The Destruction of Rose: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 1)

by Rachel M Raithby

  “Yes, Mum, I’m crying over a silly boy. It hasn’t at all got to do with the fact my friends in London dropped me the moment they found out my father was a criminal, or we moved countries where everyone hates me and oh yeah, and my criminal father’s in prison for six years. No, not at all to do with that. Just the boy who I can never have.”

  “You can have anything you want,” she snaps. But I can see underneath she’s as broken as me.

  “Can I? Because the Upper East Side hated me before I even arrived. The moment Keeley was out my mouth, I was a dead girl, and I know you know why, but you won’t tell me. But what does it matter? What’s another secret in this family?”

  Silence hangs between us, thick and heavy and uncomfortable. It presses between us, stealing any words we might say to each other, and in the end, we part without uttering another word. I go to bed and refuse to leave.

  When Friday comes, my mother pulls me from my room and takes me to a shrink. She’s a middle-aged woman, her hair pinned uncomfortably back into a tight bun, her glasses sitting on the end of her nose. I sit opposite her, hating her and the rest of the world. It’s the only emotion I know how to feel anymore. The only one that won’t leave me a blubbering mess on the floor.

  “Why are you here today?” Amanda, the shrink, asks me.

  “Because my mum thinks I’m crazy,” I mutter, scuffing my feet on the lush carpet.

  “And what do you think to that?” she asks, her tone the same calming note.

  I shrug, not looking at her. “Maybe I am or maybe I’m just tired.”

  “What are you tired of, Rose?” she asks gently as if I might break. I’m not sure there’s anything left of me to break, though.

  “Never knowing right from left,” I answer cryptically.

  “Did this start before or after you arrived in New York?”

  “Before.”

  “At what point exactly?”

  I meet her face, find her studying me carefully. I wonder what she sees. Do I look broken to her? “I think the moment I registered it was the morning my father was arrested. But it started long before then. I just didn’t know it.” I’m surprised when the truth leaves my mouth; I’d never intended to take this session seriously.

  “That must have been hard watching your father being cuffed and taken away?” she notes.

  I laugh, looking out of the window. The skies stormy today, summer long gone. “My mother didn’t stick around long enough to really see it. I looked as the car pulled away. I remember them pushing him to his knees and his face as he watched our car drive away.”

  “How did you feel?”

  Glancing at Amanda briefly, I let her question settle over me. “I’m not sure. Everything moved so fast I wasn’t given time to feel. It was all: pack your bag, Rose; get on a plane, Rose; pull yourself together, Rose.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  I roll my eyes. “One way to put it.”

  “What happened at school?”

  “I reached my limit.”

  “So there was no event to push you to that point?”

  “Maybe, but it wasn’t just one thing.” Ash was the icing on the cake. He was the last hit against my already damaged heart. But I think he hurt the most because the feelings humming between us were pure and light in a life that was dark and painful. I clung to him, to the dream of what he could be, because my reality was too hard.

  “Would you like to talk about those things?” She’s very good at pretending this is all my choice, as if she’s not being paid a ridiculous amount to fix me.

  “Not really,” I mumble, crossing my arms. I’d rather go back to bed and hide for the rest of my life.

  “Talking about things can help sometimes. Give you a different perspective,” she urges, smiling encouragingly.

  I smile back and decide to confuse her. Let her work for her money. “I spent a summer here when I was thirteen with my grandparents,” I begin.

  “That sounds nice. Did you enjoy spending time with them?”

  “Ha. They dropped me off in a hotel suite and left me to it. I was a newly turned teenager given freedom when what I wanted was to get to know the grandparents I couldn’t remember ever seeing.”

  “That must have been upsetting,” she replies.

