Trinity High: High School Bully Romance

by Savannah Rose

  “Yeah, but your balls are open,” I shoot back.

  As soon as the realization seeps into his expression, I kick as hard as I can. He coughs and jumps back, letting me go, but it’s too late. I nailed him. He’s red-faced and sweaty by the time my vision clears, with Giselle trying to comfort him.

  “I told you, Elias. I told you I didn’t want us to do this anymore,” I say to him, my voice raspy, my throat tender. “Yet you continue to provoke me, just so you can score some points with a trashy third-rate ballerina whose sole joy in life is to put other people down. If it’s a war you want, Elias, I’ll give it to you. I’m not twelve anymore.”

  “Fuck off, Kira!” Giselle cries out, looking as though it was her crotch I assaulted, not his. “You’re a friggin’ animal!”

  “Says the girlfriend of the asshole who nearly crushed my windpipe,” I reply and flip them off again. “Leave me alone, because I’m not angling for Julliard anymore. I have no reason to keep my record clean. I will burn you all, if I have to.”

  Walking into class, I find myself ogled by a sea of shocked students. My guess is they’ve heard most of what went on outside, since the door is wide open. Elias coughs and wheezes in the hallway, struggling to recover. If there’s one thing I appreciate my father teaching me, it’s the crotch hit. It never fails. Unlucky for Elias, he seems to be a bit forgetful.

  I’m shaking like a leaf, but there is an odd sense of satisfaction making its presence felt through me. For his sake, I hope I didn’t break his cock when I kicked him. I can’t help but smile as I walk over to my desk and settle in, pulling a couple of course books out of my bag. Lorna says something to Giselle outside, who then flips out at her: “Don’t you have class?!”

  “So do you!” Lorna replies.

  My guess is that Giselle and Elias won’t be attending this class, which gives me an hour of peace. It’s better than what I could’ve asked for. Maybe I should kick Elias in the balls more often. I know this pleasant feeling is short-lived, but I intend on making the most of it.

  And as my ankle begins to hurt again, I desperately hang on to the thought that at least I’ve shown Elias that I’m not his to be pushed around. Fumbling through my bag, I find the pill box and inwardly curse myself. It’s the umpteenth time I’m not even able to hold back.

  I swallow a pill and wait for the sweet numbness to return. This isn’t how I wanted things to turn out between Elias and me. It’s just gotten from bad to worse. My heart hurts more than my ankle right now, but the Oxy will take care of them both.

  13

  Kira

  Once the school day is over, I bolt out of the building, nervously looking around. There’s no sign of Elias or Giselle, and I assume they’re out there, somewhere, licking their wounds, so to speak. I brush past Lorna without saying a word. To my surprise, she calls out after me.

  “Kira, wait!”

  I stop, holding my breath for a moment. All I can do is hope she won’t parrot Giselle and piss me off some more. The Oxy is wearing out, and the world is becoming a heavy weight again. On top of that, I’m due to meet with Janelle for some coffee and gossip—anything to stop me from going back home and straight to my room, where I can keep wallowing in my misery.

  “Lorna. What’s up?” I ask, turning around to face her.

  “Listen, I’ve thought about this a lot,” she says, pausing for a moment. “This is getting really out of hand…”

  I find myself frowning, slightly confused by her statement.

  “This whole feud between us,” she continues, “you, me, Giselle, now Elias, too. It’s getting stupid. And crowded. Frankly, I’m exhausted.”

  Blinking rapidly, I try to find the meaning behind her words. “Is this you trying to bury a hatchet?”

  “Thing is… There is only so much compromise I can take for the sake of friendship. I can’t do it anymore, Kira. This isn’t me, and I want it to stop.”

  I stare at her for a long moment. She doesn’t surprise me with these statements. Deep down, I’ve always known Lorna had a good side. That she wasn’t cut out to be a spiteful little shrew like Giselle. She’s got so much talent going for her.

