by Hart, Rebel
My mouth hovers over his as we both let out heavy breaths and groans. But finally, he mutters words, broken up by grunts of pleasure, “We have to… hurry…the cops…if they find us…out here like this…”
“Shhhh,” I grin, holding one finger up to his lips as I move faster, pushing us both to the edge. He holds on for as long as he can, his eyes lighting up as he watches me ride him until I am yelling out with the crash of my orgasm.
As it fades into whimpers and I slow down, he grips my hips and begins moving me up and down, picking up the pace again until he cums. I love the way he digs his fingers into my skin as he growls through his climax, pulling out just in time to spill out onto my thigh.
We giggle as we clean up and awkwardly work our way back into our clothes. It was just the release we needed after our first day back, but I soon remember the promise I’ve made. When I get home, I have to tell my mom everything I’ve been avoiding telling her for so long.
The laid back, relaxing feeling of our time together fades the closer we get back to my house. There’s been a dark cloud looming over this place for too long now and I’m hoping that coming clean will make everything start to feel a little better. If nothing else, Emmett and I will have another person to turn to if things get bad again.
But then a scarier thought pops into my head. What if the other benefit of this is that I will have a person outside of Emmett to turn to? Half of what got us to where we are now was him being the only person in the world who understood what I was going through, even when it was because he was the person putting me through it all. While this is good for me, I hate that part of me still wonders if that dark side to Emmett I’ve seen in the past is still lurking in there somewhere, waiting to rear its ugly head again.
I push all of that down for now as we pull into my driveway. Emmett gives me a slow, lingering kiss goodnight, mixed with soft, mischievous laughter. We’re still high on lust for each other, and we both know we could easily go for round two if we had a place to go and the time. But reluctantly, I pull myself away and go inside.
I stop just inside the door and take a deep breath, gearing myself up for this inevitable talk. My mom is sitting on the couch alone, watching TV.
“Where’s Brendan?” I ask as I curl my legs up next to her.
“Working late,” she replies, shooting me a sweet smile.
Mothers are usually the ones protecting their daughters from the harsh, cruel realities of the world. I know my mom is by no means sheltered or naïve, but sometimes she just looks so content and hopeful, I hate to spoil it by letting her know she’s unknowingly thrown me into a hell hole by bringing me here.
“Can we talk?” I finally blurt with a sharp breath, needing to get it out there before I change my mind.
“Sure,” she perks up with concern, quickly picking up the remote to turn off the TV, giving me her undivided attention.
“About dad,” I force out with another nervous breath. It’s not just about him, but he’s a big enough player in all of this, I figure it’s the best place to start.
To my surprise, she immediately rolls her head with an almost agitated expression. “Oh, Ophelia,” she groans. “Do we have to get into all of that tonight? Look, I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive to you meeting him for the first time…”
“No, Mom,” I cut her off. “That’s just it. That wasn’t…”
“But sometimes certain things just have to be like a band-aid, you know? You and I could have sat and talked and worked ourselves up into a frenzy over him coming here for hours, and maybe chickened out of the whole thing altogether. But we just jumped in and did it, and now you can say you know who your biological father is,” she states optimistically.
“Oh, I know who he is alright,” I grumble under my breath.
But she’s quick to keep talking over me, ignoring my remark. “Ever since we had that dinner…everything just feels…a little lighter. You know? There’s no more big bad skeleton waiting in our closet. He’s just your dad who comes and has dinner sometimes. That’s all.”
Her eyes are wide and looking at me expectantly. It’s not like her to be so adamant about something without even hearing me out first. Normally she’s begging me to talk more and resents having to be the one to say everything. Maybe I’ve trained her into being this way. But then I look deeper into her eyes and realize she’s asking, begging for my permission to feel this way. She’s worked hard to get to this place, and she’s terrified of me stealing away this peace of mind she’s finally achieved.
“You’re right,” I exhale, settling back into the couch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so resistant to the whole idea. It’s a good thing that he came.”
She scoops me into a big hug and then turns the TV back on. I watch with her in silence until I’m ready to go to bed. The fact remains that I still have to tell her everything. But tonight, I know she’s not ready. Which is fine because, truthfully, I’m not either.
3
Chapter Three
The crisp winter air burns in my lungs right along with my muscles as I blast through another timed round across the track at practice. For all that I have gained and lost in Jameson, running has remained my constant. They may have tried, but this is the one thing the Elites were never able to fully take from me.
The cold races across the skin of my bare arms and legs, but I’m moving so fast and pushing my body so hard that my skin is burning hot and numb to any coolness around. One thing I can thank the Elites for is that everything they put me through has made me a better runner ever. I could already hold my own before coming to WJ Prep, but the mental endurance I had to learn from their charades translated perfectly into a new level of performance on the track.
As I rush through the last lap, Coach Granger stops the timer in his hand with a pleased look on his face. I try to remain humble and ignore it, but inside I am giddy over how well I’m doing and how happy he looks with my performance. I keep my smile hidden, not wanting to appear too pleased with myself, and join the rest of the team as we gather our things and head for the showers.
