by Esme Devlin
“Do you mean like they’re business allies? Close friends who just happen to be successful and help each other out? Or are you talking some full blown illuminati shit here?” I question.
Stevie shrugs. “I’ve told you, I don’t know. What I do know is that Shaun and his friends can do whatever the fuck they want with little consequence. No one argues, no one reports them. Why would they? And it was the same when their parents were kids. My dad once told me when Shaun’s dad got together with his mum, she was seeing some guy whose family owned the butchers. The ‘brotherhood’ — or whatever you want to call them — owned the building, probably could have evicted them, but they burnt it to the ground instead, just because they could.”
“Are you sure that’s not just one of those stories that’s a coincidence and then grows arms and legs until it’s walking away and waving at you?”
Stevie raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there. But my dad is convinced, and so is the whole town. We stay out of their way.”
“Except Liam doesn’t. That’s what I don’t understand though, if they’re so high and powerful, why let Liam’s father set up here in the first place?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I admit I’ve never put a lot of thought into it, well no more than coming up with the initial theory. Regardless of the bad blood, Liam is still liked by many here. His father provides a lot of jobs and I guess maybe he’s powerful in his own right.”
I’m not sure what to say so I don’t respond, and the pair of us sit in silence sipping on our drinks and looking at the table.
There’s obviously a lot of history and superstition here that I can’t even begin to understand. Still though, family feuds and secret elite societies aside, the way Shaun behaved last night was not normal.
“Does he have a history of… that?”
“Shaun?” She asks. I nod quickly. “I wouldn’t know. I do know he doesn’t normally have a problem finding willing girls if he did want to do… well, that.” She looks down as she says the last word, obviously not clear on what exactly to call it. I should have called it out for what it was: assault.
But I chose not to, even to my friend. I think calling it what it was would make it more real, and what would be the point in that? From what Stevie has just told me, there would be absolutely no point in reporting him. I’d only be telling his best friend’s father, and then I’d have to feel like a victim. It’s stupid, but I don’t want that. Not because I think there is anything wrong with feeling like a victim, or because I think I’m better than that, but because I think it will only lead to disappointment. Victims deserve justice, and no one is going to give me that.
Unless I take it for myself.
❖
Monday rolls around all too quickly.
We didn’t go car shopping. On Saturday, I’d arrived home mid-afternoon to find a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet. It’s not the first time this has happened. I guess I just wasn’t expecting my dad to be called away so soon. I phoned him and he explained he was in Norway on urgent business, he’d be back nearer the end of the week and he’d left his credit card in the safe for me to purchase a car on my own. By Sunday, I was still half nursing a two-day hangover but decided I’d feel even worse if I woke up on Monday morning carless.
I couldn’t be sure Liam would pick me up for school as he’d done last week. I had heard nothing else from him after I decided not to reply to his message. What was I supposed to say? I couldn’t lie and pretend I was fine, but neither could I explain why I wasn’t. I figured I’d ignore it and let him contact me, but his silence was blatant. He’d been online. Not that I was checking obsessively or anything.
Last night I had decided to take Stevie’s advice and leave him well alone. I’d already unknowingly put myself on the radar of arguably the most dangerous boys in school. Why provoke them further? Especially over a guy who apparently wasn’t that interested, anyway.
So I’d hauled my ass out of bed on Sunday afternoon and put a brush through my hair for the first time that weekend. It didn’t take me long to find a suitable car. I wanted something small but still with some kick to it, and fell in love with a gun-metal gray Audi A1. Used, and two years old, so Dad couldn’t complain too much. Not that he would anyway, he’d always reverted to using his credit card as a nanny.
I pull into a space in the school car park after doing a quick scan for a red X5 or a black Evoque. I’d rather not inadvertently park my car next to either of theirs. With any luck, I’d avoid all of them today. And if the stars aligned for me, then no one would be gossiping about the scene Shaun caused on Friday night when he led me out of the party like a prize fucking pony.
Or the kiss I’d shared with Liam before he blew cold on me.
A girl can dream.
I mentally *fuck the lot of them anyway* in my head as I cross the car park and make my way towards the double doors. I know what girls are like, and I know they’ll be the worst. I think back to last week when Stevie knew Liam had walked me to class — before she even knew me. Gossip spreads like wildfire, a single spark can set it off, and then it grows into something that no single person can control. By lunchtime, I’ll have blown Liam’s dick, and Shaun will have dragged me kicking and screaming out of the party. Probably by my hair, for extra succulence. I try not to let it phase me. In that situation, show me one of them who claims they wouldn’t have done the same thing, and I’d show them a liar.
This morning, when I walk along the hallway, I don’t fix my eyes on the ground as I did last week. I realize now I use that as a way of avoiding drawing any attention to myself. But what good will that do me? If they’re going to talk about me, they’ll do it no matter where I’m looking.
I get to my locker and notice a distinct lack of noise as my back faces the hall. There is usually a bustle about this place, people laughing, fighting, running and slamming lockers but today none of that seems to happen behind me. Today there is a hushed quiet enveloping the room. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach and I try to brush it away as paranoia.
