by Rina Kent
A scene neither Kir nor I have had in our entire lives. I’m probably the only sibling driving her brother today.
At times like these, the red clouds I harbour for Mum explode with passion.
I don’t care about myself, but she has no right to make Kir believe he’s also unwanted, a mistake, a fucking broken condom.
At least Dad tries. All my early childhood memories consist of him putting me to bed or hugging me as I slept. He’s also the one who has always nursed me when I have a cold.
Never Mum.
Dad is just a busy man and rarely at home to make much of a difference. His calls are hardly enough anymore.
I arrive at Royal Elite School – or RES – in record time since it’s not far from Kir’s school.
At the car park, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and take a deep breath. I can do this.
For Kir.
I flip my brown hair that’s intertwined with green strands – or it’s probably the other way around, more green, less brown. What? I love the colour. I’m just thankful I was born with light green eyes. Another thing to add to my green collection.
Okay, that sounded a bit off, even in my head.
I come out of my car, clutching the straps of my backpack as I stride through RES’s huge entrance. Royal Elite School has ten gigantic towers and a magnificent building that goes back to medieval times.
The golden lion and shield logo is all about the majestic power of this place.
Rich, influential people send their kids to this school so they’ll have an easier initiation into society. After all, most of the UK’s politicians, parliament members, and diplomats have walked the halls of this school – Dad included.
He’s now a renowned diplomat who works closely with the European Union in Brussels, and for that reason, we barely see him. Maybe everything will change now the country is leaving the EU.
But I’m fairly sure he’ll find a way to boot himself someplace else. It’s as if he doesn’t want to be with us – or with Mum.
Usually, I would walk these halls with my best friend, Elsa, by my side, but since her accident and heart disease complications, she’s now resting at her house. In the meantime, I’m all on my own between people who either hate me or pretend I don’t exist.
The familiar jabs begin.
“She thinks she’s all pretty now?”
“Once fat, always fat, Kimberly.”
“Look at those thighs.”
“Elsa’s little bitch.”
My skin prickles the more their words seep under it. I try to tune them out, but like the fog, they’re impossible to ignore. They keep multiplying by the second, heightening and filling my head with those thoughts.
The grey ones that taste like bitterness and burn like acid.
No one cares about you.
You’re a nobody. Absolutely nothing.
I shake my head as I cut the distance towards the classroom. They will not get to me.
Not today, Satan. Go crawl into your little hole.
This has been my school for three years, but I’ve never once felt as if I belong in this place.
I turned eighteen a few days ago and I celebrated my birthday on Elsa’s sickness bed with Kir by my side and Dad on Skype.
No matter how old I am, it never gets easy to walk these halls, to let the knives stab me with each word out of their malicious mouths.
I wonder if they’re seeing the blood following me like a trail or if I’m the only one.
My fingers snake to my wrist, then I quickly drop my hand to my side.
For Kir, I repeat the mantra in my mind. You’re doing this for Kir.
If I get a good college and a scholarship, I’ll be able to afford a private dorm and take Kir with me, because there’s no way in fuck I’m leaving him with Mum once I’m in college.
The voices around me start blurring into themselves and I lift my head high as I put one foot in front of the other.
They’re nothing.
They’re just a ramification of the fog and I always beat down that damn fog.
Except once.
Okay, twice, and Kir witnessed one of them.
“Scarce, fucker.”
My feet come to a halt on their own accord at that voice. That strong, low voice that’s been a constant in my dreams.
And my nightmares.
Okay, my nightmares more than my dreams.
That cruel voice has ended my life over and over again when he could’ve saved me. Instead of letting me hold on to him, he left me for dead.
That voice isn’t only a part of nightmares, he’s a nightmare all on his own.
The earth tilts off balance as I lift my head. I have to keep reminding myself that gravity exists and I won’t actually fall over.
That he doesn’t matter. He stopped mattering that day seven years ago.
But maybe I’m only fooling myself, because even though I see him every day – or rather, avoid him – his view never gets more familiar or easier or fucking normal.
But there’s nothing normal about Xander Knight. He was born to become part of the elite, the ones who crush others under their boots and don’t look back at the damage. He’s one of the kings who leave chaos and heartbreak in their wake.
He’s part of RES’s four horsemen, the football team’s ace striker, and nicknamed War for his ability to destroy the opponent’s defence.
And war he is. Xander is the type of war you never see coming, and when you do, it’s already too late.
It’s already sucked you into its clutches and destroyed you from the inside out.
His golden hair is styled back but is short on the sides in a fashionable way that adds to his overall cruelty. When I was younger, I used to think he stole the blue of his eyes from the ocean and the sky.
Now, I’m sure he did, because he’s a sadistic thief.
The tame blue that used to lighten up upon seeing me is now darkening to a sinister colour.
To say Xander is beautiful would be an understatement of not only the century but of the entire common era. It’s not just because of his put-together blond look – his face belongs to models, gods, and general immortals. It’s sharp-cut with a slight stubble that adds to his charm.
