Savage Prince: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Royal Falls Elite Book 1)

by Kristin Buoni

  My eyes almost bulged out of my head at the sight of my bathroom walls, and my chest began to heave.

  The white surfaces were covered in huge black letters, spelling out various threats and insults. Oily little rivulets dripped down from each letter, making the whole display look like something from a horror movie.

  LEAVE.

  BITCH.

  LEAVE NOW.

  GET OUT BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE, WHORE.

  GO HOME BEFORE WE MAKE YOU REGRET IT.

  My eyes brimmed with hot tears, and I sank to the ground by the vanity and curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around my belly. Please stop, please stop, please stop, I chanted in my mind, willing the universe to help me out of the dire situation. I usually didn’t believe in magical thinking, but right now I was so desperate I’d try anything.

  This wasn’t just the hallway bullying that I’d grown accustomed to. It was pure torture, and I was literally scared for my life.

  There was a soft tap at the bathroom door, followed by three more insistent ones. “C’mon, Laney,” the man said in a deadly-soft tone. “Let me in…”

  “Get out!” I screamed. “Leave me alone!”

  The knocking continued, getting louder and louder. Faster and faster.

  Beads of sweat broke out on my face as I lifted my head and whipped it around the room again, blinking rapidly. The universe wasn’t going to intervene on my behalf and send a white knight to save me, or magically teleport my assailant out of the room. I had to save myself. Had to escape no matter what it took.

  My gaze snapped to the window. There was a wooden trellis right outside, covered in ivy and flowers. It was weak, but it should support my bodyweight long enough for me to climb down to the ground.

  Fueled by my body’s fight-or-flight response, I dashed over and pulled on the black metal latch on the side of the diamond-paned glass. It obviously hadn’t been opened in a long time, because it was stuck fast, and I almost broke a nail in the process of flipping it to the other side.

  Finally, it sprang open, and I breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the window outward.

  I turned and squeezed myself through it, facing the inside, and then I began the perilous climb downward, gripping harsh vines that pricked my fingers as I went. I almost screamed when a piece of the wood splintered beneath my right hand, but I managed to keep my cool and continue on my way, silently praying that it would hold under my feet long enough to get me to the ground.

  My left foot broke right through part of the trellis when I was about three feet off the ground, making me slip, and I screamed as I fell backward, plunging into the garden below. Luckily, the thick shrubbery broke my fall, and my only injuries were a few scrapes and scratches on my bare skin.

  Chest heaving, I turned and ran into the night, searching for one of the campus security guards. I spotted one a moment later, patrolling around one of the buildings with a flashlight.

  “Help!” I screamed, waving my hands as I dashed toward him, feet flying over the ground so fast I barely registered the cold. “Help me! Please!”

  “What happened?” he asked, eyes widening as he took in my trembling, bleeding body.

  In a broken voice, I gave him a quick rundown of everything that had happened in my dorm tonight.

  “Try to take deep breaths,” he said when I was done, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. “You’re okay now. I’m going to call this in and get some of the other guys to take a look at your dorm.”

  He muttered into a walkie-talkie for a minute, and then he turned back to me. “Let’s get you somewhere warm and safe.”

  He took off his jacket and wrapped it around me. Then he led me across campus, toward the staff housing.

  The headmaster’s house was a tall gray brick and limestone structure, ornamented with turrets and gargoyles. It stood at the end of a wide path leading past the other houses that the teachers resided in, and with its dark hulking mass and narrow windows lit from within, it reminded me of a haunted house.

  As we walked by, lights turned on in the other houses, and a couple of teachers came to their front doors, dressed in thick nightgowns. When they saw me, they rushed over, frantically asking what was going on.

  The security guard gave them a brief rundown and told them he was taking me to the headmaster. The teachers insisted on joining us, and soon I was surrounded by five different people. I still didn’t feel entirely safe, though. I probably never would again.

  Headmaster Sanders greeted us at the door, already out of his night clothes. The security team must’ve woken him, alerted him to the situation, and let him know we were on our way.

  He led us all into a richly-decorated sitting room and gestured for me to take a seat. Then he quietly asked one of the teachers to go and find some first aid supplies for my scratches. Another teacher left to make me a cup of tea.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Laney,” Sanders finally said to me, brows knitted with concern as he took in my dirty bare feet and scraped-up arms and legs. “You’re perfectly safe now, and our head of security has everything under control. He and five of his team members are looking through Blair Hall as we speak. They’ll also conduct a thorough search of the grounds.”

  “Okay,” I murmured, still shivering despite the warmth of the room.

  “I can assure you, we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sit tight for now. I’ll be back soon.”

  He left the room as the teachers returned with first aid supplies and several steaming cups of tea. I sipped at mine slowly, wincing as Ms. Rafferty—one of RFA’s math teachers—dabbed at my left leg with a cotton ball doused in brown antiseptic fluid.

  “You poor thing,” she murmured. “You’ve really scratched yourself up.”

  “I fell in a bush on my way out of the window,” I explained.

