Her Shame: A Dark Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 1)

by Eden Beck

  “Oh, shit, yeah—you’re right,” I say, before glancing back up at him with a furrow forming between my brows. “Why’d you ask if you already knew?”

  He just purses his lips.

  “Just try not to be such a deadbeat lab partner,” he says.

  The words sting, but there’s something behind them that feels almost lighthearted, flirtatious even. I even think I catch a wink at one point when I hand him a piece of equipment.

  It makes me feel like I’m still reeling from Sunday morning’s hangover.

  Toward the end of class, we’re both sitting, waiting for the bell to ring, when I catch Chase looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “What?” I snap, feeling my own frustration fit to boiling over. “Want to tell me off for something else?”

  The slightest smile pushes at the corner of his lip.

  “You know, I kind of miss those clothes from the party. The uniform makes you look way more … stiff,” he says, his eyes raking over me unabashedly this time.

  Just then the bell rings and Chase jumps up from his seat and swings his bag over his shoulder. He then wordlessly leaves, without even a goodbye.

  And a good thing too, because I don’t know what the hell I was supposed to say to that.

  Chapter Eleven

  As stupid as I think Warren’s reaction may be, I also know I’d be a fool to provoke him.

  Better to give him space to cool off than to risk turning him against me further. I’ve seen the influence he has on this school already, as new as we all might be. I don’t want to anger the boy that can get the entire class detention.

  And me, likely, whisked back away by my parents to some other, lower, depth of shame.

  I manage to avoid Warren at every turn in the coming days, though it’s not exactly easy—not when his twin sister ensures even Mason House isn’t out of his reach. It’s exhausting feeling like I’m constantly on guard, but I’m hoping that the longer I can stay away from him, the faster this will die down.

  Finally, Friday rolls around and I’m once again waiting for the volunteer shuttle with Sterling. Sterling seems to be his usual unbothered self, sneaking his customary cigarette before the van pulls up, extinguishing it with barely a minute to spare.

  At least he seems to have managed to maintain some sense of self, unlike Chase.

  I’ve caught him sending me a few ungodly glances in class, but he’s remained as cold as ever when we’re forced to interact. It’s a strange juxtaposition, and one I’m looking forward to one day putting behind me.

  When Sterling and I arrive at the facility, the cheery nurse from before ushers us to the rooms where the classes will be held. The art class sits a couple doors down from the music room. It’s packed with canvases and all sorts of other art supplies for the residents to enjoy.

  And me. I also enjoy them, maybe more than they do.

  Not that I’ll ever admit that.

  Some part of me worries they’d send me to some worse form of volunteering if they found out I actually like my assignment.

  You know, to make sure I’m suffering properly in my penitence.

  “There are a couple sample project directions in the desk over there, but feel free to create your own classes,” the nurse says after concluding her short, absentminded tour of the past teacher’s curriculum which was little more than a notebook filled with sketches and scattered notes. “I’ll leave you to it while I show Mr. Sterling here over to his room.”

  I look over the art on the walls and grab the stack of project outlines. The first one is a painting of a vase. The second, a rudimentary birdhouse. The third, a simple beaded bracelet. Option three looks like the best bet. I’ve already seen the way some of their hands shake … and I’d rather not end up sending one of them to the hospital with a broken finger.

  Or myself, should their hammer and nails really go awry.

  Soon a few of the residents come slowly wandering in, walkers scooting along the floor. There is a woman with long silver hair named Alice and another with shorter hair named Grace.

  Grace comes over to me and reaches out slowly to shake my hand.

  “Hello dear, are you the new art teacher?”

  “I am. I’m Aubrey, it’s very nice to meet you,” I say as I reach out and shake her hand.

  “We live next door to each other down the hall,” Grace says. “The last art teacher was a bit of a bore; I hope you have a bit more spark to you.”

  She tilts her head down to look at me as if she’s trying to decide how much I’m going to let her get away with.

  I laugh. “I hope so too.”

  I sit with them and we begin to slowly thread the beads onto our small strings.

  “I miss being able to see things without these damn glasses,” Grace moans.

  “At least your hands don’t shake like an elm in a hurricane,” Alice chuckles.

  I shoot a glance her way and immediately make note to hide away the birdhouse supplies in their entirety, just in case either of them starts to get any sort of ideas.

  “So, do you two enjoy living here?” I ask.

  Grace glances up from her beadwork. “It’s alright, I miss being a pretty young thing like you and not having to ring the nurse when I get stuck in my chair.”

  “You have a boyfriend dear?” Alice cuts in. There’s a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

  Maybe I should hide the knitting needles too.

  “Oh, uh, no, no … I don’t,” I say, reaching over to subtly help her string on one of the smaller beads.

  She gives me a grateful smile. “That’s an absolute shame, a pretty thing like you. I bet they trip over themselves like they used to do for me,” Alice coos.

  “Don’t mind her, she’s never quite gotten over the old days,” Grace says, kicking her compatriot under the table so hard I worry I’m going to have to end up calling an ambulance before long after all. “Alice was a world-class flirt from what she’s told me over and over again. Now she just spends her days hoping one of the men here who can still remember their own name will notice her.”

