He Wrecked Me for Her, Then Came Crawling

I spent ten years following Ashton around like it was my job. He said jump, I jumped. He said he was hungry, I went and made him a sandwich. His homework, his fights, his messes — I handled all of it. I thought that's what being close to someone meant.

Then at the fall pep rally, in front of two thousand people, he strapped me to a platform, blasted me with paint, and let his girlfriend laugh at me through a megaphone.

I was the punchline. I threw up on camera. The video went viral before I even hit the ground.

So I did the one thing nobody expected — I vanished. New school, new city, new number. Every trace of him, gone.

I thought that was the end of it.

But Ashton doesn't let go of what he thinks is his. And what he's willing to do to drag me back? I wasn't even close to ready for that.

At Saint Mary's Academy fall football pep rally, I got hoisted into the air.

Strapped to a lift platform in that thick, suffocating falcon mascot suit, two thousand students staring up at me from below.

"Spirit Sacrifice" — a school tradition going back over a decade. Every year, the starting quarterback picks someone to put on the mascot suit and get raised up high for the crowd's so-called "blessing."

The thing is, it used to be tame. A little water, some silly string, everyone laughs, everyone goes home. But this year was different.

When Ashton nominated me, I was actually happy for a second. He was Saint Mary's star quarterback, and we'd grown up together. Known each other our whole lives.

Then the high-pressure nozzles kicked on.

Ice-cold blue paint came pouring down from above, hitting me so hard I slammed into the railing. It flooded my eyes, my nose, my mouth. I couldn't see a thing — all I could hear was the deafening roar from below.

Blair, the cheer captain, had a megaphone. Her voice cut through everything, sugary sweet and razor sharp: "Take a look at this year's lucky sacrifice!"

My stomach flipped inside out.

And then I threw up. Right there, in front of two thousand people.

The laughter got even louder.

I don't know how long I was up there. When the platform finally came down, I collapsed on the ground, shaking so hard I couldn't stop.

Ashton strolled over, grinning like it was all a big joke.

"Blair's really into the falcon tradition, so I figured I'd let you be part of it."

"We've known each other forever. You're not gonna make a big deal out of this, right?"

Blair was leaning against him, laughing so hard she could barely stand.

"Oh my God — the falcon actually threw up!"

I pushed myself off the ground and walked away. Didn't look back.

Behind me, Ashton yelled: "Ten years, Chloe! Seriously? Over this?"

Back in my dorm, I locked myself in the bathroom.

Turned the water up as hot as it would go. Steam fogged up the mirror. I peeled off the mascot suit and everything underneath, shoved it all to the bottom of the trash can.

The blue paint had seeped into the creases of my skin. No matter how hard I scrubbed, it wouldn't come off. I scrubbed until my skin was raw and burning red. But no matter how many times I rinsed, I could still feel it — the weightlessness of hanging in midair, the roar of the crowd echoing in my skull.

And Ashton and Blair's faces. Laughing.

Mom texted me.

"Heard you got to be part of one of the school traditions! That's great, sweetie!"

She was back at the estate. She had no idea. Dad didn't text anything.

Good. I didn't want anyone seeing me like this.

I don't know how long I stayed in there. The water went cold before I finally stopped shaking enough to step out.

My phone screen was going crazy. The school group chat had blown up — notifications tagged at me, 99+.

I opened it. A video popped up right away.

Me, curled up on the platform like a soaked rag doll. The camera zoomed in on my face — twisted with fear, smeared with blue paint and vomit.

Below it, a flood of messages.

"Chloe's face is literally meme material."

"Ash went all out just to make Blair smile. King shit honestly."

"She actually puked lmaooo, I got a close-up, who wants it?"

"Serves her right. Who does she think she is, following Ash around like a lost puppy every day."

Instagram was even worse.

Ashton posted a story — a photo of me thrashing around up on the platform.

"Another day making my princess happy @Blair"

Blair replied instantly: "You're SO mean lol~ wonder if Chloe's gonna be mad tho"

The comments piled on.

"Blair's literally such a sweetheart, still worrying about her."

"Mad? She should be grateful Ash even lets her hang around."

"She's just the housekeeper's daughter, relax."

I turned off my phone.

Ten years. I'd known Ashton for ten full years.

Ever since my dad took the job as estate manager for his family, I'd been trailing behind him. He said go left, I went left. He said he was hungry, I went to the kitchen and made him a sandwich. He didn't feel like writing his essays, I stayed up pulling sources and outlining for him. He had practice, I brought water. He got into fights, I went and apologized on his behalf.

Everyone said I was Ashton's most loyal little sidekick.

I thought it meant I was special to him.

Turns out I was just a pet he kept around for fun.

The next day, I still went to class.

Not because I was a pushover. There were things I needed to get back.

The second I stepped into the building, every pair of eyes locked onto me like spotlights. Snickering. Disgust. People loving every second of it.

In the hallway, someone did an exaggerated impression of me throwing up — loud, dramatic dry heaves. The whole crowd cracked up.