Sins at St Joseph's Academy: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (The Fallen Book 1)

by MV Ellis

  * * *

  “Look, here comes Budget Barbie.”

  I don’t turn around when I hear Jazzy and some other girls I don’t know by name, but vaguely recognize as minor league members of the St. Joe’s Hoes squad, snickering behind me as I walk to my locker in the hallway after my last class of the day. They’re nothing if not loyal and obedient servants, I mean... friends, to the crazy twins, and after the lunchroom incident, I guess I’m Public Enemy No.1 with anyone who doesn’t want to be eaten alive by them.

  I note that the nickname that Zeph gave me in the lunchroom earlier is already becoming a thing—Jazzy wasn’t even there when it happened, yet she dropped Budget Barbie as though I’ve always been called that. Well, that’s just great. Exactly what I fucking need in my life right now.

  I slow up, heading to dump my books into my locker, as I don’t need most of them for homework that night, so it’s easier to ditch them than drag them back and forth to my room for no real reason. As I get level to my locker, the girls move aside, parting like the Red Sea, and it’s then that I see the reason for the smug looks on their faces.

  My locker has been “decorated.”

  SLUT

  The word sits bold and angry, daubed in flaming red. It looks like whoever did it used nail polish, though I don’t stop to verify my hunch. Nor do I show any outward sign of having seen the graffiti. In fact, I hug my book bag closer to my chest and casually veer away from the bank of lockers as though I was never on my way there in the first place.

  I’m torn between laughing and crying at the stupidity of the whole thing. Of the likely suspects, I’m pretty sure none of them are tucked up in bed with their chastity belts firmly in place each night.

  In fact, even with all the shit happening with The Fallen, I’m probably one of the least thirsty girls in the whole school, so accusing me of being a slut is definitely a case of the kettle calling the pot electric. What a bunch of delusional hypocrites.

  I’m exhausted, and I don’t have the energy for this bullshit right now. Honestly, they can paint any and every name under the sun on my locker, and won’t get a reaction out of me. I just don’t have the headspace.

  I’ve had enough humiliation for one day, and I don’t want to give Jazzy and the rest of the Hoes watching on the satisfaction of seeing me at my breaking point, as I know it will get back to their leaders, and therefore the entire school.

  There’s a girl’s bathroom to my left, so I turn sharply, ducking inside and hoping the Hoes won’t follow me in there to taunt me some more. They don’t, so I bend down, checking underneath each stall. Thankfully, it looks like the universe is throwing me a bone for once, and they’re all empty. I take a deep breath and pick the last one, closing the door and locking it behind me. I drop my book bag by my feet and sit down on the edge of the toilet seat.

  My head is swimming, but I stare blankly at the closed door. It’s weird how, sometimes, my mind can feel numb and tortured at the same time. A few moments later, my nose burns and my eyes well with tears. My throat feels swollen and narrow.

  A tiny whimper escapes my lips as I try my best not to burst into tears. Sometimes, a good cry can be therapeutic, but this is neither the time nor the place. I have to be stronger than this, and not sweat the small stuff. Besides, anyone could walk in at any moment, and I don’t want them to know how much they’re affecting me with their petty games. The fact is, it’s not really them getting to me, it’s everything: being at a new school, my concerns for my mom, and all the BS going on with Zeph, and the guys.

  Having the hottest, most popular guy at school repeatedly humiliate me is a new low in a life that has had very few highs. And now it’s being made worse by the most spiteful clique having a hard-on for me too.

  Dealing with just one of those things at a time would be tough on anyone, but all of them together feels like a relentless onslaught, and there’s nowhere to escape or hide.

  Maybe I should run away from school.

  I laugh aloud as I think the dumb thought. The sound is shrill, slicing through the silence in the deserted bathroom. Where the hell would I even go? “Home” to my father? Fuck that. I’m not that desperate, or stupid.

  Where’s my mom? It’s at times like this that her disappearance gets to me even more than usual. Why would she just up and leave when I need her?

