Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 82: In Between

Justin – POV

"Don’t tell me my girlfriend is planning to bolt on her boyfriend?"

I said it just as she swung the strap of her bag over her shoulder, right when she thought she could make a clean escape. My voice was smooth, casual—like a blade wrapped in silk.

Her steps faltered.

She froze for half a heartbeat before turning slowly, that perfect mask slipping back on like it never left. Her lips curved into a smile, practiced, polished... fake.

But her eyes gave her away.

Wide. Alert. Caught.

"I wasn’t—just..." she started, trailing off like her brain hadn’t caught up with the panic in her chest. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the nervous tic I knew like the back of my hand. "I didn’t want to disturb your... focus."

"My focus?" I scoffed, leaning back in my chair, arms folding across my chest. "Sweetheart, I haven’t heard a damn word since you walked in."

She blinked.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. I think she was looking for a witty comeback, but all I saw was guilt, rippling just beneath that golden girl façade.

She wasn’t ready for this conversation.

Tough luck.

I stood slowly. Let the tension stretch between us like drawn wire. The rest of the class was filing out now, talking, laughing, completely unaware that they were walking past a bomb waiting to detonate.

"What’s wrong, June?" I asked quietly, stepping close enough that her perfume hit me in waves again. "You’re not usually in such a hurry to ditch me in public. We’re supposed to be the happy couple, remember? Still fooling the whole damn campus."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Can we... not do this here?"

"Sure," I said, my voice dropping just enough that she had to lean slightly forward to hear it. "We can do it wherever you want. Parking lot. Your apartment. Hell, the guy you were with apartment—you like that place, right?"

I watched the color drain from her face.

Bullseye.

She didn’t answer. Just looked up at me like she wanted to be mad but couldn’t figure out how to justify it without revealing her lies.

I stepped back.

"Relax," I said, my smile razor-sharp now. "I’m not mad, June. Just surprised. I thought we were past this part. You running. Me chasing. You pretending none of it happened."

Her eyes finally met mine, steady. Defiant.

Good.

That’s the June I remembered.

"I’m not running," she said.

"Then what do you call what happened last month?" I tilted my head, letting the smile drop. "Because last time I checked, waking up to find your girlfriend gone, no note, no explanation, and no contact for weeks... kinda counts as running."

Silence.

She didn’t deny it.

Didn’t apologize, either.

Just stood there, holding her bag like it could shield her from everything we’d been through.

"Look," she finally said, low and forced. "This... right now, it’s not the time. I have classwork. Exams coming up. I’m just trying to get through the semester."

I stepped in close again, lowering my voice.

"Liar," I whispered. "You’re trying to outrun your guilt. Just like always. But the problem with running, June... is that your demons tend to keep pace."

She opened her mouth to reply—but the door to the hallway swung open, a new wave of students pouring in, cutting our conversation short.

Saved by the bell.

"Catch you later, sweetheart," I said, backing away, my eyes still locked on hers. "Let me know if your boyfriend can help carry your books sometime."

I didn’t look back as I left the room.

But I didn’t need to.

I knew she’d be watching me.

Wondering if I was bluffing.

Wondering if I still cared.

And I did.

God help me, I did.

June – POV

He knew.

Justin knew about Nate.

How?

The way he said "the guy you were with apartment"—casual, sharp, like a knife slipping between my ribs—he knew exactly what had happened. He wasn’t guessing. He wasn’t bluffing. He knew.

Was he... stalking me?

The thought made my blood run cold. My fingers twitched around the strap of my bag as if I could strangle the panic rising in my throat. Just who the hell had I gotten myself tangled with?

My thoughts spun in a nauseating carousel:

—He knew about Nate.

—He knew where I’d been.

—He watched me?

Justin’s mood swings were already legendary—going from dead calm to explosive in a blink, like he was tuned into a storm only he could hear. But now... now it felt less like brooding bad-boy energy and more like something far more unstable. Dangerous.

He didn’t just switch moods.

He switched personalities.

And I wasn’t sure which version I’d be facing next.

"Told you he’d snap eventually," one of the voices purred in my head—low and oily, the one that always sounded like it enjoyed watching things burn.