  Yeah, until I met Ash. “The first week sucked, but on the second week, I met Ash.” She smiles as all people do when a love story is about to be told. You’d think a shrink would know better. “He was the first real person I think I’ve ever met. He came from this world where people weren’t born with silver spoons in their mouths. He had this honest, raw view on the world, and I fell madly in love with the image in his eyes.” Pausing, I recall the young boy Ash was, allow the pain of losing him to wrap around me. “He was the first boy I kissed, and even though I had to go back home, I somehow thought we’d stay happy. Childish love I suppose.”

  “That’s a shame. You didn’t keep in touch?”

  “For a while. But life does this thing, doesn’t it? Where it gets complicated and hard and the pure things become harder to hang onto. That’s what I’ve learned. Age makes everything harder to hold.”

  “Have you seen him again since you’ve been back?”

  I nod, my throat becoming thick. I don’t want to talk about Ash. “I will have finished with college by the time my father gets out of jail,” I respond, changing the subject.

  She writes something on the notepad on her knee, her gaze flickering to mine a few times. I’d love to see what she’s writing. “How does it make you feel?”

  “Angry, sad. Mostly I just wish I’d enjoyed the time I had.”

  “You have regrets?”

  “I regret allowing life to distract me from what really matters.”

  “And what matters, Rose?”

  “The people we love.”

  “Who do you love, Rose?”

  “My mother and father.” And Ash.

  “Anyone else?” she pushes as if she read my silent reply. I shake my head. “That’s a small world,” she adds.

  “Even smaller considering my father’s gone, and my mother might as well be.”

  “Let’s talk about your mom. She’s worried about you.”

  I snort. “She’s worried about how having a crazy daughter will look.”

  “You’re not crazy, Rose. You’ve been through a lot in a short time, and it’s going to take some time to process. Feeling overwhelmed is understandable.”

  Amanda makes everything sound so simple and reasonable, but it’s not. Nothing about my life is easy.

  “So you feel your mother doesn’t care, Rose?”

  I sigh because it’s not fair to paint my mum as the villain in this story. The truth is there is no villain, just a lot of bad choices and misguided feelings. “She cares, but she does it wrong,” I explain.

  “In what way?” She scribbles something else. I can see her brain working; she thinks she has something.

  “Like instead of hugging me and telling me it’s going to be okay, she helps me devise revenge instead. As if a new crown upon my head is going to make up for the fact I lost my first kingdom to my parents’ mistakes.”

  She frowns. I’ve lost her.

  “In my world,” I explain, “there are those who rule and those who don’t. In London, I ruled. I was the girl every girl wanted to be, and every boy wanted to be with. I floated through life on this belief I would always be on top. That I was invincible, but it was so fragile; it fell apart in the space of a day. That’s how fast my best friend and boyfriend turned on me. A day.”

  “I see.” She nods.

  “I didn’t grow up here. I’m not an Upper East Sider, but it didn’t stop my mother from pushing me to be one.”

  “And how will you be one?”

  “By ruining Sophia and taking her place.” I laugh darkly. “Easy, right? Why couldn’t she buy chocolate ice cream for me and let me wallow in my pity for a while? Why do I have to see you just because every breath I
take hurts? I’ve lost my home and my friends and my dad. You’d think I’d be allowed a little time.”

  “It’s a lot to lose,” she agrees. “And I do think you need time to feel it.”

  “Good.” I wasn’t expecting her to agree with me.

  “I also think your mother and you need to learn to communicate better. Maybe you’d both benefit from some joint sessions?”

  I try and fail to suppress my grin. “She’s going to love that.”

  “I think she just wants to help her daughter.”

  Whatever you say, Doc.

  We finish our session shortly after, Amanda informing my mother she’ll be attending the next. To her credit, she hides her discomfort well. Maybe it will do us good to talk with someone present so we can’t tear each other’s hairs out.

  “It’s the gala tomorrow,” my mother mentions as we drive home.

  “Yeah,” I reply, keeping my gaze out of the window.

  “We should go. You worked hard on it,” she insists.

  Turning from the window, I twist in my seat and face her. “I worked hard to steal some of Sophia’s glory. I couldn’t give a shit about the gala.”