  “Don’t end up like me, dear! I was in love once, and I let him go. Now look, all alone.” Alice’s voice trails off.

  “Oh, stop it Alice, leave the poor girl be. Don’t you fret dear, you’ll find a man, I’m sure of it,” Grace scolds.

  I just laugh again. “I can’t say I’ve had much luck yet, been too busy focusing on school.”

  Grace raises an eyebrow. “That’s funny, didn’t you come here from that delinquent school?”

  Something about hearing it said like that is jarring.

  The delinquent school. For delinquents like me.

  I slowly nod my head.

  “Well, can’t say many of the kids we get from there have been ones to put their noses to the grindstone, that’s for sure. How’d a sweet young thing like you end up in a place like that?”

  I’m so tired of lying, but I can’t tell two women that look like my grandma the actual truth. Maybe just a little of it?

  I glance toward the door, and seeing no one, I lean in a little closer.

  “I got caught kissing a boy. I went to a pretty strict Catholic girls’ school and everyone freaked out.”

  Mostly true.

  Much to my surprise, neither of the woman reels back in horror or surprise.

  “Oh, those damned nuns, never cared for a single one of them,” Alice scoffs.

  “Something we finally agree on. Mine used to rap my knuckles with a ruler every time I refused to write in cursive. Terrible old hags. Though, sounds kind of funny coming from the lips of a new old hag,” Grace laughs. “I’m sorry, dearie, was he at least handsome?”

  I nod and chuckle. “He was, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Oh, that’s nonsense, life is short, kiss the pretty boys,” Alice says.

  I smile at her, but quickly find a way to change the subject. After all, I doubt she’d be saying the same thing if she knew the whol
e truth of things.

  “Well, that’s a view that I’m sure got you in a few interesting situations.”

  I snap up from where I was bending over to put the beads away in a cabinet after the end of class. I whip around to see Sterling standing in the doorway.

  “Ew, what do you want, Sterling?” I ask, not even attempting to stifle my own exaggerated sigh.

  Something about the look on his face tells me he’s here to cause trouble. Like he always is.

  And here I was thinking I’d have an uneventful day.

  “No one showed up for music class so I’ve been wandering around trying to keep from losing my mind, thought I’d drop by for an art class,” he jokes, but he still makes no move to leave.

  I roll my eyes. “And instead, you decided to just stand and stare?”

  “Well, it stared at me first,” he snaps back, taking a half step into the room to try and crane his neck around to get another look at my backside. I move with him, trying to shield myself from him—and not being very successful at it. “Better be careful, you do things like that and people may think you’re just begging for attention.”

  “Well, I’m not. Keep your eyes to yourself,” I say, carefully bending at the knees to close the locker before turning back toward him.

  “Whatever, it’s not like I’d actually consider anything with you. I don’t mess with girls who disrespect my boys,” he says sternly.

  “What do you want from me? An apology?” I ask. “Just so you can go about staring at my ass some more?”

  What I don’t expect, however, is for Sterling to take a quick look down the hall before he strides inside—the door slamming shut behind him. Three more steps and he’s filled the space between us before I have the chance to step back.

  “No,” he says, menace making his words sharp, “I want to know why you won’t tell anyone the real reason you’re here. I want to know what it is that you’re hiding that you think will top all the other screw ups at Ridgecrest, because either it’s really bad, or you’re just a pious bitch that thinks she’s better than everyone else and can’t handle a tiny little blemish on her record.”

  I stand still, shocked. I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Well, keep wasting your time then, I’m not going to tell you, especially not now,” I say, finally.

  A strange smile creeps over his face. “You don’t need to, the best part about being a true delinquent is having the right kind of friends.”

  And with that, he disappears from the room, leaving me alone once again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Classes at Ridgecrest continue to drone on at the steady pace of mediocrity.

  Alaska, Clark, and I spend a lot of time together hanging out on the quad or eating in the dining hall. Even though our common bonds are the fact that we’re all still hoping we’ll be readmitted to Brown next fall and that we were all sent here, to Ridgecrest, for majorly screwing up—I’d say over the following weeks we become genuine friends.

  In a way, as time passes, I start to feel like I … belong … at Ridgecrest.

  Never could have said the same for Sisters of Virtue. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

  But that sense of belonging isn’t perfect. I have one glaring problem that remains, and as the weeks drag on toward the end of my first month at Ridgecrest, it’s showed no sign of going away.

  And that problem, of course, is Warren Harding.

  Warren Harding—and the boys that answer to his every beck and call.

  No matter how I try to avoid them, Warren, Chase, and Sterling are always there at every turn, and each interaction is no less pleasant than the rest.

  Even these, however, soon become part of the fabric of my daily life here at Ridgecrest.

  “Woah, look out boys, it’s Night of the Living Dead!” Warren shouts one morning when I enter the dining hall for breakfast after pulling an all-nighter studying for an exam. Chase and Sterling laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all year.

  I, meanwhile, just grumble into my flaky French pastry and lament that I didn’t grab two before the pastry cart rolled away.