  “Thank you for coming to me,” I reply. “To be honest, I’ve got better things to do than to fight with you or anyone else.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Lorna says, smiling faintly. “You never struck me as the mean girl type. But you sure give as good as you get—”

  “If not worse!”

  We both laugh, and it feels good. All it took was a little bit of decency, and the universe feels a little less off than it did five minutes ago.

  “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a shame you’re not coming back to ballet class. I may be good, but you are amazing, Kira.”

  Suddenly, I am floored. Then shame burns through me as I remember the pill box in my bag and my inability to lay off the fucking Oxy as well as my fear of going back to training and dance practice. I’m stuck in a limbo, and I’m having a hard time finding my way out of it.

  “I’m working up the courage to come back,” I mumble. “It’s just… It’s hard. We’ll see.”

  “You should,” Lorna says. “Madame Olenna misses you. You’re an exquisite ballerina. Your form, your technique… I doubt we’ll be able to put on a proper Nutcracker this winter without you. Giselle headlined the previous one after your accident and… trust me, it was mediocre, at best.”

  I cringe. “That bad, huh?”

  Now, I feel guilty. It’s one thing to be decommissioned due to an injury, but it’s a whole new level of stupid to stay decommissioned like I am. Maybe Lorna’s another wake-up call. Will I ignore this one, too? Will I hit the treadmill for five minutes, then get off and do something else to throw myself deeper into this same pit of despair? I’m obviously a sucker for self-destructive patterns.

  My heart hurts worse than my ankle, as I remember my moment with Elias. It felt genuine. Intense and unexpected, but fucking hot and… real. It’s been haunting me, like a beautiful dream that turned into a nightmare and scared me into waking up.

  “All I’m saying is… You shouldn’t give up,” Lorna replies. “At least think about it. You’ve got until mid-November for the auditions. Giselle isn’t going to like it, but I doubt she’ll be the prima this year, anyway.”

  “Madame Olenna will likely give you Clara’s part,” I say.

  Lorna smirks. “Probably. I’m pretty sure that’ll be the death of my friendship with Giselle.”

  “Why are you encouraging me to audition, then?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. We all deserve a fair shot. Either way, I’d rather lose Clara’s part to you than anyone else.”

  Lorna walks off before I can say something. I mouth a “Thanks,” but she doesn’t notice, as she’s got her back to me as she makes to cross the road. This was unexpected, to say the least, but… much needed. It reinforces my opinions about Lorna, and it pushes me to once again consider dancing.

  Dad left a Wharton brochure on the breakfast table this morning, before I came down. He’s trying to nudge me in the opposite direction. Going to Wharton would be like giving up altogether. Maybe Lorna’s another sign from the universe, telling me I belong on stage.

  I meet with Janelle at our favorite coffee shop after school. It’s just a couple of blocks down from my house. It was built in the late forties, overlooking the bay, and they make the best macchiato on this side of the country. The baristas are all trained in Milan before they’re stationed here. It’s a small place, but its terrace tables with pure white linens and fine ceramic cups are simply to die for. The coffee is amazing, an artisanal craft passed down three generations of shop owners. Recently, they’ve expanded out back, now providing in-house pastries, too.

  This is my comfort zone.

  We take our usual table at the far left corner of the terrace, closest to the water. I can hear it lapping at the wood base below. Seagulls circle above, their squawks making me smile. I like them, even
though they can be outright thieves and snatch food straight from people’s hands.

  “How are you feeling?” Janelle asks after the waiter takes our order.

  “Pretty good,” I say. “Better than this morning, anyway?”

  Janelle raises an eyebrow at me. “You just ordered the caramel macchiato and a slice of triple chocolate cake. Kira, that’s not ‘pretty good’ food, that’s ‘I’m miserable and I need comforting’ food…”

  “I got into it with Elias and Giselle this morning.”

  It does feel nice to get that off my chest. Janelle scowls, cursing under her breath. “That was bound to happen…”

  I haven’t told her about my moment with Elias. I can’t tell her now, either. It’ll just make me look like the crazy idiot. Besides, I’ve admonished myself enough on the topic already. I really don’t need her input, too.