"Should’ve gone to therapy with Nate. He had soft eyes. Safe eyes. Not murder-on-a-Tuesday eyes like your psycho ex," another sneered. That one had a bitter laugh that never made it to my mouth.

"He’s not your ex," the worst voice whispered—cool, feminine, deadly calm. "He never let you go."

I clenched my fists, shoving them into the pockets of my hoodie as I stormed down the hall. I didn’t stop to look behind me. Didn’t need to. I could feel him like a shadow pressed to my spine, even if he was halfway across campus.

My mind wouldn’t shut up.

"Maybe he has a tracker on your phone."

"Maybe Rico’s feeding him info."

"Maybe he bugged your fucking motel room before you left."

"Maybe he’s in love with you."

"Maybe he wants to kill you."

God, I needed a drink.

Or a new life.

Or maybe a lobotomy.

I ducked into the nearest empty classroom and slammed the door shut behind me, pressing my back to it as my breath came in shallow, panicked bursts.

Justin had looked at me like he owned me.

Like I was still his.

And maybe the sickest part?

A small, sick, treacherous part of me had liked it.

Not the stalking. Not the control. Not the fear.

But the fact that he still looked at me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just some pretty girl with a cracked heart and secrets buried six feet deep. Like he remembered who I was before everything broke.

Before I remembered him.

Before I knew he was number nine.

Before I saw what he did to my adoptive father.

Before I ran.

Before I found Nate and lied my way through one night of peace.

And now...

Now he was back.

Watching.

Waiting.

Still playing the role of my boyfriend.

Still holding all the cards I thought I’d burned.

I stared at the floor, at the ugly scuff marks from too many dragged chairs and worn shoes. My brain wouldn’t stop spinning, screaming, doubting. What was the plan now? Pretend? Again? Keep lying to everyone? Lie to myself?

I closed my eyes. Took a breath.

No.

No more lying.

No more hiding behind that golden girl mask.

This was the price of reclaiming my life. Of stepping back into the spotlight with my head held high. I was June fucking Matthews now—sole heir, survivor, and maybe a little bit broken.

But I wasn’t weak anymore.

"He thinks you’re afraid of him," the cold voice whispered.

"Good. Let him."

I opened my eyes.

Let the war settle behind my ribcage.

And made a decision.

Justin might still be playing boyfriend.

But I wasn’t playing anyone’s girl anymore.

God, I needed a fucking break.

The universe, apparently, thought otherwise.

Because just as I rounded the corner of the west hallway, heading for nothing in particular—just away—I caught them. Bart. And Army.

Tongue-deep in each other like a goddamn soap opera finale.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Yup, still there. Bart—the ex who shattered me. Army—the best friend who held me while I cried about him.

Tongue wrestling against the lockers like a damn student-body-funded porn parody. His hand on her hip, her fingers twisted in his hair—disgustingly perfect. And loud. Wet. Squish-smooch-ha-ha-ha. Disrespectful to the air itself.

My stomach turned.

Bart used to be mine. Past tense, June. Focus. And Army? She used to be everything. Best friend. Sister-from-another-history. Ride-or-die. Now she’s just ride-him-till-he-dies, apparently.

I didn’t mean to stare, but trauma has a freezing effect.

I spun around, cursing under my breath, and dove into the nearest janitor’s closet like it was a military-grade fallout shelter.

Making out. Like they didn’t just rip out my past and set it on fire.

I didn’t gasp. I didn’t scream. I just turned sharply into the nearest door like a girl in a bad rom-com who needed to escape into her thoughts. Only this wasn’t a library. Or a bathroom.

Nope. Janitor’s closet.

Fucking perfect.

I slammed the door shut, pressed my back against it, and cursed under my breath. "Get a grip, June. You are not seventeen and fragile anymore."

"But it still stings, doesn’t it?" one of the voices murmured, thick with venom.

"Shut up."

I leaned my forehead against the shelves stacked with expired cleaning supplies. Breathed. Cursed again. Mentally imagined Army tripping in her four-inch heels and Bart getting gum stuck in his hair forever. Little victories. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Only then did I hear it.

Breathing.

Not mine.

Low. Ragged. Slightly hiccupy, like someone had just lost a fight with their own brain.

"Nice hiding spot," a voice rasped behind me.

I froze.