  She nodded and kept working at my cuts and bruises, occasionally darting her eyes toward the other teachers. They all looked deeply concerned, and I wondered what they were more worried about—me, or the school’s reputation if this nightmarish story ever got out to the public.

  Headmaster Sanders returned around half an hour later, lingering in the arched doorway with another security guard. They spoke to each other for a moment in hushed voices, and then they stepped over and took the seats across from me.

  “Thank you for being so patient, Laney,” Sanders said, offering me a pleasant smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay, I guess,” I replied.

  “That’s good to hear.” He cleared his throat and spoke up again. “I’m sorry to do this to you right now, but we need you to tell us what happened again. From the very start.”

  I sniffed. “I was in bed asleep, and then a bad dream woke me up. That’s when I realized someone was in my room. It was a man, and he was standing at the end of my bed.”

  The security guard made a note on a piece of paper, and Sanders tipped his head to one side. “How do you know it was a man?”

  “Body shape and size. He also spoke to me, and it was definitely a male voice.”

  He nodded slowly. “I see. Keep going.”

  “He was dressed in black, and his face was covered by a hockey mask.”

  “A hockey mask?” Sanders echoed, brows shooting upward.

  “Yes. I was so shocked at first that I didn’t say or do anything. I just sat there staring. Then I finally asked who he was and what he wanted. I can’t remember my exact words, but I think I also said something like, ‘I won’t tell anyone if you leave right now’.” I hesitated, swallowed a hard lump in my throat, and went on. “That was when he spoke for the first time. He said we both knew that wasn’t true. Then he jumped onto the bed and grabbed me.”

  “He physically assaulted you?” Sanders asked, looking alarmed.

  I nodded. “He held me down. Put his hand over my mouth. Then he said something about how easy it would be to kill me.” My hands began to tremble so violently I a
lmost dropped my second cup of tea all over my lap.

  The security guard leaned forward. “Take your time,” he said gently.

  I took several deep breaths and finally went on. “I managed to get away from him, and I ran into my bathroom and locked myself in. Then I noticed all the graffiti on the walls. Messages written to me in black paint.”

  “Do you remember what they said?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying my best to recall the petrifying messages daubed on the walls. “Leave now. Get out before it’s too late. Bitch. Whore. Go home before we make you regret it,” I said, voice barely above a murmur. “Stuff like that.”

  “What happened then?”

  “He started knocking at the door. I thought he might break it down eventually, so I went to the window and climbed out. I went down the trellis, and it broke when I reached the first story. That’s how I ended up falling in the bushes and getting all these cuts,” I said, gesturing to my arms and legs. “Then I ran to the nearest security guard. You know the rest.”

  Sanders leaned over and muttered to the security guard for a moment. Then he straightened his shoulders and addressed me again.

  “Did you attend Chris Hewittson’s party earlier tonight, Laney?”

  My brows knitted. “Yes. Why?”

  He ignored my question. “I believe it was a Friday the 13th event, and students were told to wear relevant costumes. Is that right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So some people were wearing hockey masks like the killer in the movie franchise?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “You also mentioned that you were having some sort of nightmare before the incident occurred in your dorm.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you remember what happened in it?”

  I scrunched up my eyes, straining to remember. “Um… I think I was being chased by weird monsters. Then I ran into some boys from my class in a forest. They yelled stuff at me, and then the ground suddenly swallowed me up.”

  Sanders leaned forward. “What sort of things did these boys yell at you?”

  “Stuff like ‘you don’t belong here’ and ‘you shouldn’t be here’,” I replied.

  “So the things they said were similar to the writing you claim you saw in your bathroom?”

  A heavy feeling appeared in my stomach. “It’s not just a claim,” I said. “The writing is there. You can see it for yourself.”

  He sighed and leaned back. “That’s the problem, Laney. There’s nothing there.”

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  “When the guards entered your room and checked the bathroom, the walls were sparkling white. No sign of black paint anywhere. There was a tiny black spot of something on the sink, but they determined it was dried mascara that had come out of a tube next to it.”

  My throat felt like it was closing up. “That can’t be right,” I said shakily. “It’s not possible. I know it was there. I saw it!”

  Sanders nodded at the security officer, who pulled out a phone and scrolled through a set of images on the screen. “These are photos my team took while they were investigating,” he said. “You see? Nothing there.”

  He was right. The walls were perfectly white. No oily black letters or rivulets to be seen.

  I shook my head, trying to make sense of it. “He must’ve used some sort of paint that washes off easily. Then he got into the bathroom and cleaned it all up before anyone else got there.”

  Silence reigned in the room for a long, painful moment.

  “How do you imagine he got into the bathroom, Laney?” Sanders finally asked. “Or your room in the first place?”

  “He broke in, obviously,” I said, brows furrowing with annoyance.

  “My team found no sign of forced entry,” the security guy cut in. “The doors were all intact.”

  “But….” I shook my head again, trailing off. What the hell was happening here? I knew what I saw. I knew what I went through.

