“Kira!” Dad shouts. I think he’s about to come after me, but I hear Elias stopping him.
“Mr. Malone, it’s best not to,” he says calmly. “She just needs some time to adjust. I totally see where she’s coming from.”
He can totally see where I’m coming from. How fucking mature of him.
My vision is hazy. I’m tearing up. I feel so stupid, so wasted… Reaching my room, I shut and lock the door behind me. I palm the bottle of Oxy in my hand so goddamn hard, begging myself not to be weak. There’s a bottle of Amaretto hidden in one of the drawers of my nightstand. It’s a better alternative. I take a heady swig and take the bottle out on the terrace. I’ll need more than a couple of gulps to paralyze myself.
I’m one to usually embrace change. But after all this Malone-Dressler feud has done to us, to me, in particular, I simply cannot accept that my father can so easily dismiss it all so he can do charity work with Elias. It’s preposterous at the very least. It’s proof he never cared about me or my feelings.
And that makes me feel like the loneliest little soul in the world.
17
Kira
I haven’t slept much since last night. The image of Dad and Elias chuckling and drinking whiskey in our house has been on a constant loop, hijacking my brain. I can’t believe my father did this. Worst of all is that… the more I think about the whole thing, the more convinced I am that he’s up to something. The hate he harbors for Elias, his father, and Dressler Corp. is too intense, too toxic for it to dissipate in favor of a joint charitable event.
I’m just not buying it. Dad is up to something, and Elias might end up on the receiving end of it. It’s why I’ve been unable to sleep… It’s why, despite pulling out my suitcase, I didn’t pack my shit and run far, far, far away.
Elias might be an asshole, but it’s not because he was born with venom in his veins. It’s because our families forced him to be that way. It’s because my father and his hatred and their hatred for each other, never prompted anything but hate between us. And sometimes, when you’re so caught up in brewing evil, you forget that there’s still some good inside. I don’t know what any of this has to do with anything. But what I do know is that there’s a storm coming and I’m pretty sure my father’s the one stirring the waters.
Elias hasn’t got a fucking clue what he’s getting himself into. And sure, it’s not my duty to save him. It isn’t even my duty to care if he sails of if he drowns. But what I also know, is that every fucking time our families collide, I end up one of the casualties. Not this time. I might not be able to stop whatever evil my father’s plotting, but there’s a part of me that thinks maybe, just maybe, I can have Elias open his eyes a little wider. Something akin to throwing him a life jacket and allowing him to make the decision whether or not he wants to put it on.
This endeavor also means I have to actually talk to Elias, and our last conversation ended with him choking me and me kicking him in the balls. The one before that ended with a near-orgasmic experience and his fingers inside me, and good grief… I’m a fucking mess.
Chemistry lab is harmless enough as a class, even though it requires that I be in the same room as Giselle and Elias, but I’ve got the first table at the front. The teacher is drawing some formulas on the blackboard regarding ignition and mixing household items into flammable solutions. She’s talking to us, too, but my mind is elsewhere.
I can hear Giselle snickering behind me. She’s sharing a worktable with Lorna. Finch is at the back of the room, while I’m working with Lauren, one of my classmates. I only talk to Lauren during these workshop hours. She’s pretty cool, but she’s also very school-oriented, which I appreciate, since most gossips around Trinity seem to involve me in one way or another.
“Will you pass me that beaker?” Lauren asks, but I don’t immediately register the question. “Kira? Beaker? Kira.”
“Hm? Right, sorry,” I reply and hand her the glass beaker.
Lauren chuckles. “Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” I mutter, feeling someone’s eyes on me.
Slowly turning my head, I find Finch at his table with one of the lacrosse jocks. He’s got as much interest in this class as I do, by the looks of him. He stares at me, and I can’t quite make out what he’s trying to convey. His gaze softens for a moment, and I find myself thinking about the many times we’ve bumped into each other, growing up.