But then I hear it. The slut cough.
I check my timetable — Geography — before I shove the rest of my books away and turn around. The girls who coughed me are sauntering off down the hallway in the general direction of my Geography class, and I falter for a minute.
I look around, trying to pretend that didn’t happen but my heart is playing a tune on my eardrums and people are looking straight at me. No, not looking, they’re fucking staring.
They’re sniggering.
They’re whispering behind their hands.
I see a group of what has to be first-year boys and one of them does a wolf-whistle which the others find hilarious. My cheeks feel hot, and a part of me wishes the ground would open up and put me out of my misery. Fucking first-years? They’re like, twelve!
I pull my books closer to my chest and spin around, heading the same way the girls did.
“I heard what you did, you little slag.”
I stop in my tracks. Not that I had much choice, the girl is up in my face with squared shoulders and stands a good few inches taller than me. She’s pretty in a menacing way. Dark, almost black hair and smoked piercing eyes. Surely, she can’t be serious? I’ve never seen this girl in my life before. My thoughts race, but I try to pull myself together and hide the surprise on my face. Girls prey on any sign of weakness.
“So I got drunk and kissed a boy at a party, if I’m the first person who’s ever done that then it says more about the parties you go to than it does me,” I retort, hearing my voice and wondering where the fuck that bit of confidence came from.
I know I wasn’t drunk when I kissed Liam, but it sure makes me feel like I have the high-ground if I claim I was.
The girl laughs in my face, almost manically and then smirks. “Is that what you’re calling it?” She presses a finger into my shoulder and because it comes from nowhere, I can’t help stumbling back a fraction of a pace. “I don’t k
now who the fuck you think you think you are, but I’m telling you now you better stay the fuck away from him.”
Or what, bitch? That’s what I tell her in my head, but there are too many questions running through my mind to analyse whether saying it aloud would be a smart idea. Who the fuck is she, and why does she care so much? But I don’t get the chance to reflect on what I should answer, or what I should ask her, because she shoulder barges me out of the way and makes off in the opposite direction.
I swallow and can’t help glancing around and noticing the audience staring at me. Jesus Christ. I’d give anything to be back at the boarding school in Asia, where people mostly minded their own business and I was just another nameless loner. I head to my geography class and pray that nothing else eventful happens. I just about cope with the whispers and sniggers, but if another person confronts me over a kiss, then I don’t know how I’ll react.
I’m slightly late to class after getting lost, but this turns out to be a positive. The teacher, Mr Allan, has already taken his place in front of the whiteboard and so there is little chance for anyone to say anything to me.
I cross the classroom quickly, take a seat, and try to focus my brain on tectonic hazards. The chair is barely even warm when my phone vibrates in my bag. We’re not supposed to have them out, it’s one of the rules, but I figure I can pretend to look for a pen in my bag and check my phone slyly. It can only really be Stevie, Liam, Shaun, or my father. Unless it’s an injury lawyer. Maybe an injury claims lawyer wouldn’t be such a bad thing compared to Liam and Shaun.
“We need to talk ASAP. Meet me at the wall at break. X.”
It’s Stevie. She’s probably already heard about my run-in with Psycho-Sally. In this school, it wouldn’t surprise me.
“What’s up? X” I type back, my eyes focused on my textbook.
Barely a moment passes when I feel my phone vibrate in my hand. I peek down quickly to read it. “Not for text, speak soon. X.”
By the time the bell rings, I already have my books packed away in my bag and I quickly make my way to meet Stevie. I arrive first so I sit on the wall and wait for her, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Who was that girl, and why does she clearly hate me? I hope that Stevie has already heard about it, and then at least she can fill me in without me having to describe her.
“Christ, I’m glad you’re already sitting down,” she shouts over to me. I turn around and see her approaching. Her tone is playful, but there is a worried look on her face.
“What’s going on?”
She perches on the wall next to me and puts her bag on her lap before retrieving her phone.
“Watch,” she says, handing me the phone and pressing play on a video. It’s dark, and I try to cover the edge of the screen with my hand to block out the sunlight. What is this? Then I clock on. I see orange streetlights appear and disappear in the background and my heart practically falls out of my ass. I know exactly what this is. I draw the phone up towards my face for a closer look. I don’t know why I’m watching? It’s like I can’t take my eyes away, even though it’s fucking painful. I’m looking out of the window, but you can tell it’s me, and there is no mistaking Shaun’s dark hair and chiseled profile. The light dances across the tanned skin of his forearm as it snakes around me and moves between my thighs. I’m squirming. I’m wriggling around on his lap and it looks like I’m enjoying it. It looks like he’s bringing me to an orgasm.
I think I’m going to be sick. I tear my eyes away and focus on Stevie who’s watching me carefully.
“How did you get this?”
“A math-geek in my History class sent me it. Lacey, this is all over the school,” she tells me, her tone tinged with pity. I jump off the wall and give her the phone back. I can’t sit down, not while the whole fucking world is crumbling around me. “Tony posted it Saturday morning. He took it down within an hour apparently, but it had already started doing the rounds.”