Like everyone at school, I used to see that beauty. I used to stop at the step of my house and pinch myself, chanting that he’s indeed my friend – my knight – and he’s calling me over to play together.
Now, I see someone completely different. I see vindictiveness, hate, a war god out to destroy.
He used to be my best friend. Now, he’s a stranger.
A bully.
An enemy.
The boy Xander just shooed away bows his head and retreats around the corner. Being part of the horsemen, Elites’ ace striker, and the son of a minister gives him the right to a crown, one that’s crowded with thorns and black smoke.
Still, everyone around here bows down to his authority. If he’d asked that boy to crawl, he would’ve dropped to the ground without asking questions.
Xander twirls a football on his forefinger, his other hand in his trousers’ pocket as he stalks towards me with steady, purposeful strides. I keep my gaze on him, watching his every movement and struggling to suck air into my lungs. I don’t know why I think he’ll push me away, or rather, kick me down.
Not that it’d be something new. Worse has been done to me during my years of bullying – fat-shaming remarks, spilling of paint, mocking confessions, all of it.
It’s stupid to think Xan would touch me. He never has.
Not even once.
The uniform’s blue jacket stretches over his wide shoulders and muscular chest. Everything about him is – muscular, I mean. Including his football thighs, especially his football thighs.
I don’t know when that happened. Okay, that’s a lie. The development of his physique started exactly in the summer between Royal Elite Junior – our previous school – and Royal Elite School.
Disclaim
er, I notice a lot of things around me. It’s not only about him. Ever since I realised my mum wouldn’t stand up for me and I’d have to do it on my own, I’ve learnt a lot of survival methods. The most important of all: being aware of my surroundings.
Whether I like it or not, Xander has always been a part of my immediate environment and he’ll continue to be until the end of this year. Then, when I’m out of this city, everything will be over.
Breathe in. Just a few more months. Breathe out.
“Are you waiting for an invitation? Scarce, Berly.”
His voice is light, but there’s nothing light about his undertone. I know he didn’t tell the boy to disappear for my sake. Xander doesn’t stand up for me, and he sure as hell doesn’t tell others off on my behalf.
If it were the old me, I would’ve bowed my head and run away crying, and his mocking laughter would’ve followed me as I sniffled in dark corners, not wanting others to witness my shame.
However, something’s changed.
Me.
I’ve changed.
Ever since I woke up and found Kir hugging me and bawling, I’ve come to an important conclusion. If I want to survive in this world, if I want to stay with my baby brother and save him from our mum, then I have to take my life into my own hands.
I’m done playing a secondary role in my own tale.
Done letting the likes of Xander Knight walk all over me.
Done crying in corners like a damn coward.
I push my shoulders back the way Elsa always does and meet his gaze head-on. “There’s room.”
Okay, my voice could’ve been louder, but it’s calm, so there’s that. Baby steps.
“What did you just say?” He narrows one of his eyes as if not believing I spoke.
I don’t talk back to Xander. Ever. I either run away or do as he tells me. I’ve always thought if I did, one day, he’d find it in him to forgive me. One day, he’d recall those times we used to be best friends.
But I’ve been a fool.
Those times only exist for me. He already wiped them clean, so I might as well do the same.
“You heard me.” I motion at the rest of the hall. “There’s room. Use it.”
He chuckles, the sound dry and humourless, and my back stiffens. “Did you just order me, Berly?”
I hate that name. I fucking despise it.
It’s a taunt, and a cruel one at that. The boy who used to call me his Green is long gone. It’s not that I want him to call me that again, he lost the right when he said I disgusted him. He lost the right when he stood by as all the other students bullied me.
He lost the right when he was no longer my number one supporter and turned into my number one tormentor.
Still, I wish he’d just call me by my first name.
I lift a shoulder. “Call it whatever you like.”
I start to move past him, but he stops twirling the ball and thrusts it in front of my face, forcing me to halt. “Not so fast.”
A sigh escapes me even as a tremor shoots down my spine. Being this close to him that I almost smell the mint on his breath and his rich ocean scent rattles me in ways I don’t care to admit.
Or experience.
“What do you want, Xander?”
His brows scrunch and his grip tightens on the ball. “First, lose the attitude. Second, don’t say my fucking name.”
“Then how about you stop getting in my fucking way?” I snap, then bite my lower lip.
Shit.
I just snapped at him. This must be the first time in…well, ever. I don’t remember ever doing it, not even when we were kids. He seems taken aback, too, when his face loses the hard edge for a fraction of a second.
Before he can think about a way to retaliate – and hurt me – I brush past him and stride to class. But I don’t run. No, I keep my steps controlled.
From today onwards, Xander Knight won’t see me run or cry.
This confrontation is only the beginning.
A new battle has started in our war.
And this time, I’ll come out as the winner.
2
Kimberly
I heave my lunch into the toilet, the gurgling sound echoing around me like a fucked up symphony.
Do you know that distorted sound some violins make?