“Now, the most important stage in mixing these solutions comes right before, in that you need a recipient to hold them that won’t be affected by their acid combination. Plastic is obviously out of the question,” the teacher says, her gravelly voice reaching across the room. “Mind you, don’t try this stuff at home. I’m merely exemplifying these formulas here for your reference, not for you to set the shed on fire, okay?”
Snickers ripple around me, as if the teacher has read some of the less brilliant minds in this class, and she knows that that is exactly what they’ll be tempted to do.
“I’m not kidding. These combinations serve only as a warning, for you to avoid potentially tragic accidents,” she adds, and I can’t help but feel sorry for her. One third of this class alone is why we have labels on absolutely everything.
Elias keeps watching me. I glance his way again. This time, I spot glimmers of humor in his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Darkness gradually envelopes his expression, and I know from the smoldering emeralds in his gaze that he and I are remembering the same moment, back at his house. The kiss, the towel barely hanging around his waist. His hand in my panties.
Sucking in a breath, I shift my focus back on the worktable. I take notes from the blackboard, while the teacher—whose name I can never remember, discusses the risks of combining the listed chemicals.
And then, I think about other moments with Elias. Like the time my tampon string was slightly hanging out of my swimsuit and he tugged it halfway out of my pussy. And the time he managed to put superglue in one of my shoes while I was getting ready for the mystery ball, having just performed for their guests.
“The problem these days is that common household chemicals can be mixed to create powerful, even deadly explosives,” the teacher continues, grabbing my attention once again. “The purpose of today’s lesson is for you all to be aware and to learn to spot the danger signs in any home or office,” she says.
“I think she means well, but I can already hear the wheels turning in some of the emptier heads in this room,” Lauren mutters. “I know of at least one idiot who will definitely try this at home.”
“Let’s consider it natural selection and worry less about it,” I reply. We grin at each other, aware that we’re both thinking about the same guy. Lenny Marquesa, lacrosse player and asshole extraordinaire, currently Elias’s lab partner.
Giselle giggles again behind me, and I’m quite proud of how effectively I’ve ignored her, thus far. I’m also wondering why she didn’t partner with Elias in this lab. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen the two lovebirds together as much lately. Brushing the thought away, I ponder on methods of getting Elias alone so I can talk to him about Dad. My stomach churns, almost painfully. He doesn’t deserve me reaching out to him.
“No, don’t!” I hear Lorna mutter. “Dammit…”
The airhead prima ballerina bursts into laughter this time. Gasps follow. Something is burning. I sniff the air. Something is definitely burning. Warmth spreads in the back of my head.
I look at Lauren. “Do you smell smoke?”
She glances up at me, and the blood drains from her face.
“Oh, my God!” the teacher exclaims. “Fire!”
My scalp burns. In an instant, I realize what’s happening.
Before I can even react, Lauren and the teacher tackle me and pat my head with towels. My eyes sting from the smoke, and I’m choking from the inhalations. “Jesus fucking Christ!” I manage, shaking like a leaf. The adrenalin is quick to shoot through me, energizing eve
ry single atom in my body.
“What the hell happened?!” the teacher asks.
I take deep breaths, as Lauren helps me up. “I’m sorry, Kira. It’s protocol,” she says.
“It’s cool,” I manage, remembering the stop, drop and roll routine. They needed me away from the worktable, anyway, since it holds several flammable solutions, including the small gas canisters we use for the Bunsen burners. Touching the back of my head, I realize a good chunk of my hair has been burned.
The smell is nauseating. My fingers tremble as they brush against the rugged, molten ends. I’ll need a haircut, as soon as possible. The reality of what just happened begins to settle, though, and rage quickly takes over, burning hotter than any other flame in this lab.
“I demand an explanation!” the teacher says sternly, her gaze darting from one student to another. No one dares to speak, though, and I’m fascinated by their complicity.
Only one of them is responsible, and she’s struggling to hold back a grin while avoiding eye contact altogether. Giselle. I know she did it. She reeks of guilt and satisfaction. Lorna, on the other hand, has her head down and stares at the floor. Beads of sweat trickle down her temples.
