to stop the tears from flowing.

From that moment onward, I became the target of their laughter, and the name "CHRISSHIT" stuck with me throughout.

Dayle’s POV

It's been a month since my mother passed away, and the pain still lingers. I've been trying my best to move forward, despite the overwhelming grief.

Today, my friends and I drove to the gas station to pick up some supplies. Taking a moment to collect myself, I accidentally bumped into Chrissy - the nerdy girl I once dared to have sex with during a game of truth or dare. When the moment arrived, she only broke down in tears, and I immediately regretted my actions.

Since then, I've been nothing but a source of pain for her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I blurted out angrily, and she trembled, unable to utter a word.

"Can't talk? Well, I guess you'll start crying soon enough! Go on!" I taunted, and my friends, who were standing behind me, burst into laughter before walking away.

Chrissy ran off, consumed by shame.

As we reached the car, my friends brought up the incident and joked about it once again.

"You're definitely going to sleep with Chrissy, one way or another!" one of my friends exclaimed, and I chuckled, knowing deep down that I actually desired that.