  “Neither could I,” she snaps. “But I’d also like to watch her face when they thank our family for the generous help.”

  I smile. I can’t help it; she has a point. It’s evil and petty, but that’s what my mother brings out in me. “She’s probably taken over everything since I’ve been off.”

  “She has not. I made sure of it. I’ve been in nearly every day this week to make sure things go exactly to plan.”

  “You have?” I’m shocked. I didn’t even notice her absence.

  “Darling.” She takes my hand. “I’m not often very good at this maternal stuff. You have met my parents, right?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re doing all right, considering.”

  “I don’t care who you are, Rose, as long as you’re happy. I pushed, I know. I guess I was just trying to get back what your father and I stole from you.”

  “If it was real, it shouldn’t have been stolen so easily,” I point out.

  “Unfortunately, I’m probably not the best person to comment on that. I lost my life too.”

  Our sadness lingers long after we finish talking, but the weight of it isn’t as heavy. Maybe Amanda was right. Maybe talking does help.

  Chapter 21

  Spinning, I giggle like a little girl as my dress swirls out around me, the ruffles making a swishing noise as I do. The bodice is fitted, covered in delicate beading, which catches the light as I move, and the skirt is made of layers of ruffles in a powder blue, hanging shorter at the front than the back. My mother bought the dress for me in the week after I refused to go shopping for the gala. It most likely cost a small fortune, but fortune or not, the dress is stunning, and it makes me feel beautiful. I just don’t know if I want to wear it to tonight’s gala or not.

  Isla’s been texting me all day, begging me to go, but while a part of me wants to, the other part is only just beginning to breathe after so much struggle. The truth is, I’m frightened of facing Albany Nightingale again and seeing judgment in the eyes of the student body.

  “You look so beautiful,” my mother gushes, appearing in my doorway. “Can I help with your hair?”

  “I haven’t decided to go,” I remind her, but she enters my room anyway.

  She’s dressed to perfection in a fitted black backless dress, which highlights her curves. My mother is a beautiful woman who’s fearless in her pursuit of a goal, but I’ve learned she’s not as fearless beneath what everyone sees.

  “It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful dress,” she adds, her hands pulling at my hair. “Or a chance to outshine the queen.”

  I laugh. “You never give it a rest, do you?”

  “It’s the truth, Rose. That girl has nothing on you, and everyone knows it. It’s why they fear you so much. We’re going tonight, and we’re going to show them what Devenport girls are made off.”

  I want to remind her I’m a Keeley, but I don’t. She’s trying, and I love her for it. “What are we made of, Mum?” I watch as she twists and pins my curled hair into an elaborate array.

  “We’re survivors, Rose. Life knocks us down, but we get back up.”

  But I’m not sure I’m back up yet.

  “Okay.” I sigh. “I’ll go, but if it’s horrible, we’re leaving, okay?”

  “Okay.” She nods, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “There. Now you are perfect.”

  My hair hangs around my face in soft curls, half of it up, while the other half skims the back of my neck. My shoulders are bare, and I rub the soft skin recalling the echo of Ash’s lips. It’s he who I’m really dreading seeing, but no amount of time is going to make it easier, so it might as well be the night I look like a princess dressed in a gown.

  “Are you ready?” she asks, smiling warmly.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  The school hall, where the event is being held, flows on from the central school courtyard. Outdoor lights have been lit, highlighting the painting Ash and I created as we walk through. Scattered petals on the ground create a pathway into the main space.

  My mother’s pace slows beside me as she takes in the painting, but I can’t bring myself to look and carry on quickly for the double doors.

  “Rose, wait,” she chides, tutting as she hurries to catch up. “I wanted to take it in. You did paint it after all.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen it every day this week since you’ve been coming to make sure everything’s ready,” I retort.

  “Yes, but there aren’t students milling around this time.”

  “It’s just a painting,” I mutter.

  “A good painting,” she replies. “You did it with that boy, didn’t you?”

