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

by Eden Beck

  Tim looks a bit uneasy, but keeps a big smile plastered on his face. “Well, hey, we’ve all got a past, just glad to have you here helping out, both of you. If either of you need anything, you just let me know, I’m here to help!”

  “Will do! Thanks Tim,” Sterling says with a Hollywood smile plastered across his face as Tim turns the corner. As soon as he’s gone, the smile vanishes.

  “Now who’s staring?” he says in a low voice.

  It takes me a second to understand what he means, so he motions back to the chair where he’s left his guitar. I feel color rise in my cheeks.

  “I heard music, I didn’t know if it was you or not,” I say defensively. “Usually, the only thing I hear coming from the music room is something that sounds like a pack of dying hyenas.”

  “Oh, don’t lie, you know you want a piece of this,” he says, motioning to himself. He does a little body-roll that should look ridiculous, but … but it only makes my blush deepen.

  “Whatever, Sterling,” I say, forcing myself to look away and jab a finger in the direction of the retreating director. “Why did you say that stuff about me?”

  “Just trying to give you a little street cred. Don’t want people seeing this cute little uniform and thinking they’re dealing with anything but another teenage screw up, which I know you are.”

  This has to be exhausting. How does he have the energy to give this much of a shit about me?

  “Just leave me the hell alone, alright?” I say. “I can introduce myself.”

  “Alright badass, now if you’ll excuse me, I have another class starting soon,” he slips back inside the room and closes the door behind him.

  I linger outside just long enough to hear his fingers start to strum, and even then, I linger a moment longer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back at Ridgecrest, I return to the dorm and flop down onto my bed the second I enter my room. I’m exhausted—with classes, with the boys, with everything. A little while passes before Alaska gets back and also flops down on her bed.

  “This place sucks,” she sighs.

  I let out a groan in agreement. “What happened to you?”

  “Well, ever since Warren and his damn dyke comment, pretty much everyone around the school has gotten to calling me that every chance they get, so that’s great. Nearly punched a girl in my Spanish class this afternoon.”

  I prop myself up to look at her a moment before flopping back down. I knew Warren had influence over this place already, I just hadn’t realized how much.

  “You should stop fighting, you’re just gonna get kicked out,” I tell her. Or get us both kicked out, more likely, since I’d have to back her up.

  This is my fault, after all.

  “Look, I’m just exhausted with the one big thing people think they can hold over me being something I can’t change,” Alaska says. “People like to feel tall, and if you lay down under their feet, they’re gonna stand on top of you as long as your lungs hold out.”

  “Interesting analogy,” I chuckle.

  She’s right though. I’ve let people stand on me my whole life, and it’s never protected me.

  After a moment’s pause during which Alaska lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, she rolls over and looks at me from across the room.

  “What happened with you today?” she asks. “Same as usual or …”

  “Same, really,” I reply. “Volunteer work with Sterling. He caught me staring at him playing guitar so he told one of the staff that I had ‘a rap sheet as long as his arm’ and now the guy looks at me like I’m a ticking time bomb.”

  She laughs. “That’s actually kind of hilarious. You should play that up, might be fun.”

  Sure, if I wanted to end up getting the cops called on me every time someone drops a red paintbrush.

  “I’m not that person though, I’m not some badass, I’m just … me. Boring, average, made one dumb mistake me.”

  That makes Alaska frown.

  “Well, hey, they don’t know that. For all they know, you’re some sort of legendary badass who stole a Ferrari and drove it cross country to meet up with some international car smugglers. You don’t tell anyone a thing about you, so you’re giving them permission to write your story for you,” Alaska says. “I can’t let people do that with me, I need to control my narrative.”

  Control my story. That sounds so … powerful. But Alaska is comfortable bringing that kind of attention to herself, I crumple every time someone looks at me the wrong way. How am I supposed to be someone who controls their own story?

  “It just feels like things have gotten out of hand so quickly,” I sigh. “I just wanted to fly under the radar.”

  “Well, you’re on the radar now, you might as well embrace it,” Alaska says. “God knows I have. I guess at this point I should go ahead and ask for a boy’s uniform to wear instead.”

  “Stop!” I snap, but she only flashes me a maniacal grin and breaks out laughing.

  “But really, Aubrey, why shouldn’t you embrace this new reputation. It could work in your favor. Maybe you could at least scare people into respecting you.”

  “I guess …” My stomach turns a knot even considering it.

  I want to be strong; I want to be like that, I just … I have no idea how.

  I stare at the ceiling, that old, cracked ceiling, bearing the weight of the world. I look down at my pressed skirt and neat socks. The uniform that wears me.

  I don’t even feel in control of my clothes. I’m living in someone else’s world and bearing the weight of it.

  “You ever been in love?” Alaska suddenly asks.

  “What?”

  “I’m serious, you ever really been in love?” she asks again.

  She’s not looking at me now. She’s rolled back to stare up at the ceiling, her eyes trailing across some invisible pattern only she can see.

  “I mean, no, I don’t think so. I’ve barely even had a crush,” I say.