I can already imagine her thought process. If she rats on Giselle now, she loses a friend. As toxic as Giselle can be, I strongly believe it’s up to Lorna to decide whether she’s worth it or not. It tells me a lot about Lorna, too. She’s a decent girl, but she’s under the wrong influence. That being said, I’m not her mother. It’s not my job to teach her about toxic friends and all that crap.
However, I can do something much, much better.
Something I’ve been dying to do for a very long time. Something no one will blame me for, since most of them know that Giselle did it. They know. I can see it on their faces. At least three of the students behind us saw her set my hair on fire. Hell, even the teacher seems to have some suspicions.
“Giselle, care to tell us what happened?” the teacher asks, formidable in her eloquent calmness. The only problem is that we’re well past civility here.
“You tried to set me on fire,” I say, my tone flat, as I stare at Giselle.
Every muscle in my body twitches, the adrenalin further building up, the tension gathering in my throat. I’m about to let loose, and I have no intention of going easy on her, either.
Giselle glances my way, her eyes wide and filled with contemptuous arrogance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lorna, this is your one and only chance to prove you’re not a mindless idiot,” I declare, loud enough for anyone to hear. “You were right here, standing next to Giselle. I heard your warning, though I didn’t immediately realize what it was about. You need to speak up.”
Lorna is speechless, her lips parted as she looks at Giselle, then back at me. She’s conflicted, and I feel sorry for her.
“This is going to end in one way,” I add. “And trust me when I tell you that Giselle here does not deserve your friendship or loyalty.” Eyeing her carefully, I ask her again. “Did Giselle set my hair on fire?”
I get the faintest nod from Lorna, followed by Giselle’s outraged gasp. It’s all I need.
“Giselle, Kira, Lorna, we need to go to the principal’s office,” the teacher begins to say, but the rest of her statement falls on deaf ears as I jump over the worktable and take Giselle down.
She screams. Other girls screams. Someone shouts “Fight!”, while another student thinks they should get some help. I’m too focused to care. Giselle is on her back, and I’m right on top of her. She tries to claw my face off, and I punch her.
Her jaw crackles. Her nose comes next. Blood gushes from her nostrils. I hit her eye. Giselle cannot stop the pummeling, as I move the blows lower, going for her ribs and stomach. I’m roaring and snarling like a wild animal, but goddammit, I feel so good. So alive!
Blood pumps rapidly through my veins. My breath is ragged. My heart is pounding. My vision field is a red haze, and I keep punching, while Giselle keeps screaming. “Stop! Stop it, Kira! No more!”
I’m not sure if Giselle wants me to stop, or the teacher or somebody else. It doesn’t matter. I can’t stop. My knuckles hurt. My left hand is almost paralyzed from the pain. My entire body is ablaze, and I am out of control.
“Kira, that’s enough!” Elias’s voice cuts through.
An arm snakes around my waist, and I’m pulled off Giselle. I see Lauren and the teacher kneeling around her. Lorna tries to touch her, but Giselle is all bloody and bruised and crying. She slaps Lorna’s hand away, then screams, fueled by the kind of humiliation she has never experienced before.
Elias carries me out of the classroom. I’m kicking and flailing, eager to be free so I can take Giselle into round two. “Let me go!”
“You are fucking done, unless you want to forfeit any chance you might have left at Julliard,” Elias replies, his tone cold and remarkably calm.
The point is driven home, though, and the adrenalin oozes out of my body in a matter of seconds, through some absurd chemical process I can’t quite understand. All of a sudden, I am limp, a mere noodle in Elias’s grip, as he takes me farther away from the lab. I catch a glimpse of security officers and the school nurse rushing in there. Of course, Giselle had to put on a full drama show after the beating I just gave her.
Fucking crybaby…
“What I did to her is nothing compared to what she did to me,” I grumble, as Elias sets me down by one of the large hallway windows. My leg hurts—not just my ankle, but my whole leg. From the sole of my feet, all the way up to my hip, it hurts.