  It’s a thought that gnaws away at the back of my mind constantly, along with the idea that maybe I’d be better off as a real orphan. At least then I’d know for sure that I’m totally alone in the world instead of being suspended in what feels like a loveless limbo.

  The fact is, even though my parents are supposedly both alive and well, I am on my own, so I need to find a way to be okay with that. Fuck them, and fuck everybody.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but the only thing I can see is Zeph, towering over me, broodingly and intoxicatingly handsome. Why does he have to be such an asshole? Why are they all such assholes—him, and the rest of The Fallen?

  Scratch that. Despite being Zeph’s best friend, Tyce is maybe kind of a good guy, or at least he seems to be on the face of things, kinda, sorta, maybe. Underneath it all…

  The signs are there, though I get the impression that he tries to keep them well hidden. Take the way he’s helped me a few times now, but in a backhanded way; like giving up his seat for me in that first class, but kind of being a little bit of a douche about it at the same time.

  And even though Zeph had already left the classroom when it happened, I have no doubt that The Fallen’s kingpin would have gotten to hear about it, regardless.

  If there is one thing that my old school and my new school have in common it’s that gossip spreads like wildfire at both. Moreton High may be full to the brim of Budget Barbies and Cut-price Kens, like Zeph was so “kind” as to point out, but one characteristic those kids share with their insanely loaded counterparts is that everybody likes to trash-talk other people. I guess that makes it a universal truth.

  Poor kids do it because they have nothing else, whereas the insanely rich kids who are theoretically now my peers seem to do it because they have everything, but care about nothing. Go figure.

  The incident where Tyce helped in the lunchroom after Zeph just walked on past, making sure to dig the boot in on the way, is a bigger deal, because Zeph was there to see it with his own eyes, rather than hearing it third-hand through the gossip mill.

  Even more significantly, it was witnessed by a lot more people, which is a very public and not very subtle fuck you to Zeph. Unlike the way the Hoes operate, where everyone just blindly follows what Trinity and Divinity do or say, it seems like Tyce is totally prepared to go against Zeph. Interesting.

  Even more interesting is the fact that where my body seems hardwired to want Zeph—no matter how much my mind tells me that he’s not what I should want, and definitely the furthest thing from what I need—it turns out I crave Tyce too, though in a totally different way.

  If the way he worked me over until I came shamelessly over his hand is anything to go by, Tyce is no boy scout, but even still, he could potentially be a better choice than Zeph. Way better, in fact. On the other hand, playing catch with a live hand grenade is probably a better choice than getting involved with Zeph, so there’s that.

  That said, above and beyond his ability to get me off in spectacular style, I think I’m starting to maybe like Tyce a little as a person in a roundabout kind of way. Regardless of the way The Fallen conduct themselves around the school like they own it, and everyone in it, I think he’s actually kind of a half decent human underneath it all. Maybe.

  I’m not getting my hopes up too much, though. If there’s one thing I’m learning about people it’s that they can always do new things to hurt and disappoint me.

  I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and use my palm to dry my cheeks of the tears I hadn’t even realized I’d cried. When I feel semi-human again, I open the door to the stall and step out awkwardly as if I’m expecting a crowd to be wai
ting on the other side, judging and taunting me for showing weakness.

  Thankfully, I’m still alone in the bathroom. I drift like a zombie over to the basin and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I honestly don’t like what I see. There are dark circles under my eyes, and my hair needs something. I drag my fingers through it, but they snag on the out-of-control curls, doing nothing at all to tame them.

  I turn on the cold faucet and reach out, cupping my hands under the stream of water, then lean down and douse my face, feeling a little rejuvenated with each cool splash. I know the relief won’t last long, but a temporary Band-Aid to salve the hurt is better than none at all, so I’m grateful for the reprieve.

  I see movement out of the corner of my eye and quickly shut the faucet off, startled. As I dare to turn my head, praying that it’s not going to be the twins, or Jazzy, or anyone else from their fucking clique, I‘m relieved to see a familiar face hovering nearby.