  “The only way to get into your room is with the keycard you were assigned at the beginning of the term,” Sanders said.

  I folded my arms. “How did the security team get in, then?”

  He held up a palm. “They have cards that can open any door on campus.”

  “So then my card isn’t the only way someone can get in,” I said, face flushing with indignant heat. “Someone could’ve stolen a card from the security office and got in that way. Also, my bathroom door has a keycard lock on it too, just like the main door. So that’s how the guy could’ve gotten into my bathroom and cleaned up before you arrived.”

  “If he had keycard access to your bathroom, why didn’t he go in after you locked yourself in?” Sanders asked. “Why did he wait outside and knock?”

  I went silent, shoulders slumping. That was a good point.

  “Maybe he just wanted to scare me,” I finally said in a small voice.

  Sanders exchanged a glance with the security guard before speaking again. This time his voice was softer, gentler. Like he was speaking to a young child. “Laney, it isn’t possible for someone to have stolen a keycard from the security team. I’ve been assured that they are all kept very close at hand by the guards. None have been reported missing or stolen, either.”

  “Then someone stole mine.”

  “Don’t you have it on you?”

  I swallowed thickly. “Yes, but… I think it might’ve been stolen from my bag the other day. Just for an hour or so,” I said, suddenly recalling the incident in the rowing club changeroom. “They could’ve cloned it somehow, right? Or they—”

  He interrupted me, lifting a palm. “Laney, do you think it’s possible that tonight’s events were just another part of the nightmare you said you had earlier?”

  I folded my arms. “No. It was real.”

  “Nightmares can seem very real sometimes. They can also be exacerbated by alcohol consumption,” the security officer interjected.

  I cut my eyes at him. “I don’t drink.”

  “You said you were at the Friday the 13th party down by the lake earlier this evening. We know students drink at parties.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You won’t get in trouble if you admit it, especially under these circumstances. I think you’ve already gone through enough tonight,” Sanders said.

  I raised my voice. “I’m not lying! I didn’t drink anything at the party.”

  The security officer spoke up again. “Look, Laney, none of us here were born yesterday, and we know perfectly well that teenagers like to experiment with alcohol at parties,” he said. “We aren’t judging you, and like Headmaster Sanders said, you won’t get in any trouble for admitting it.”

  I could feel a vein pulsing in my temple. “Other people my age might drink, but I don’t,” I said through gritted teeth. “My dad used to drink a lot, and it made him… sick. So I have no interest in it. I never even want to try it.”

  Sanders sighed. “All right. I believe you,” he said. “But you have to understand our point of view. There’s no evidence that someone actually broke into your room tonight. The best explanation we have is that it was a terrible nightmare. One that seemed so real you genuinely believed it was happening.”

  “I didn’t dream it. It was real,” I said. I was starting to sound like a broken record.

  “You said the man you saw was wearing a hockey mask. I’m sure there were lots of boys dressed as Jason Voorhees at the Friday the 13th party,” the security guy said. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So your nightmare could have been inspired by that. It makes sense.”

  I slowly shook my head. He was talking like they’d already established beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was a dream.

  “What if the guy who broke in was at the party earlier, and he had one of those masks on because of that?” I said, eyes narrowing. “There were a lot of guys there who would love to scare me.”

  “My team didn’t find any male students who fit
the description wandering around the campus when we did our sweep,” he replied. “The party is still going down by the lake, though, so we questioned a few of the students there. None of them saw a boy in a hockey mask leave around the time you were attacked. They didn’t see anyone return to the party, either, and that spot by the lake is the only place where any students are awake and active right now. Everyone else is either asleep in their dorms or back at their homes in town.”

  I snorted. “Of course the kids at the party would lie,” I said. “Why wouldn’t they? You let them get away with everything, including drinking and partying on campus.”

  Sanders sighed. “I don’t think they’re lying,” he said. “I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s no way anyone could’ve broken into your room tonight. It had to be a dream.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, mulling over his words.

  Could it really be true? Was everything that happened tonight just part of my earlier dream? A nightmare within a nightmare?

  It didn’t seem possible, because it was all so real, but at the same time, Sanders was right. There was no sign of a break-in. My bathroom was spotless. No one had been spotted running away or lurking around the general area.

  “I… I can’t believe it,” I murmured, rubbing my eyes. “It seemed so real.”

  Sanders offered me a sympathetic smile. “You’ve only been here for two weeks, and I can only imagine how stressful it’s been for you to be uprooted from your usual life and thrust into a whole new world. I think that stress could’ve contributed to the nightmare tonight.”

  “I suppose so,” I whispered, still reeling with confusion.

  “I want you to make an appointment with your guidance counselor, Ms. Flores. She can give you stress management tips. I think you’re due to see her soon anyway, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Make sure you do that, then,” he said. He rose to his feet, indicating that our discussion was over. “I’d like you to return to your dorm now. Just to make you feel extra safe, I’ve arranged for a security guard to escort you and then stand outside your door for the rest of tonight. Is that satisfactory?”

  “I guess so,” I mumbled. “Thanks.”