This is the downside of adrenalin wearing off and reality setting in.
I can barely stand, as Elias measures me from head to toe. “Dammit, my bag’s inside,” I snarl, aching for a fix. The painkiller is the only thing keeping me from falling apart at this point.
“Oxy isn’t going to fix what’s wrong with you,” Elias says, his brow furrowed. “And you’re right. A couple of right hooks are nothing compared to what Giselle did to you.”
“Who the hell do you think you are to judge my pain and my need of medication?!”
A whole new kind of anger takes over. It’s a rare sentiment, tightly weaved into guilt and the thought that Elias is actually right. I’m just not ready to admit it. Maybe I should. Maybe if I just say it out loud, maybe… just maybe some of the pressure will go away. But my nerves are frayed. My ego is bruised. My fucking hair’s been set on fire. This is the worst possible moment to discuss my… addiction.
“I’ve known you since we were kids, Kira. Granted, we were never friends, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know the struggle you’ve gone through. I understand how you feel. I saw you when they carried you out on that stretcher. I saw the pain in your eyes. Don’t think we’re strangers, Kira. We’re not strangers anymore. We haven’t been for a very long time.”
It’s my turn to be speechless, as I simply gawk at him. I’m too tired, too muddled to think clearly. Leaning against the window frame, there isn’t much I can do with myself at this point. Giselle cries out in the background.
“I’m gonna get you for this, you stupid bitch!” She barks, as the nurse helps her walk in the opposite direction, while the security guards talk to Lauren, Lorna and the chemistry teacher.
“They’ll want to interview me,” I whisper, mentally bracing myself for a massive scandal. I can already hear Giselle’s mother’s shrill voice. The entitlement. The buffoonery. Nausea threatens to turn my stomach upside down, though I’m not sure it’s because of the smell of burnt hair or the idea of having to put up with Giselle’s mother.
“Fuck the interview. Fuck everything else,” Elias tells me. “You’re losing yourself, Kira. You’re struggling with addiction. The mood swings, the bursts of anger… the champagne and Oxy incident… you have to start facing the facts, here. If you ever want to dance again, you have to get yourself clean. I can help you.” For a moment, I wonder if I heard him right. I must be looking co
nfused, because Elias feels the need to further explain his offer. “No rehab clinic. No psychiatrist. No one needs to know. I’ll help you get clean.”
Raising an eyebrow, I’m ridiculously close to a smirk. “Well, look at you, Betty Ford…”
“Would you rather exist in this misery? Giselle will keep fucking with you, because she can smell your weakness. I had to take you to a hospital in order to get your stomach pumped, Kira. It’s not a fucking joke anymore, and you really need to start addressing this issue.”
“And you somehow consider yourself qualified to help me?” I’m sweating, my breathing somewhat shallow as I feel a panic attack looming. It wouldn’t be the first, but this one is really coming at a bad time because no, I don’t want his help. And no, he’s not qualified. And even if he was…the way he fucking treated me…
“You’re not the only one with this problem,” Elias says, pressing his hands on my shoulders, as if trying to pin me down, somehow. There is meaning in his words, and I find myself at a loss for words, as I see the pain behind his eyes. It’s so damn similar to the pain that the mirror reflects back at me. Elias exhales sharply. “I know what the numbness feels like, Kira. I know the darkness that follows, too. After my mother left, I was broken. After my father died, I was crushed. It took me years to figure out the truth about myself, but I did, Kira… it ain’t pretty, it ain’t easy.”
“What was your poison?” I manage, trying to picture Elias at his worst. I can’t remember a single moment when I looked at him and thought him weak. He’s always come across as indestructible, a rough-cut diamond that can withstand anything. I suppose I was wrong. A lot can hide under one’s surface. I should know…
“Zoloft,” Elias replies.
“Miss Malone,” one of the security guards approaches us. The other one is still jotting down statements. Lead pulls my stomach down, the pain in my leg flaring furiously. I need a pill, now more than ever. “We need to talk.”
Trinity High: High School Bully Romance Page 41