  “Same, you know that girl I got caught with? She was cute, but it’s not like I was even in love with her. I liked her, I liked spending time with her, but it’s insane that just a few kisses and my entire life gets derailed over someone I can’t even claim that I loved.” Alaska stares are the ceiling, the words ringing in a weird, hollow tone as her mind drifted over them. “I keep asking myself … was it all worth it?”

  “I get that feeling … more than you even realize,” I say, before I can think to stop myself.

  This time when she rolls over to look at me, I notice her eyes have gone watery. There’s a glimmer of a tear hiding in the corner of her eye.

  “You think we’ll ever be the way that our parents and teachers are? I don’t think I could just make rules without any understanding of what each person might be going through.”

  “I dunno,” I say, slowly. I always thought the goal was to be more like our parents and teachers. More responsible, trustworthy, all that stuff. That’s how I was raised to think.”

  “That’s how they raise all of us to think, but is it really true?” she says. “Like, isn’t the point for us to think differently? To do better?”

  “I’d like to do better,” I say.

  “Me too,” Alaska agrees, but then she lets out another one of her hard laughs. “We gotta figure our own shit out first though. I guess.”

  Figure out our own shit first.

  It sounds simple, but I know better.

  If it was that simple, I wouldn’t be here stuck at Ridgecrest in the first place.

  But, somehow, for the first time as I glance back over at Alaska—my first real friend—I realize that maybe being stuck here isn’t really as bad as it seems.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Classes continue to drag on at a glacial pace. And no matter where I turn, there’s Sterling, or Chase, or Warren, loaded with some snide remark or aside. Each comment grinds deeper into my nerves until by mid-semester I’m exhausted.

  As if I wasn’t already.

  That’s how
I find myself shifting uncomfortably in the counselor’s office for my midterm check-in. Mr. Peters sits on the corner of his desk as I sit in the awkward wooden chair. He’s the kind of guy that you can just tell desperately wants you to think he’s cool, especially because he never was when he was your age.

  He wears well-fitted clothes, his shirt sleeves cuffed up to his elbows. He sports a modern haircut. He’s not exactly handsome, but he’s not really bad looking either. He sits somewhere in this ambiguous middle.

  Ambiguous middle, that’s almost worse than bad. When you’re gorgeous or ugly, at least you’re noteworthy. But to sit in between is just … nothing.

  As soon as I think it, I glance back up at his attempt at a friendly, disarming smile, and I immediately feel guilty. Good thing no one can read my thoughts or else I’d be the certified bitch that Warren and the others are determined to brand me as.

  “I’m so glad you finally came to see me Aubrey, a few of your teachers have mentioned that you’ve seemed a bit on edge lately, and your grades in a few of your classes have seemed to be slipping. So, what’s up?”

  He speaks in a casual, laid-back kind of voice, leaning onto his hands which rest on his knees. In turn, I shift uneasily in my chair.

  “I … I just thought this was a formality,” I splutter out. “I didn’t know—”

  He lifts up a hand to stop me. “It really is, don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.”

  His smile warms. “I just like to do my research before our meetings. What’s the point of my even being here otherwise?”

  “I—I guess there isn’t one.”

  “Right,” he says, leaning closer to me. “So, please, tell me what’s going on.”

  Still taken a bit aback, I find myself struggling to find words. At first I consider just brushing him off and telling him everything is fine … but then I glance down at his clipboard lined with blank spaces for notes, and something jars me into honesty instead.

  “It’s just been … stressful. The transition and everything,” I say. The way his eyes light up makes me immediately regret it.

  “Which is totally normal and natural. Can you tell me a little bit about your life before you came to Ridgecrest?” he asks, almost breathless. He must not be used to students telling him anything even remotely interesting.

  I promise to endeavor to meet those expectations from here on out.

  “I dunno, not much to talk about, pretty normal actually. Pretty boring if I’m being honest.”

  The ambiguous middle. Shit, that’s where I am. Nothing extreme on either side.

  Still, that annoyingly excited look doesn’t so much as budge from his face.

  “What may seem normal to you doesn’t mean that it’s unremarkable or unimportant. We all lead very different lives and often minimize the effects that our surroundings and thoughts have on us. How are things with your parents?”

  His body language is very open, warm, inviting. I should feel at ease, but there’s still something that feels just … off.

  I chalk it up to my momentarily lapse in judgment earlier. I should have just said everything was fine right off the bat.

  Now I know he won’t rest until he’s gotten to the bottom of what I meant.

  I hate this stuff. I hate talking about my feelings. It always feels like people are trying to pry into the deepest parts of me for their own satisfaction. It does them more good than it ever does me. They just do it so they can sit back and say “I helped.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, wracking my brain for something generic to say. Something that will direct the attention away from me. “They expect a lot of me but I know they mean well.”

  “How does that make you feel? Being held to high standards?” he presses. “Do you think that’s the source of your stress?”

  I have to stifle a groan of annoyance. He really isn’t going to just let this go now.

