You’re Mine

Chapter 121

Harper

With Easton's phone tucked under my arm to hide it from my teacher, I enter the classroom, and hurry to my desk.

Once I'm sitting, I take out my textbook and notebook and pretend to be ready for class. Really, it’s just a stage, so I can look prepared while, in all actuality, I’ll be hiding behind the guy in front of me, using Easton's phone to catch up on all the things I’ve missed. Just as I'm typing in his passcode—the same code, I’ve learned, that opens his locker—I hear, “Are you all right?"

The question comes from my left, the seat where Blake sits. I'm sure he’s asking because he saw Easton and I arguing.

Blake misses nothing. I don’t want to get into it. It's none of his business.

Whatever I tell him, I’m sure will get right back to Aisha, and then I'll have to listen to her teasing, too. I'm over it. I glance at him, observing the concern etched across his face. “Yeah, I'm fine."

“You deserve better."

He turns his body toward me. “I told him that when I saw him gloating in the hallway a few seconds ago. What dude does that, by the way? Fight with their girlfriend, and then act like king of the world?"

He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I just want you to know that you don't have to put up with someone treating you that way. You're a hell of a catch, Harper. Any guy in this school would agree."

My heart aches. I was the reason for today’s fight. I was the one who royally fucked things up. I was the one who waited her whole life to date someone—someone as amazing as Easton—and then kept him

a secret from her parents.

What's wrong with me? How am I going to make this up to Easton? How am I going to show him how much I love him? “Harper?"

I realize I'm staring at Blake, lost in my thoughts, not saying anything. “Yes?"

“Stop doubting yourself. Every word I said is true."

I nod and turn back toward the front of the room, the teacher beginning her lecture. I don’t know what she's saying, nor do I care.

What I need is to get out of my head for a few minutes and focus on something other than my massive fuck—up. I unlock Easton’s phone and pull up his Instagram. Do I snoop? Ugh, I can’t help myself.

I immediately pull up his DMs and start scrolling, looking for names that stand out.

There's nothing, just a bunch of stuff with his guy friends. Phew. I logout of his account and login to mine, catching up with all the messages I've missed.

I check Aisha’s page, surprised there isn’t some type of reference about my fight with Easton this morning—or anything about me in general or her everlasting love for him. She’s been quiet, and that’s not like her.

WHGOSSIP hasn't had anything really juicy to share either. In fact, their posts have been a little lame lately, a few hookups that the school already knows about, a fight between two cheerleaders that resulted in lost weaves. Snore.

I logout and check my Facebook and TikTok, laughing at Sadie’s video with her hairless cat. She likes to dress him up in these wild costumes and the cat couldn’t be more uninterested. It's hysterical. And it’s gained her over a hundred thousand followers.

She’s even having pet companies reach out to her for endorsements, it’ s nuts. Seeing that I haven't really missed much, I logout of all my accounts and stare at the background on Easton’s phone.

The photo is of us, the first night at his lake house, sitting outside on the dock. Sadie had taken the picture and our legs are dangling in the water, his arm is around my shoulders, my head is resting by his neck.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry, Easton. I didn’t mean to fuck this up. Even though things didn’t end badly when we parted in the hallway, I feel hopeful that he’s somehow going to forgive me, and I'm going to find a way to make this right.

Still, my heart aches. I need more. I need to feel the love he didn't give me this morning. I pull up his photo App and start scrolling through all his pictures. I’m surprised at how many there are of us, I didn’t realize Easton took as many photos as me.

Some are of us snuggled together at his house, others were taken in my bedroom, lots were snapped while we were at school, tons more of us at the lake house. I scroll through many more random shots, searching for more pics of us.

I’m going pretty fast, so there’s quick flashes of detail that catch my eyes—liquor bottles, Ryan doing a keg stand, the boys moshing at a concert.

I keep scrolling, knowing there has to be more shots and suddenly, something out of nowhere catches my attention, and I reverse back a few photos.

There's a fluttering in my chest as I rewind the pictures I've already seen, going slow to make sure I don't pass it again.

I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, I just know something didn’t feel right when I saw a flash of it the first time.

My thumb swipes again and suddenly my chest tightens to the point where I can’t breathe. It's not like I've been running and can't catch my breath. This is the feeling that something has literally taken the air out of my lungs.

Because that thing has punched me in the fucking gut. And it doesn’t stop with one kick. It punches again. And again. My hands shake as I hold Easton’s phone. My stomach churns. Why does he have this photo? Why does it appear like he’s the one who took it? I don’t want to—and I don’t know why I do —but I spread my thumbs over the picture to blow it up. My heart begins to pound as the pixels spread, Mrs. All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

Scott's boobs enlarged over the center of his screen. She's topless. Braless. Smiling. At my man. In what seems like a house—probably her house because I know it’s not Easton’s, I've never seen that painting hanging on any of his walls.

I can’t.

I fucking can't.

A thought comes to me. Maybe it’s a super old photo that he forgot to delete. That he meant to trash, and it just slipped his mind.

I pull up the details of the picture where it shows the date it was taken. My stomach churns again, the bile threatening to rise to my throat. The date that’s timestamped is a date I'll never forget. Because it changed our entire relationship since that very next morning, every student in this school thought he had slept with Mrs. Scott. But I believed he didn't. I thought he was loyal to me.

I stupidly took his words for the truth when he told me nothing happened between them. But something most definitely happened. This photo is proof.

Proof that my boyfriend cheated on me with that bitch. I set the phone down on my desk, my chest heaving, my lips quivering, this overwhelming urge to scream takes over my body. How could he? Why would he? It doesn’t matter.

Because ... We're done.