  The boy who broke your heart, she adds silently. For my mother, it would be easier if she had one person to blame for what she’s calling a breakdown, but it wasn’t one event or one person that led to me crying on the floor in the headmistress’s office; it was an accumulation, a series of events that knocked me down and down until I couldn’t get back up. I think she finds it hard to understand because my mother has never stayed down long enough to have a breakdown. She rises again and again, a phoenix out of the ashes, ready to burn anyone in her path. I wish I had her resilience, her unwavering faith that she will win no matter the odds. But I think I have a little of my father in me. A trait that led him down a crooked path and into jail. I’m not saying my destiny is behind bars. I just think my father broke the rules because he couldn’t see any other way to make life easier. His faith wasn’t unwavering like my mother’s. It was fragile and easily shattered, so much like my own.

  Isla finds me within minutes of entering the party, gushing over my dress, and the general beauty of the gala. I smile and nod, letting her do the talking, pleased she’s the chatty one out of us. My mother excuses herself soon after, but before she goes, we exchange a glance, and I know if I need her, she’ll get me out.

  Surprisingly, the evening goes by fast. Meals are served, and then the auction takes place. This is the moment when our wealthy parents loosen their purse strings. As the night draws on, people take to the dance floor, and to my shock, several people ask me to dance. Daniel keeps me within his arms for at least three songs, his feet nimble as he whisks me around the floor. I find myself smiling for the first time in a while, a thrill coursing through my blood as I live in the moment and relax. He’s handsome in a refined, regal way, but as much as I enjoy myself, my heart doesn’t stir from its dormant state.

  I sense Ash wherever I go. His presence like a magnet I can’t resist the pull toward. He wears a black tux, his sandy brown hair swept back off his face as if he’s just rolled out of bed. He’s as sexy as ever, the golden king of Albany Nightingale, his blonde Barbie hanging off his arm. I do my best to avoid his gaze and stay on the other end of the dance floor, but when our eyes do meet, it’s to share a longing pain
and dark regret. Grayson is their dark shadow, ever the cruel prince, at least two girls hanging from his arms at a time. He’s attractive, I’ll give him that, tall and dark, with a deadly charm, which attracts like moths to the flame. They are a captivating trio, one the former me would have taken great pleasure in ripping apart.

  As the clock clicks past ten, I’m growing tired and ready for home. While my smile has been true for most of the night, I can’t ignore the nagging emptiness seeming to pulse whenever Ash is close. I look for my mother in the crowd, searching the sea of adult faces. Sophia and Ash seem to be missing, too, but I try not to think what they are most likely up to in an unlocked classroom. Does he kiss her with the same passion? Are his moans as loud and desperate as when he kissed me? I’d like to think I was special, that what we had wasn’t anything like what he shares with her, but I’m not so certain anymore. I was so sure in our love, in the emotions which survived years apart, yet as the days have slipped by, doubt has wormed its way permanently into my mind.

  “Hey, you look like you need air,” Isla says, appearing before me.

  “I’m looking for my mum. I’m ready to get out of here,” I reply, searching over her head.

  “Already?” she whines. “The night’s still young.”

  “Sorry, Isla. I know I’ve been a shitty friend, but I’m dealing with stuff right now.”

  “I know.” She smiles sadly. “Come on. I think I saw your mom this way.” She leads me out of the gala, linking her arm through mine, through the courtyard. “I saw her leave with one of the parents. They’re probably chatting out of the way of the hustle and bustle.”

  “Okay,” I reply, but I can’t imagine my mother doing it. She promised me she’d stick close in case I wanted to escape. “Are you sure?” My feet waver, but Isla tugs me harder.

  My stomach churns as a chill slips over my skin.

  “This way,” Isla insists.

  “Wait.” I plant my feet, coming to a stop. “What’s going on?” She’s acting weird. There’s a shadow in her eyes that I’ve seen before. It’s guilt. I have this niggling feeling, telling me to stop, to turn back. “Tell me!” I shout.