I reach for my towel, but there’s a tug on the other end of it. I look up and come face to face with a pale, brunette girl with big blue eyes. She’s new here and I recognize her from our first day back. She’s part of the new Elites and has been sitting with them at lunch. Her face is blank as she glares at me, still clutching the other end of the towel. I wait for the inevitable outburst to ensue.
“Sorry,” I offer lightly. “I thought this one was mine.”
She keeps staring me down intently for a few seconds, not moving or speaking. It puts me more on edge as I wait for her to chastise me for living or something worse. No one should ever dare disrupt an Elite.
“It’s okay,” she shrugs and grumbles suddenly, and without another word, she turns and vanishes around the corner.
I’m silent and stunned for a moment, in complete disbelief that she didn’t pounce or scream or cuss me out at the very least. Maybe she’s too new of an Elite to know how things usually work with them.
“Ophelia!” Coach Granger calls out from the other end of the bleachers, snapping me out of my trance.
“Coach,” I answer dutifully, jogging over to meet him.
“Come into my office for a few minutes,” his head bobs towards the door. “I need to talk to you.”
I follow him into his small office resting a short distance from the track field. It’s dimly lit but lined with trophies, medals, and photos from all the school’s wins over the years. I can’t help but feel proud at the sight of the more recent awards that I helped us win.
“Have a seat,” he barks dryly. He comes across as cold and harsh, but Coach Granger is the nicest, most loyal adult left in WJ Prep, and he’s always had my back. A position that the Elites have made him pay dearly for. Not even the teachers and coaches are above their wrath.
“You know we’ve had scouts from all the top schools watching you over the past fe
w months,” he continues in a serious tone. “And as your guidance counselor may have already discussed with you, many of those schools are ready to start extending scholarship offers, contingent on an in-person interview, of course.”
I shift nervously over the topic of interviews. They can watch me run all day long, but the moment my presence and words come into play, I’m void of all confidence.
“There’s one school in particular that’s shown interest and I’d like you to check it out,” he explains. “It’s only a couple of hours from here. The track program there is outstanding and has churned out a handful of Olympians over the years. To boot, I have plenty of colleagues there and my recommendation will hold a lot of weight for you. They’d like to meet with you next week. Just an informal interview and some paperwork so they can finish the admissions process to let you know if you’d be accepted along with your scholarship offer.”
“Wow, Coach…that’s amazing,” I gasp. “I don’t know what to say…thank you!” My face drops for a moment. I bite my bottom lip, wanting to express my doubts, but I hate to sound ungrateful.
“What is it?” he questions knowingly.
“Well, it’s just…you said it was only a couple of hours from here,” I respond hesitantly. “I am pretty set on getting as far away from Jameson as possible. I’d think you of all people could understand that.”
He nods in heavy consideration as his eyes drift to the window with a pained stare. When the original Elites threatened my life over my father’s promise to take them down with evidence of their illegal sex trafficking ring operation, it led to Lily and Malcolm targeting Coach Granger.
Coach was the only person in the school on my side, and they wanted to make sure I had no one to turn to. They planted heroin for his son who was a recovering addict and the poor guy couldn’t resist the bait. He died of an overdose, but of course, neither of them suffered any consequences for it. Other than Lily, but knowing what I know now, she probably would have ended up in a mental health facility regardless.
“It’s a shame what they’re able to get away with,” he finally responds with a somber tone, then he straightens and turns back to me. “But you can’t let them win, Ophelia. Once you’re out of here and even just a couple hours away, they’ll leave you alone. This is a good school. Don’t let them continue ruling your life.”
I scoff lightly but do my best to keep it well hidden. It seems overly optimistic to think they’d let Emmett and I off the hook so easily. I’m convinced the only option is to get far away from them where hopefully they won’t bother looking for us. But Coach is right. At some point, I have to stop letting them dictate how I live my life. And if nothing else, the more acceptances and offers I get, the more choices I’ll have. It may even encourage other schools to increase their offers to compete.
“I’ll do my best at the interview,” I assure him. “Thank you for everything.”
After my chat with Coach, I meet Emmett in the parking lot. I tell him all about the upcoming interview along with the others I can expect to schedule in the coming weeks. He’s happy for me, but I can see the faintest hint of sadness in his eyes. He would never admit to it or show it to me, but I know this is hard for him.
Everything that’s happened in the past six months has left him clueless as to what he wants to do with his life. He wouldn’t even begin to know which colleges to apply for right now or what for. He didn’t spend the last three and a half years preparing for that the way the rest of us have. If the Hendersons along with his mom and sister hadn’t taken everything for him, he’d be too busy preparing to take over Jameson Automobiles to feel left out of everyone else’s college preparations.