  “I … don’t really think too much about it. It’s probably good having people hold me accountable.”

  Liar, liar, liar. You know you hate it.

  “Hmm, but do you feel confident making your own choices?” He’s intensely focused on me, honing in. I stare at him, searching for the words. He clears his throat.

  “Look, Aubrey, I know why you’re here at Ridgecrest, it’s in your file. And I can’t help but think that this relationship, whatever it was, with your teacher was simply the result of you attempting to make your own confident choices for yourself. I don’t want you to doubt yourself simply because of how those around you reacted.”

  I freeze.

  Those records are supposed to be sealed. Ms. Hopkins promised. She promised.

  Mr. Peters must see the reaction he’s elicited, because he suddenly shifts ever so slightly toward me from his perch on the desk. The tone of his voice is confident and calm, but the intensity of his eyes makes me shift even more uneasily in my seat.

  “I just want you to know, I see great things in you Aubrey, and you should feel confident to continue to make your own choices. Don’t make one temporary moment of embarrassment define you.”

  With that, he reaches out and places his hand on my hand.

  It’s everything I can do not to leap violently back from the touch.

  Ugh, is he trying to be reassuring? Or is he making a weird … no, I’m making too much out of this. Just leave, leave now.

  I stand up as calmly as I can from the chair and he looks at me with a strange, puzzled, almost amused look on his face.

  “Sorry … I … I completely forgot I was supposed to turn in an assignment today, I have to run back and grab it before it’s too late,” I stammer. I jab my thumb toward the door. “Can I leave now or …”

  Or do you need more from me.

  I can’t bring myself to say it. Just thinking it makes the place his hand rested on mine burn with a nauseating tingle.

  “Of course, do what you need to. Just remember I’m always here to talk if you need to,” he says in a calm, measured voice. The tone feels almost rehearsed, like lines from a play he memorized a long time ago. He flashes a big, warm smile and walks over to the door of the office and holds it open.

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that,” I say as I quickly rush out the door.

  But I can’t help but catch the way his smile changes, just for a moment, into something a little less warm.

  Chapter Fifteen

  My mind is racing.

  It was nothing, he’s just trying to be helpful. You turn everything into a bigger deal than it needs to be. Why do you have to be such a weirdo about everything?

  In my blind rush I turn the corner and just my luck, I run straight into none other than Warren.

  Warren, the boy I’ve been so staunchly—and up until now, quite successfully—avoiding for some time.

  Until now.

  “Shit, watch where you’re going!”

  I stumble back, inwardly cursing myself. This is the last thing I need right now.

  “S—sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t see you.”

  Warren looks me up and down, but he makes no move to leave. “Where you off to in such a rush?”

  “I forgot something back in my room, need to grab it before the end of the day,” I say. “Not that I should have to explain that to you.”

  His face darkens.

  Shit. Why do I keep doing this to myself?

  I blame Mr. Peters for disarming me. He’s thrown me off, made me forget myself.

  Warren, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to be suffering from the same affliction. He’s his usual, hot-headed, pretentious self … if the next words that come from his mouth are any indication.

  “Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to?” Warren says, his shoulders tensing. “I don’t appreciate some little skank getting mouthy with me. You seriously need to watch yourself, because if you don’t, I’m going to tell the whole school how you absolutely threw yourself at me. Begged me for it.”

  “And why would anyone believe that?”
I ask, my hands shaking. I glance down the hall behind him. I just want to get out of here, get as far away from him as my legs can carry me.

  “Why wouldn’t they? Everyone loves a good slut story,” he says with a dark grin as he composes himself. For a second, I think he’s going to say something else, but then he just bares his teeth at me and takes a half step back. “Eh, what’s the point? You’re not even worth it.”

  And with that, he pushes roughly past me and heads off down the hall.

  Normally a comment like that would send me spiraling, but today, I’m just grateful that I can get out of here. And fast.

  I run back to Mason House and collapse onto my bed, my whole body shaking. It isn’t until my breathing has calmed and my heart has stopped threatening to seize up that I finally have the chance to think back to what Warren said.

  It isn’t the fact that he called me worthless that leaves my stomach souring further.

  It’s what he said before that.

  Everyone loves a good slut story.

  Everyone.

  Good thing Warren doesn’t know how right he is.

  Once I finally calm myself down, I head to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror, confronting my own reflection.

  Why do I even bother hiding? Without this thing, this choice I made, I’m just nothing. Not good, not bad, just swimming in the middle ground. Completely forgettable.

  When I finally return to my room, Alaska is back. She, unlike me, doesn’t look like her midterm counseling session left her scarred for life.

  Despite washing my face, it seems I still do.

  “Hey, you okay?” she asks, noticing my red face.

  I don’t look at her. “Yeah, I’m fine, just a rough day,” I say, pretending to fish around in my backpack for something at the bottom.

  “Bridget came by looking for you, she said she’d be downstairs, do you want me to come with?” Alaska offers.

  I stop what I’m doing and let out a long sigh. “No, I should be fine, thanks though.”