Pregnant With The Douchebag Jock novel Chapter 7

**The Killer Who Left No Footprints by Natalie Ford**
**Chapter 7**

**Ellie**

I’m not merely walking briskly; I’m sprinting, heart racing, breath quickening.

As I burst through the library doors, a flood of tears cascades down my cheeks, as if someone has turned on a relentless faucet inside me. My hand trembles as I attempt to wipe them away, but they keep pouring down, soaking the sleeve of my jacket, leaving a wet trail of despair.

“I can’t believe how foolish I am! How could I ever think Maddoc might actually be nice?” I shout at myself, my voice echoing in the stillness of the dimly lit street. I don’t care if anyone hears; my shame is too overwhelming. The night feels oppressive, cloaked in an unsettling silence that makes my skin crawl. I push myself to run faster, my sneakers pounding against the pavement, as if I could outrun the storm of emotions that threatens to engulf me.

It’s not merely the encroaching darkness or the palpable danger that sends shivers down my spine; it’s the intense, burning shame that constricts my chest like a vice.

Why would he do something so cruel?

Why would Maddoc choose to read my letter aloud for everyone to hear?

What kind of villain acts in such a heartless manner? It’s as though he’s stepped straight out of a cartoon, embodying the worst kind of antagonist.

My heart aches in a way I’ve never experienced before. I feel like a raw, exposed wound, a tangle of awkward teenage emotions laid bare for the world to see. But can anyone truly blame me? Of all the people on this campus, why did I have to fall for the arrogant, insufferable quarterback?

He’s a towering, intimidating bully, the very embodiment of everything I despise.

More tears trickle down my cheeks, and I’m now full-on ugly crying, sniffling and sweating as I storm through the dark streets, a woman on the brink of breaking. Honestly, that’s exactly what I am—on the edge.

Maddoc Daniels is the absolute worst. The very definition of the worst. I can’t comprehend why so many girls on campus practically worship him. He’s cruel, cocky, emotionally stunted—and yet, somehow, he still manages to look like a Greek god, dripping with testosterone.

It’s infuriating beyond measure.

I thought, just maybe, he was starting to warm up to me. I thought we were becoming friends. He smiled at me as if I mattered. He bought me pizza, carried my bag, even asked about my life. Was it all just an elaborate ruse? A setup for this final, humiliating act?

Apparently, I was nothing more than practice for his future career as a human wrecking ball.

Stupid, stupid Ellie.

I swipe at my face again, but now people are starting to pass me on the street. Someone bumps into me, and there’s no apology. My heart leaps into a state of panic.

I should run. I absolutely should run.

I’ve already endured the nightmare of being violated once. I can’t and won’t allow myself to go through that again.

Every footstep behind me sounds like a thunderclap, and every shadowed smile seems to conceal sharp teeth.

I am not safe out here.

And then, suddenly, a large hand lands firmly on my shoulder.

I freeze, every muscle in my body tensing. My mouth opens, ready to scream—

“Ellie.”

I whirl around to find Maddoc standing there, looking infuriatingly beautiful. He’s the kind of guy every girl dreams about—handsome in a way that makes my heart race and my blood boil simultaneously. Seeing his face ignites a desire to both throw my arms around him and slap him so hard that he forgets his own name. I’m relieved that I’m not about to be mugged, but at the same time, he’s the last person I want to see right now.

And that’s exactly why my anger flares.

“What do you want?” I snap, hastily wiping my eyes again. There’s no way I’m letting him see how scared I was. That would only inflate his already overblown ego and make everything worse.

“You shouldn’t be walking home alone in the dark,” he says, his tone serious. “It’s not safe, especially since you’re so damn small.”

“Oh, so now I’m small again?” I glare at him, sarcasm dripping from my words. “Thanks, that really helps.”

He shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” I interrupt, my voice sharp.

We walk in silence for a moment, the tension between us thick and suffocating, like an overinflated balloon on the verge of bursting.

Finally, I break the silence. “Are you walking me home or not?”

He looks down at me, hesitating as he runs a hand through his hair again. “I… I don’t know.”

My jaw drops in disbelief. “You don’t know? Seriously?”

“Ellie—”

“No. I asked a simple question. Either you are or you aren’t.”

He sighs, as if I’m giving him a headache. “You’re mad at me.”

“Gee, I wonder why. Did you come to apologize or just remind me that you’re a walking cautionary tale?”

“I—damn it, I don’t know. I don’t even know what that means!” he exclaims, frustration evident in his voice.

“That much is obvious,” I retort, my sarcasm flowing freely. For once, I’m not scared of him. I’m just… done.

You got this, Ellie. Be the fierce person you were always meant to be.

“Does it mean that I’m… stupid?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I narrow my eyes at him. “It means you’re an asshole.”

Maddoc mutters, “I thought you already knew I was an asshole.”

“I did,” I snap, my voice sharp. “But I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“Getting somewhere?” he echoes, confusion etched on his face.

“Becoming friends,” I reply, my tone firm.

Silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

I resume walking, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the stillness.

He kicks up dirt with his shoe, frustration palpable. “What do you want from me, Ellie?”

For heaven’s sake.

I stop and spin around to confront him. “Respect, Maddoc! That’s what I want! Not flowers or fake apologies or whatever nonsense guys like you throw around to dodge accountability. I want basic, human respect!”

He looks down at me, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion, towering and hulking, yet here I am, jabbing my finger into his chest as if I’m not afraid of his strength.

“I’m your project partner, not your damn servant. And if you want me to keep pretending to be your fake girlfriend, you better stop treating me like garbage! Don’t read things without permission!”

“Okay,” he replies slowly, as if it’s a monumental effort for him to be decent. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have read the letter.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice softer.

He frowns, the tension still lingering. “You still sound mad.”

“That’s because I am.”

“Even after I apologized?”

“Do you even know why I’m mad?”

“Yes! I mean… sort of?” he stammers.

I groan and start walking again, my footsteps pounding the pavement like a war drum.

Maddoc follows, of course.

“I said I messed up,” he complains, exasperation evident in his tone. “What else do you want? Blood? A handwritten apology in glitter pen?”

“A handwritten apology would actually be a fantastic start, considering how many times you’ve humiliated and insulted me already.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Damn… I’m not good at this, okay?”

“No kidding,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

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