  “I handled it. Sometimes, I have to get physical with Elias to remind him that there are limits he can’t cross. But Giselle, ugh... She’s like a moth to my flame.”

  “That means she’ll get burned.”

  I nod slowly. “I’m tired, Janelle. Her life might be empty and meaningless for her to seek out some kind of… I don’t know, entertainment by poking and prodding me, but… I’m tired. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “And you know Elias will never change,” Janelle replies.

  “Maybe.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she says, a tone of warning slipping into her voice. “Kira, he’s a younger version of Martin Dressler. The rivalry between your fathers continues, for as long as your dad leads Fowler & Malone.”

  “Frankly, I don’t give two shits about that,” I reply. “I’ve had enough of that, too. I just want to live my own life. Do whatever I want… is that so much to ask?”

  Janelle sighs, leaning back into her chair. “Are you going back to dancing? Have you started training, yet?”

  “I’m still working up the courage…”

  “Courage,” she scoffs. “Kira… do you even want to dance again?”

  The question hits me like an icy draft. It’s a good question, though. Perhaps it’s time I start being honest—at least with myself. Do I still want to dance, or am I just fawning over an era that’s already gone by?

  “I think so. Yes. Maybe… Dammit, I don’t know,” I mutter, thankful to see the caramel macchiato placed before me. The waiter serves Janelle her triple espresso and leaves the cake plate in the middle with two dessert forks.

  “Just in case you might want to share,” the waiter says, smiling politely before he backs away. Janelle stares at the cake with wide eyes. I can’t blame her, since it looks like a work of art. Chocolate cream pours from between the puffy brown layers. Chocolate syrup is drizzled all over the plate, along with a dash of powdered cocoa. My mouth is already watering.

  “Yeah, this thing could cure pretty much anything,” Janelle concludes, grabbing one of the dessert forks. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  I shake my head, chuckling softly. “Hell, no. Dig in, sister.”

  We both start working on the cake slice, while Janelle tells me about her work for my dad. The bottom line is that she’s happy and that she’s starting to like this business more and more. It brings me back to something I’ve told her before… something I feel is worth reiterating.

  “Janelle, I think you’re much better at real estate development than I ever will be. In about ten years, the board will expect my dad to appoint a successor, and I’ve got a feeling it’s not going to be me.”

  Her gaze finds me, surprise flickering in her brown eyes. “What?”

  “Even if I eventually decide that I’m not going to pursue dancing, I sincerely doubt I’ll find an interest in what dad does. In what you’ll be doing full time, soon enough…”

  “Kira, he’s already spoken to the Dean at Wharton. You’re a legacy. They’ll have no problem taking you in.”

  My jaw drops. “Whoa. You know about Wharton? Of course you do, stupid question. You obviously know more about it than me, since all I saw was a brochure my dad left for me this morning.”

  “He wants you to take over for him,” Janelle says. “I mean, you’re his daughter. It makes sense…”

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s a real estate development agency, Janelle, not the friggin’ throne of England to get passed down from father to daughter and so on,” I reply dryly. “I would be of little to no use there. I’m not as shrewd or as business oriented as you. Honestly, you belong at Fowler & Malone more than I ever will.”

  Janelle sighs deeply, then swallows the last of the chocolate cake. Looking at the plate now, I realize we were both in desperate need of something decadently sweet to soothe our aching souls—for different reasons, sure, but aching souls, nonetheless.

  “At least think about it,” Janelle says. “Wharton doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll come to Fowler & Malone. Maybe you’ll start a business of your own. I’m sure your dad will eventually support you, whatever you decide…”

  “As long as it’s not dancing, right?” I scoff, a bitter smile settling on my face.

  “You have to make up your mind soon enough, Kira. Time is running out. Before you know it, the application deadline will have passed, and the last thing you need at this point in your life is a gap year.”

  That doesn’t sound so bad, actually. “What would be so terrible about a gap year?”