So the whole school thinks I got off with Liam and then got into a car and let Shaun touch me. The kiss with Liam. Oh god, was that even what that girl from this morning was referring to?
“Did you hear about the girl who pulled me up earlier?”
Stevie shakes her head. “No? What happened?”
I pace back and forth in front of her. Anybody watching me right now would think I’m demented. Maybe I am.
“A girl stopped me in the hall. Taller than average, black hair, crazy fucking glint in her eye. She told me to stay away from him, but she didn’t say who she was talking about. I just assumed she had heard about the kiss, and she was something to do with Liam?”
Stevie thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “No. Probably Rosheen O’Donnell. It’s common knowledge she has a thing for Shaun.”
“And does Shaun have a thing for her?”
The words fly out like I’m jealous, but I’m not. It’s not jealousy that makes me ask.
“Doubt Shaun’s even capable of having things,” she replies with an eye roll.
“What the fuck am I going to do?” I ask her, although I’m not even expecting an answer. I think I’m asking myself. What the hell am I going to do?
“Honestly, what can you do? You can’t fight them, if that’s what you’re thinking. You can’t report it either.”
“So I just do nothing?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“It will blow over. It always does. You’ll be yesterday’s news by tomorrow. You just need to get through today. Avoid Shaun and Rosheen. I’ll meet you here for lunch,” she offers, as the bell rings in the distance and signals the end of morning break.
“Alright,” I nod, unconvinced that this will work. But what else can I do? As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. She’s been right since the start, when she warned me to stay away from Liam. Why couldn’t I have just listened to her? Oh yeah, I wasn’t thinking with my fucking head.
I trudge back to school and for the rest of the day I avoid eye contact. I still resist the temptation to put my head down though. People are watching me now, everywhere I go, and I won’t let them see how much this is affecting me. I won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing that they all have so much power over me. Even though every second is a struggle.
It’s not just the shame of knowing that everyone thinks I’m easy and that I have loose morals. I hate the word slut as much as the next girl, but that’s not what’s bothering me the most.
I tried so hard to bury what happened that night. I had my weekend of lying in bed and wallowing, and I started today with it tucked safely away in a dark corner of my mind. I don’t want to relive it, and I don’t want to think about it. And these people are forcing me to do that. Every time someone coughs the word “slut” at me, or giggles behind my back, I see his face. I feel his hand on my neck. I feel his hand on other places, too. I hear him calling me “Princess” and his confident laugh replays again and again.
I try to read a passage in English and go over the same words countless times, though none of it registers.
I didn’t want to be a victim because I didn’t want him to have any power over me. But now he does. Now he can haunt me.
The final bell rings and relief floods over me because I’ve survived the day without physically having to see him. I rush out of the classroom and take the stairs at lightning speed. Last week he was hanging around with his friends between the school and the carpark, and if that’s his spot then I want to make sure I’m well passed it before he arrives.
I’m one of the first outside, and I’m already getting my keys out of my bag in preparation as I head across the car park. I do a quick survey around me and spot the black Evoque parked on the far side, some distance away from my car. Thank god for small mercies.
I click my car unlocked and am about to get in when the car parked next to it opens its door, completely blocking my own. I stop walking when I realize it’s Shaun who’s getting out of it.
He flashes me a smile and stands between both the cars,
effectively blocking my escape.
“There’s my princess! Have you been hiding from me?” He cocks his eyebrow and smirks as I lock eyes with him and watch him suspiciously. Ice runs down my spine, and I feel like a mouse caught in a trap.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady and my tone cool.
“Do you like my new car?” He asks, pointing his head down towards it.
I tear my gaze away from him and turn my head around, feeling exposed and uneasy at the thought of not being able to see what he’s doing.
I don’t need to look for long to work out the game he’s playing. He’s driving a gun-metal gray, brand new Audi Q5.
“Daddy bought you the big boy version of my car? That’s cute,” I say nonchalantly.
He stares at me for a second, and I notice his jaw tick. Then in an instant his face changes and he’s laughing. “You’re funny. I guess it is kinda cute? Thought we could try the ‘his and hers’ thing, just in case anyone missed the… announcement.” His tone is light, but he’s watching my reaction. He wants to provoke me. I’m learning quickly this is what he does. I want to shout at him. I want to scream at him. But I know that’s exactly what he wants, and I won’t let him win.
“Oh, you saw that? Did you hear what everyone’s saying about it?” I ask.
He looks momentarily confused. “I saw it, and yes I heard.”
“Try not to worry… I mean, I’ve been trying to tell people your technique wasn’t half as shit as it looked.” I tell him, emphasizing the sympathy in my tone.
He looks angry at first, but then he shrugs it off quickly. “You weren’t complaining. And you weren’t this mouthy, either. Did a little orgasm point you in the direction of your backbone?” He smirks.
“You forced my backbone into a position, and you know it,” I bite back.
“You could have told me to stop at anytime,” he shrugs. “You didn’t. Not once. If I had a conscience it would be clear.”