Nonetheless, he keeps all of his despondency well hidden. I doubt anyone other than me could see it at all. He spends the next week helping me prepare, practicing interview questions with me and helping me gather everything else I’ll need. Maybe this is how all couples should do it, I think. One person takes a year off after high school so they can devote all their time to helping their boyfriend or girlfriend get in. The demands of the more prestigious schools are so high, it feels like it requires an entire team of people to properly prepare for it all.
The following week, I make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to the campus for my interview. The neighborhood around the school is a lot like Jameson with giant, pristine houses and perfectly manicured landscaping. But there is something more wholesome about it all. There are people jogging down the sidewalks, dodging kids on bikes or moms pushing baby strollers. There are dogs barking from their leashes and little kids in heavy coats trying to scrape up remnants of snow from the grass to play with. The houses may look the same, but the people seem more relaxed. Normal. Happy. There isn’t an air of fear weighing everything down.
The campus is lined with massive, old trees, and I can already imagine how beautiful they must look in the Spring with fresh green blossoms or in the Fall with gold and red leaves. I watch students shuffle by, bundled up in scarves with bags and arms full of books. My heart leaps with anticipation. Whether it’s here or another school, soon I’ll be starting a whole new life. One that is hopefully more normal than the nightmare I’ve found at WJ Prep.
The stark difference I see between here and my school is solidified as I get so caught up in taking in the sights that I accidentally bump into a tall guy walking in the opposite direction down the sidewalk. I expect him to go off on me, but he simply apologizes with a big smile and carries on his way. The Elites have traumatized me to the point that I’ve forgotten there’s a whole world outside of Jameson without a circle of a select few who think they are so much more entitled to the air they breathe and the ground they walk on than everyone else. It will be a hard thing to get used to once I’m gone for good, but I’m more than ready for the change.
I made sure to arrive early for the interview. I know Coach called in some favors to get this lined up and I want to make sure I don’t let him down. There are a few other students anxiously waiting in the sitting area as I make my way in. The floors and walls are deep mahogany wood with a flawless shine. The upholstery and drapes are deep jewel tones of green and burgundy, and the walls are lined with cases and frames of trophies and black and white photos.
The excitement in my chest builds as I catch glimpses of the shrines to their Olympian alumni. I notice one of the bronze medal winners smiling out from their photo. I’ve read that runner’s stats and mine are pretty on par with how they did in high school. I feel a rise of giddiness at the thought that one day, that could be me.
The possibilities only make me more nervous, but at least I know I’m not the only one. There’s a cluster of students sitting nearby who are plotting their interviews. They discuss questions they assume we can expect to be asked along with rumors they’ve heard about interview sessions that have happened before.
We’re each clutching onto folders of important documents in our sweaty hands. The goal of the interview is to be able to extend a scholarship offer along with our acceptance letter. Demographics and place of birth make a difference in those things, so along with the interview, there’s a round of paperwork and document checks that has to be done. The list of what to bring was lengthy and a little ridiculous, but I assume part of the goal was to test us on following instructions. They can immediately rule out less than ideal candidates that aren’t responsible enough to follow the directions and gather everything that’s asked of them.
I flip through my papers, double-checking everything, as one of the other people waiting spouts off the list of required items. Suddenly, a sinking feeling jolts through me. The other people mention a birth certificate, which I know I remember seeing on the list. More than seeing it, I know I remember getting a copy of mine and putting it into my folder. Yet somehow as I flip through it now, it’s nowhere in sight.
My eyes dart to the clock as another person is called in for their interview. Judging by the time, I am likely the next one to be called, giving me less than half a
n hour or so to figure out what the hell has happened to my birth certificate. I can’t stand the thought of blowing this over something so small and simple after what Coach has done to set it up. He’s done so much for me, and the last thing I want to do is disappoint him. I look back to the Olympian’s photo on the wall and wonder if they would have forgotten something so important.
But I didn’t forget. I know I didn’t. I look around the floor surrounding my seat and retrace my footsteps through the room. I dig through my backpack and check the folder three more times. Still no sight of it. The others sitting nearby start to whisper as they watch me search. They can see the panic on my face and know I’ve shown up without something. Their mouths twist into poorly hidden satisfied grins. This just knocks another competitor off the list for them.
Finally, one of the other girls comes over and tries to help me search. A gesture that never would have happened back in Jameson where the Elites keep everyone at each other’s throats.
“Is there anyone nearby who might have a copy?” the girl suggests as we continue looking with no luck. “Did your mom come with you?”
“No,” I sigh, breaking into an awful sweat. “I know we put a copy of it in there. I don’t know what could have happened to it.”
“It’s not here,” she confirms grimly. “Well…what about your car!?”
“Good idea,” I shoot back nervously, checking the clock again. “I’ll hurry but if they call me, will you tell them I’ll be right back?”
“Of course,” she nods, but I am already racing out the door to the parking lot.
Times like these are when it comes in handy to be a trained runner. I break into a full sprint across the pavement until finally my car is in sight. I don’t even have to unlock the doors to know my birth certificate isn’t inside. I can see the empty seats and floorboards plain as day. But I open it up and search anyway.