Yeah, me neither. Dad and Mum are into classical music – they met at a concerto. Shocker. I prefer punk and alternative rock. Thank you very much.
Anyway, I fill my mind with my favourite songs instead of the sound of heaving. You never get used to it, not the sticking your finger in your throat part and not the vomiting part; it’s always disgusting. Every time I do this, I feel as if spiders are crawling over my skin with their hairy legs, leaving trails of rubbish in their wake.
Once my stomach makes the hollow sound, announcing there’s nothing left, I step out of the stool. No one is here, as they shouldn’t be.
I only do this right before class, after I make sure everyone is in there. That’s why I sometimes arrive late, then pretend it’s because of a headache.
Being invisible is easy, but being completely non-existent is a bit difficult. If I were a ghost, I wouldn’t have to go through this trouble every day.
You know, the part about making sure no one is inside a public girls’ toilet. If anyone is around, I just vomit in RES’s back garden in the rubbish bin and only return here to brush my teeth.
As soon as I finish washing my mouth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
That face is also a nightmare.
In fact, it’s the worst nightmare. Those cheeks that I thought would no longer be shabby, those breasts that appear too small against my blouse. My saggy arms with stretch marks galore. They’re everywhere – stretch marks, I mean – at the underside of my arms, my stomach, and my thighs.
Everywhere.
I hate them and I hate this fucking body. I hate myself in it. I wish there was a way to detonate it from the inside out, aside from vomiting my lunch.
A thought assaults my subconscious.
I want to slam my fist into that mirror, break it into pieces, then take a shard of glass and –
No.
No, no!
I shake my head frantically and slap both my cheeks, resisting the urge to touch my wrist.
For Kir, you’re here for Kir.
My steps are hard and determined as I exit the toilet while closing my bag.
I’m late for my next class. Or more like, I’ll be late in about a minute.
That’s the downside of being in the girls’ room after everyone’s settled in.
I’m running down the hall when an arm wraps around my shoulder. For a second, I freeze, thinking Xander has returned for revenge.
He’s been ignoring me since the morning, but I know more than anyone that if Xander Knight ignores you, it’s a disaster disguised as a blessing.
I release a breath when I inhale and realise it’s not him. He doesn’t smell this strong or feel this hard – not that I know how he feels.
And yes, I know how Xander smells. It’s only because of my ability to connect to my surroundings, remember?
“You’re also late, Kimmy?”
I smile up at Ronan, my first real smile since the one I gave Kir this morning.
Ronan Astor, also one of the horsemen and possibly the closest person I have to an ally in this school – aside from Elsa.
He has boyish charm, his brown hair is slightly curly, and his deep, rich brown eyes hint at a playboy in the making. Scratch that, he’s already a playboy. Oh, and he happens to be a true aristocrat. His proud nose is clear proof of that.
I don’t think he notices it, but his nose screams nobility from a continent away.
“Speak for yourself.” I poke his side. “You didn’t come in the morning.”
“I had…an important meeting.”
“You mean, you slept in because of yesterday’s party?”
“Hey! Parties are important meetings, Kimmy. I�
�m going to teach you that…amongst other things.” He grins. “Wait and see.”
“No, thanks.”
“Yes, and don’t thank me yet.” He waggles his brows. “I have payment suggestions for later.”
“Why do I feel like I won’t like it?”
“Believe me, you will.” He tucks me closer to his side as we walk to class.
None of the students dares to say anything to me in front of Ronan. He might not be as brooding as Aiden and Cole or a damn popularity freak like Xander, but Ronan also has his throne in RES.
His crown is just a bit more approachable, touchable even.
He’s a prince, and he’s pretty much charming, too.
I still can’t believe how he came to me first and decided we’d become friends just because he saw me at one of Elites’ games. Oh, and he announced I’m invited to all his parties. They’re legendary and with limited access, so at first, I thought maybe it was another elaborate plan from Xander to fuck with me.
However, it’s been months, and Ronan remains a rock I can lean on. If it turns out to be a sick game, I might never return from it. I actually really like Ronan. He’s outgoing and funny, and he always shoos all the unwanted attention away.
And sometimes, even the fog.
He’s going into details about the type of weed he bought yesterday as we step into class.
“I’m telling you, Kimmy.” He leans in to whisper at my ear, making me stop at the first table. “That shit was cloud nine level. Do you want to try it?”
My eyes widen. “We’re at school.”
“Get a room,” someone says from class.
That’s when I realise the position we’re in. Ronan has an arm around my shoulder and I’m completely glued to his side as his lips hover near my ear. From the outside looking in, it appears too intimate.
But since I’m used to this from Ronan, I don’t stop to think about it anymore.
“That’s a great idea.” Ronan snaps his fingers in the voice’s direction. Silver. Of course, she’d say that.
I can’t believe we used to be close once. Now, she’s this exotic goddess, beautiful in a painful way with a model body and a venomous mouth, and she’s also a top-grade student. A basic bitch.
Who was once my friend. Who hugged me when Nana died and gave me one of her favourite Barbie dolls.