  Geneva.

  She may as well have been knitting a sweater with her eyebrows. They are so deeply furrowed with worry.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  I glance at the floor. I can’t make eye contact with her right now. I’m afraid I may start crying again, and that if I do, I won’t be able to stop.

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” I mumble.

  “And I’m Beyoncé. Anyone can see you’re far from fine. Come on,” she urges gently.

  I finally muster up the courage to look at her, and when I do, I feel the empathy radiating from her. She’s not going to judge me, or push me to tell her anything I don’t want to. She’s the type of friend every girl needs in her life, the kind who’ll encourage me and boost me up, and never make me feel worse about my flaws.

  “Come—where?”

  “Follow me. You need some fresh air.” She juts her chin toward the bathroom door.

  “Right now—”

  “Just do it.” The look on her face says, “I dare you,” and I know it’s not up for debate.

  I’m not going to be able to blow her off, so I don’t even bother to try.

  Chapter 25

  Blake

  * * *

  We make a pit stop at our dorm room—Geneva’s older sister buys her booze all the time, which she’s happy to share with me. We have a six pack of pre-mix drinks in our mini refrigerator that we haven’t gotten around to cracking open yet. We stuff a couple into our book bags and head out.

  Our school is set on a huge acreage of land near a small river. If I had to guess, I’d say the water is just about a mile away from the main building. There are several trails leading down to the water, but we’re not supposed to go unsupervised—well, not officially, anyway.

  As with just about everything else at St. J’s, the reality is a little different to the shit they peddle in the brochure. Now that I’m surrounded by people who have it spewing from every pore, I’m learning that money talks, and everyone has their price. Security can get very slack around here at times—for the right fee.

  This afternoon, Geneva and I have no trouble getting outdoor access, under the guise of watching the sunset for a science project. I don’t know how much it costs her to grease that particular palm, but she hardly blinks at the transaction, so I’m guessing the amount didn’t make a dent in her weekly allowance. I’m just grateful for her thoughtfulness, and so ready to break away from the oppressively confining walls of the school.

  As spacious and accommodating as the grounds and buildings are—nothing like the concentration of kids I’m used to at Moreton High—it can still feel overwhelmingly claustrophobic at times. It’s starting to make sense to me why some people refer to it as jail, even though the opulence couldn’t be further from a correctional facility. I’m learning the hard way that not all prisons have bars on the window and locks on the gates.

  One thing I didn’t anticipate about boarding school is how suffocating it can be. It’s stupid not to have thought about it that way before—we’re all trapped within the same four walls, every hour of every day, and it’s intense.

  Back at Moreton, if someone was pissing me off, or waging a hate campaign against me, I could escape from them once school was out.

  My dad always says something about not shitting where you eat, and I’ve never really understood what he meant until now. But with the walls crowding in on me at St. J’s it makes perfect sense—separating certain aspects of life from others is a good thing, it turns out.

  I wish I’d realized that before I jumped at the opportunity to attend a prestigious boarding school like it was a lifeline. In reality, sometimes it feels like the total opposite—like a death sentence.

  Down by the water, I revel in the peace and quiet away from the crazy drama. The sky is painted in warm pastel tones, casting everything around us in glowing oranges and pinks. As the sun starts to set the air is still, but scented with fragrant Jasmine. It’s like something from a picture postcard, and so far from my life back home that I almost have to pinch myself to remind me that it’s real.

  Geneva and I are sitting on an old, weathered log, side by side, each with a drink in hand. There’s nobody else around, which was the point of coming out here. Even in the privacy of our dorm with the door closed it always feels like the walls have ears, or someone is about to burst in on us while we talk, but out here, I feel free.

  “Okay, so hit me. You’ve been off for a couple of weeks now, basically since Zeph’s party. Want to tell me what’s eating you? Or should that be who?” She throws me a cheeky wink.