  “Given your indecision and predilection for Oxy… Honey, it’s a gateway to self-destruction.”

  Janelle knows I still take Oxy, though now I regret telling her. I’m feeling judged and chastised, even if it’s not her intention. My own guilt is messing with my psyche, trying to turn me against the very people who are genuinely trying to help.

  “I’ve got it under control,” I say, lowering my voice and nervously looking around as I hope no one else heard us. “Auditions for The Nutcracker are not too far away,” I add, trying to change the subject. I’m sure Dad coaxed Janelle into talking to me about Wharton as an option, but I don’t want him to feel like that actually worked. Next thing I know, he’ll have Janelle talk to me about everything else he might think is wrong with me. That would be a recipe to patricide.

  “So, you’re going back to dancing?” Janelle asks, both eyebrows raised in surprise. She takes a long sip from her triple espresso, waiting for an answer.

  I fiddle with a wooden straw, mixing the caramel syrup into my latte, before I find the courage to look her in the eyes again. “It’s an option. Lorna advised me to do it.”

  “Lorna? Since when are you friends with Lorna, of all people?”

  “We’re not friends. She just reached out. She doesn’t want to be a part of my feud with Giselle anymore. I think it was her way of apologizing,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

  “You have to be careful, Kira. She might have an ulterior motive here.”

  Janelle means well, but sometimes I worry she’s too close to my father. Dangerously close and definitely in a manner that might be detrimental to my own happiness. I love Janelle, but I can’t always tell her everything—not since she’s started interning at Fowler & Malone, anyway.

  “There’s nothing Lorna can do to me, even if she tried,” I say. “I’ve already been to hell with this ankle… Sometimes, I feel like I’m still there, on the floor, crying out in pain… Nothing that she and Giselle might be planning is worse than what I’ve already endured. Besides, I made it quite clear to Giselle this morning that I’m done entertaining her garbage.”

  Janelle thinks about it for a moment, and I understand that she’s worried about me, but I doubt she’s got anything useful at this point. Judging by what she told me about her work for my dad, her hands are full, and her mind is constantly overloaded and challenged with new information. I don’t want to dump all my crap on her, too. She deserves a better friend than that.

  “Just promise me you’ll think about Wharton some more before you say ‘pass,’ Kira… Okay?” She looks at me in a
hopeful manner, and I can’t help but give her a soft nod.

  “I’ll think about it. Sure.”

  She smiles, likely feeling like she’s made some progress here. I’d be a monster if I crushed that impression with my hard truth—chances are I will say no to Wharton. But if ballet is a no-no, too… what will I do with myself? What if Janelle is right, and a gap year will only make things worse, eventually pushing me past a point of no return?

  I need to find my way out of this mist, already.

  14

  Elias

  “What’s in that room?” Giselle asks.

  Every girl I’ve brought home over the past couple of years has wondered about what lies beyond that black door. It tends to stand out from the rest of the house, once you’ve passed it enough times. Since Giselle has been coming here regularly for a month now, I’m not surprised that she wants to know what’s in there.

  Unfortunately for her, I don’t consider her worthy to see that side of me. It’s a side I’ve left behind for a little while now. I needed it then. I don’t need it now. Even though, sometimes the craving is still there.

  “Just storage,” I say, taking her hand as we walk toward my bedroom. I catch a glimpse of Erica below. She’s dusting some of the furniture, carefully moving porcelain pieces from my mother’s collection from one shelf to another while she cleans every polished surface. She’s never still. I like that about her.

  I hope to have that much energy when I hit forty.

  “You’re lying,” Giselle stops and turns to face me, putting on a playful, even mischievous smile.

  Her curiosity gets on my nerves, sometimes. She actually thinks we’re in a relationship, and I’ve let that play along for a while since it made it easier for me to find some physical release between her legs. Chances are that illusion will soon be shattered, and Giselle will be faced with the much harsher truth. As much as I’ve shied away from ending this damn feud, my stomach turns every time Giselle takes Kira’s name in her mouth.