  At an assembly the next week, we’re all crammed into the bleachers, listening to some middle-aged woman lecture us on the dangers of drugs and alcohol and how she ruined her life when she was our age and blah, blah, something like that.

  If we stay clean, we can be like her … speaking to screwed up kids for money!

  Warren, Sterling, and Chase sit behind me, and I can hear them snickering to each other. I try to face forward and ignore them, but finally it gets to be too much, even for me.

  “What’s so funny?” I hiss back at them through my teeth, my lips unmoving and my voice low to keep from being spotted.

  That’s why I feel, rather than see, Warren lean in closer until his hot breath is on my neck, making shivers race down my spine.

  “We were laughing,” he says, his voice not nearly low enough to keep from being overheard by those sitting closest to us, “because we were trying to figure out if you have daddy issues or mommy issues, or maybe both?”

  A random girl seated behind me lets out a snort so loud, she has to clamp both hands over her mouth to keep it in.

  One of the professors down at the bottom of the bleachers shoots us a warning look.

  Beside me, Alaska whirls around and smacks Warren back, away from me.

  “Shut the fuck up Warren, and go deal with your own daddy issues while you’re at it,” Alaska hisses.

  He just sneers at her.

  “Back off dyke.”

  So much for being subtle.

  “What the fuck did you just call me?” Alaska shouts, drawing the attention of everyone around us. She leaps up from her seat, and it’s all I can do to keep her from entirely lunging at him.

  “You heard me, I’m just fucking around with your girlfriend here, chill,” Warren laughs as he sits back up. He leans back in his seat, his head lazily swiveling to survey the room with disinterest plastered across his face.

  “No, I’m not going to chill, you ignorant douchebag. You want to fucking come at me? Do it like a man.”

  Her hand swipes out like the paw of an angry beast, her nails just missing the side of his face. I wouldn’t be able to hold Alaska for much longer if it wasn’t for the shrill voice that suddenly rings out across the auditorium.

  “Miss Washington, kindly sit back down before we have to discipline each and every one of you,” Ms. Hopkin’s voice shouts into the microphone, sending a piercing squeal echoing off the walls. Alaska glares at Warren for a moment longer before reluctantly sitting back down in her seat, fuming.

  “Good, now I’d like the two of you to shake hands and apologize to your classmates for such a rude disruption.”

  In a show of more self-control than I’ve ever had, they both flash grins worthy of Broadway at each other and shake hands before turning to face the front of the auditorium. Satisfied at what she believed to be an apology, Ms. Hopkins hands the microphone back to the guest speaker and takes her place at the back of the stage.

  That doesn’t stop the two of them from glaring at each other for the remainder of the assembly, however.

  “Bitch,” Warren whispers as soon as Ms. Hopkins has looked away.

  “Cocksucker,” Alaska hisses back.

  She’s barely settled back into her seat before I feel another body lean in closer to mine.

  “You better keep your attack dog on a tighter leash there, Stoner Girl,” Chase whispers behind me. “And remember, one day she’s not going to be there to protect you.”

  “I swear to god … ” Alaska starts to turn red, but I reach out and grab her arm before she lashes out again and gets us all in trouble this time.

  “Just … chill,” I say, “and keep facing forward.”

  She sets her jaw, and as much as I know she’d like to slap the bitch smiles off their faces, she does as I ask.

  And a good thing too. If she had … I don
’t know if I’d be able to stop myself from joining her.

  I can’t let them get to me. They will not get to me.

  Yet another Friday rolls around and with it, more volunteer work. Oddly enough, Sterling’s behavior hasn’t changed much when we’re alone together—which doesn’t mean much. He remains largely indifferent, except for the occasional jab, but the meaning behind those even feels less … malicious.

  Even a little bit flirty sometimes.

  I finish up art class, which has been slowly but surely expanding to more and more residents. It’s probably not a bad thing, because Grace and Alice have been starting to get a little too involved in my future-husband-hunting for a moment. As I lock up the art supplies, I hear something emanating from the usually quiet music room.

  Despite my better judgment, I walk down the hall and peek around the doorway.

  Sterling is alone in the room, his back to the door, hunched over a guitar. He quietly strums and sings a moody sounding melody, though I can’t quite make out the words. It’s strange to see him like this, neck hunched down, folded over an instrument.

  He almost looks … vulnerable.

  Suddenly, a voice behind me makes me jump.

  “Hi there, Aubrey, right?” A tall man with a pin on his polo shirt that says “Tim” is standing in the hallway, hand outstretched.

  “Uh, yeah,” I reply “Nice to meet you … Tim. Do you work here?”

  “I’m one of the volunteer directors and I wanted to make sure I finally introduced myself to you both and thanked you for your help this semester.”

  “Not a problem at all,” Sterling says, as he now stands right in the doorway. He reaches out and shakes Tim’s hand. “Sure beats picking up trash on the highway, right Aubrey?” he says with a knowing wink in my direction.

  “Yeah, of course,” I reply. “Not that I’d know.”

  “Sure, you better watch out for this one Tim, she’s a real hell raiser. Kids back at the school give her a wide berth, got a rap sheet as long as your arm,” Sterling presses.