  I take a gulp of my drink for Dutch courage. “My life’s a fucking mess. Coming here was a giant mistake. Everything is going wrong, except you and my grades.” I actually hadn’t realized how badly I wanted to talk and open up to her until she asked me the question, and now I fear I won’t be able to stop.

  “That’s not true. Don’t worry about that band of air-headed vipers. Their opinions aren’t worth shit.”

  “Ugh. I know. But if it was just them I guess it would be okay. Or manageable, at least. But it’s not just them. It’s also—”

  “Zeph?”

  “Hmm…”

  “Don’t sound so hesitant. The thing between the two of you is the worst kept secret on the planet.” Neve really is prone to major exaggeration. “Or at least in the school,” she corrects, as though reading my mind.

  I turn to her sharply in disbelief, but she’s undeterred. “He watches you like a hawk the entire time you guys are in the same room.”

  “He doesn’t do that. You’re totally making that up.”

  “I’m not, and he absolutely does. He seems to think the rest of the world can’t see him, like he’s shrouded in an invisibility cloak or something, but he’s as subtle as hot-pink lipstick.”

  “There’s no thing. He’s probably looking at me that way because he hates me, and he’s plotting ways to off me. Either that, or watching his back in case I stab him in it.”

  “Nope. First of all, he’s way too arrogant to think of anyone else as that much of a threat. Zeph doesn’t watch his back around other people. We need to watch our backs around him.” Unless of course he thinks they’re blackmailing him, but Geneva doesn’t know anything about that. “Secondly, if that’s how he looks at his enemies, I’d be very interested to know what kind of heat he reserves for his female ‘friends.’ Either way, why do I get the impression that this isn’t what’s getting you down?”

  “It is what’s getting to me. I mean partly. Like, it’s a lot of what’s getting to me, but not everything.”

  “Jesus, woman, what’s the rest, then?

  “The Fallen.”

  “What, like all of them? Don’t tell me you’re fucking the entire gang!” Her eyes widen to the point where I’m surprised they don’t bug clean out of her head.

  “What? I didn’t even say I was fucking any of them.” I throw her a confused glance.

  “But you are?”

  “I am, what?”

  “Fucking at least one
of them, right?”

  I nod, not wanting to hear myself say the words aloud just yet. I sigh loudly again “Fucked. Not fucking.” She nods sagely.

  She looks so shocked that for a moment I think I’m going to have to slap her face, or throw water in it to revive her, like they do in the movies, or, worse still, administer CPR to get her heart moving. Just as I’m trying to remember the things I learned in a free first-aid course I did a few years ago at school—apart from the Heimlich maneuver, and how to treat burns—she bursts back to life.

  “Sorry. I think I just died for a moment, from shock. Like literally, my heart stopped, and I was going toward the light. But then I remembered that I didn’t know the end of the story, and probably wouldn’t find out if I was dead, unless I worked out a way to haunt the information from you. I figured it was probably best to do that from my mortal body—so I backed the fuck up, and here I am.” She’s insane. “I’m going to need you to spill All. The. Tea.”

  “There’s really not as much tea as you might think.”

  “Ha! I very highly doubt that. Quit stalling and start already! Tell me about Zeph.”

  I sigh, still trying to delay the inevitable. “It was a one-time thing. A moment of weakness, or lapse in judgement on my part. Actually, it was kind of a dare, and stupidly, I didn’t have the good sense to just walk away like I knew I should. Anyway, whatever you want to call it, it’s done now. Dead and buried.”

  “Again, unlikely. You don’t get tangled up with a guy like Zeph Cross and get off that easily. That’s not how it works. I mean, you get off, sure, but you don’t get away.” She cackles at her own joke. “But wait a minute, you said it was a dare. Who the hell in their right mind would dare you, or anyone, for that matter, to sleep with Zeph Cross?”

  “He did.”

  “Oh, snap.”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I fill her in on the full details of that night, and everything that has happened with Zeph since, and after asking me at least ten billion questions about him, and us, she seems satisfied.